A Wizard's War - 27. The Bastion

The heat was oppressive, pressing in from all sides like a weight. Simon laid stretched out in the shade of a large rock and several pieces of fabric they had draped in a makeshift tent. Beyond the bit of shade, the rocks and loose sand sizzled at unbearable temperatures in the direct light. Fogrot and Rummert lay nearby, stretched out and completely naked. They had remained stripped down for a while now until night fell, and it was time to travel.

“I can’t believe I’m missing the Savage Plains so early in the journey,” Rummert mused gruffly.

“Grass isn’t always greener,” Simon agreed.

“There is no grass here.”

“Nothing gets past you,” Simon smiled.

Simon was missing the books he’d lost in Volox Ofoon for the first time. Unable to study his spell forms, he’d taken to reading the book Zolgrim had given him: Prophesies and Fortelling by the Oracle Morgana. The read was difficult, incoherent, and jumbled beyond belief. He’d flip through randomly and end up staring at the few lines written long ago.

“Heralding the Seeded One

For he shall be named so by his enemies

And the fate of all magic will be decided.”

The only feeling he could describe as he read and re-read the passage was a sense of dread. What did it mean that the fate of magic would be decided? How did this clearly unstable woman know about him and his abilities?

“You should get some rest,” Fogrot growled pulling Simon out of his spiral.

“You’re probably right,” Simon closed the book and then his eyes.

Days went by and their water was beginning to run low. They tried to take longer and longer intervals between drinks. And just when the threat of dehydration was at its peak, they climbed over a dune and saw the massive structure rising in the distance.

“The Bastion,” Simon spoke in hushed awe from his dry lips. From afar it looked to be a solid white stone mass on the horizon flanked by a range of steadily escalating mountains.

“Looks so small,” Rummert scratched his head.

“Sometimes…” Fogrot growled and shoved the other orc along, “you’re so dense.”

They were still days away, but they were able to see progress with each passing day as their goal began to loom closer and clearer in their vision. The Bastion was built with three tiered barriers, each rising slightly higher within the other. The pinnacle was the most dazzling white stone structure, where the Alliance Keep was situated. From far off Simon was in awe of their destination, a testament to the ingenuity and power men possessed when they worked together toward common purpose.

Finally, they were in a place where they would reach the Bastion by the next day. The landscape had begun to change gradually, and more bushes and shrubs were present. They had more places to take shelter for the night and even began to run into other living creatures. Simon spotted what he thought were rabbits but had different snouts and longer forearms, and Fogrot dispatched a scorpion that crept upon a rock nearby.

“Should we just press on or wait until nightfall?” Simon considered.

“They can likely spot us from their high towers and orc still not welcome here,” Fogrot considered.

“I had considered that,” Simon grimaced, “perhaps your long cloaks can hide you again until we get inside. But it would be best to arrive in the cover of nightfall and get an idea what we’re dealing with.”

“Also,” Rummert turned over his water skin, “this is empty.”

“So is mine,” Fogrot shrugged, “ran out yesterday.”

“You may squeeze a drop each from mine,” Simon tossed Rummert the skin.

“There is a milk that would give us all strength,” Fogrot spoke directly to Simon.

“I’m so exhausted,” Simon sighed, “And dehydrated to the point, I’m not sure anything will come out.”

“He is right,” Yidian contributed, “We will feel stronger with more seed.”

Despite their fatigue, they each laid in their small shelter that day slowly stroking their massive cocks. Simon eventually moved between the two orcs and gave each of them a hand and they in turn stroked him. The arousal made them forget how tired they were, and they moved their sweaty bodies together. The orcs licked lewdly at Simons neck and nipples causing his cock to jump with excitement. Rummert got to his knees first and sprayed cum across Simon’s face. Simon was on it, wrapping his lips around to drink every last drop of the sweet nectar.

“Oh, the power,” Yidian approved drunkenly. It was true, Simon could feel his strength returning and his swollen muscles tingled.

“I’ve got more for you,” Fogrot grumbled as he knelt to Simon’s other side. Simon sucked him and tasted him. The seed was thick and hot, but Fogrot had a lot to offer. Simon swallowed it greedily, then he stroked his own cock until it was ready to burst. The orcs hovered close and eagerly licked every drop of his cum from the erupting head.

“I can’t go back to how things were,” Rummert smiled as he flexed his muscles that had been totally weak and worn just a moment before.

“I agree,” Fogrot nodded, “We will follow you until we can no longer.”

“I appreciate that,” Simon could see how serious they were. If he had any water left, he may have even shed a tear.

After darkness fell, they continued their journey, and the entire horizon was now blocked by the massive stone walls of the Bastion. Simon began to doubt if they would reach their destination that night, but suddenly, he was only ten yards away. He was able to walk up and lay his hand against the cold, smooth stone. The moment he did, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“We are being watched now,” Yidian hissed.

Simon spun around, withdrawing his hand like it was a hot oven. The two orcs were looking up in surprise. Simon followed their gaze and saw broad wings looming from above. Four guards were suddenly surrounding them, their mechanical wings seemed to retract onto their backs. Spears were leveled in their direction.

“Orc filth!” one of the guards shouted up.

Fogrot and Rummert were on guard in front of Simon, their weapons raised.

“Stop!” Simon yelled and touched Fogrot and Rummert gently on the shoulders, “Lower the weapons.”

“There are only four,” Rummert growled.

“But more where they came from,” Simon reminded. Rummert looked to Fogrot for guidance and they both lowered their weapons. The orcs were soon restrained in laughable shackles, but the three new arrivals were not about to tell them how easily it could be broken.

The armor worn by the Bastion guards was very ornamental and shining with a golden metal. On their backs were retractable wings, evidently for descent from the high walls, not really for flying. They were escorted to a large South-facing gate that was set back into the stone wall. There was a passage within the outer ramparts and then a second gate was blocking entrance to the city. Simon could see through the gate to what must be the slums of the Bastion. While the architecture of the stone houses was at one time quite impressive, it was now worn and poorly maintained.

“What have we here?” A new guard approached from a nearby shelter carrying a torch in his hand. His golden armor was somehow statelier and though he lacked wings, he was trailed by a long white cape.

“I am Simon Kingmaker. I represent the Orc King Tetlak as he seeks to renegotiate the terms of our alliance with the Votu High Council.”

“Sounds fancy,” the guard commander laughed, “But what makes you think we will look the other way and let you into the city? Normally we lock orcs up that stray this far from the Savage Lands.”

“What do you want?” Simon asked.

The guard moved close and eyed Simon up and down.

“You are quite the strong, young man…”

At last, the guard settled on the heavy bag Simon had at his waist. Inside, Simon had placed his book, golden circlet, and all the gold Tetlak had supplied them. The guard withdrew the bag and peered in, a smile spreading across his face.

“My, my… what have we here?”

“I had not expected a city of this magnificence to be so corrupt,” Simon mused.

“Looks can be deceiving,” the guard commander spoke in mock sympathy, “We got ourselves a prize today, boys!”

This was met with cheers of excitement as the guard commander pulled a hand full of gold coins from inside the bag and held them up for others to see.

“I have so much more to offer,” Simon smiled and looked as sultry as he could at the commander.

“There is something about you… isn’t there?” the man loomed closer again and observed Simon’s body openly.

“I’ll make you feel things you’ve only dreamed of,” Simon spoke softly directly to the commander.

“I have no doubt you would.”

“This one will be easy. Can I have his soul?” Yidian was hungry.

“What’s going on here?” Another resonant voice suddenly called from the long corridor.

“Lord Crusnik?” the guard commander suddenly recoiled and his expression changed to that of fear, “What are you doing here?”

The man who approached came with no torch or source of light. He had been travelling the rampart walls in total darkness which had masked his arrival. He wore regal robes of long black material but his face was gaunt and pale beyond anything Simon had ever seen. His eyes were so cloudy and white, Simon thought he could be blind, but his eyes tracked the movement of the men and focused directly on the commander.

“I was awakened in the early morning,” Lord Crusnik spoke enigmatically, “I felt I needed to take a walk… get a snack.”

Simon noticed the guard commander swallow hard at the mention of a snack as if it held some darker meaning.

“Orcs in the Bastion,” Lord Crusnik’s focus shifted, and he turned a smile to Simon, “This is a surprise.”

“We seek an audience with the High Council,” Simon spoke but his mouth felt dry, and his words hollow now. He’d felt in control with the guard commander, but not with this man.

“Interesting,” Lord Crusnik studied Simon, “Not here to join the Wizard’s College?”

“What?” Simon was surprised.

“You’re practically crackling with untamed magic power,” Lord Crusnik placed a cold hand to Simon’s cheek and seemed to savor the feeling, “I’d hate to have seen what would have become of our dear commander here.”

“What does that mean?” the guard commander wanted answers, but Crusnik was fully ignoring him now.

“Those with true power can’t be stopped by such paltry things as chains,” Lord Crusnik spoke and waved his hand over Simon’s restraints. They clicked open and fell to the ground.

“Thank you.”

“This boy seeks an audience with the High Council,” Lord Crusnik turned to the guard commander, “See that his belongings are returned to him and he makes it there safely later today. Unfortunately, orcs are still not allowed inside, but we can find them a cell. Assure me, these guests will not come to any harm.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guard commander lowered his head.

“The words please,” Lord Crusnik pressed.

“No harm will come to our guests, my lord.”

“Very good.”

And just like that, the mysterious man disappeared back into the shadows and was gone.

“What just happened?” Yidian demanded, feeling robbed of the grand meal the guard commander was about to offer.

“I don’t know,” Simon thought.

It took some convincing, but Fogrot and Rummert agreed to go quietly to the dungeons. Simon gave his word that he would do everything he could to have them released soon. Simon also hoped he’d have more good luck and find others as helpful as Lord Crusnik inside. The guard commander returned Simon’s bag and ordered men to take Simon to find accommodations. Simon was unnerved by the fake smile plastered on the commander’s face as he bid Simon farewell.

“For your troubles,” Simon pulled two gold pieces from his bag and gave them to the commander. The man looked at them surprised.

“Make sure my friends get a proper meal and fresh water.”

“Ah, of course,” the commander nodded in understanding.

The guards led Simon through the lower slums of the city. Simon observed the many crumbling houses and long streets that boasted nothing but taverns and brothels. There were always ways to distract yourself from your lower station in life. The main road curved up and began to rise at a steady incline to the second tier of the city. They reached another stone rampart, and they were granted access to a more vibrant and richer neighborhood. By the first light of dawn, they introduced Simon to a polite inn keeper and Simon purchased a room.

The morning was uneventful, and Simon took the opportunity to clean up and rest a moment in a proper bed. He thought about Fogrot and Rummert locked in a dungeon cell and felt a pang of regret. Simon wasn’t here to start a war, and Crusnik had been right, he’d originally set out to learn about his magic abilities. The events with the orcs were entirely unplanned and the acts of a desperate young man trying to survive.

“You didn’t ask to be used this way by others for their own agenda,” the words Zolgrim had spoke to him. Maybe there was truth to it, but the guilt was ever present.

“You think it is wrong to enjoy the experiences you’ve had,” Yidian noted.

“Maybe.”

“You need to start accepting the power you’ve been given. We should be free to reshape this world. Eventually, you’ll understand that you are exactly where you need to be.”

“The fate of all magic will be decided,” Simon muttered to himself as his eyes closed.

Simon was awakened from his brief sleep by thuds on the door. Simon dressed quickly in the more luxurious garb given by the orcs and placed his golden circlet on his head. At the door was a short man with mole-like features and little clawed hands.

“Greetings, sir,” the mole man spoke chipperly, “My name is Rikiovic, and I’m here to escort you to the Alliance Keep.”

“A pleasure,” Simon stuttered in surprise.

“Your face,” Rikiovic laughed, “Never seen a member of the molekin before?”

“I’m sorry,” Simon caught himself, “that was rude of me.”

“Nonsense,” Rikiovic waved a hand, “Our numbers are fewer and fewer. I come as a shock to many who are not from the Bastion.”

“Did Lord Crusnik send you?”

“Not exactly, but the original order may have come from him. There are many cogs in this machine that maintain the keep and make sure things happen on time. There will be a line to address the Council and we must make sure you are in it.”

“Lead the way.”

Rikiovic strolled ahead showing Simon around and pointing out interesting taverns and places to eat. There were businesses aplenty in this part of the city and the streets were crowded with people going this way and that. Simon had never seen so many people anywhere, his hometown was miniscule next to the magnitude of the Bastian. The city was even more beautiful in the daylight, even looking down toward the slums offered a breathtaking sight for which Simon could not have prepared. The streets again rose steadily toward the third tier of the city, but this entrance was blocked by a massive gatehouse. The gatehouse was an elaborate fortress, in its own right, and the Alliance Keep loomed behind it even larger and more impressive.

“Quite the picture,” Rikiovic was following Simon’s gaze, “You know I’m around it so much I forget to look up every once in a while. You can’t see the scale of it when you’re looking down and tending to your work.”

“You grew up here?” Simon asked.

“All my life.”

“Has it been a good place to live?”

“Every city has its problems, but it sure beats living like my ancestors in underground molekin hovels. I’d not trade it for the world.”

“I couldn’t wait to leave my town and see the world,” Simon laughed as he continued to follow Rikiovic, “But now I wonder if I’ll ever see it again.”

“Where you from?”

“Westwood.”

“Esther’s golden tits!” Rikiovic swore, “You are a long way from home!”

Simon shifted awkwardly and shrugged.

“It’d take forever to get here, unless you cross the desert.”

“I passed through the Savage Plains and only crossed the desert from Votu N’Saga.”

“The Savage Plains?” Rikiovic reeled in disbelief, “And you came out the other side?”

“It’s a long story, honestly,” Simon didn’t really feel like delving into the whole account again with this curious molekin.

“Say no more,” Rikiovic nodded knowingly, “We have a schedule to maintain anyway.”

They passed straight through the grand hall of the gatehouse with multiple stairs and doors leading off in countless directions. The floors were patterned marble and overhead was a grand arched ceiling with a mural depicting all four gods: Vale, Raigar, Esther, and Neptune. In the center of the mural was a series of three concentric circles like the three tiers of the Bastion.

The far side of the gatehouse opened onto a large courtyard filled with the most luxurious garden to ever exist. Plants unknown to Simon were in full bloom with blossoms the size of a man’s head. Many sparkled with magic, and some were even emitting the sweetest of music. Butterflies fluttered about, drawn to the abundant nectar of the garden. Fountains created flowing streams through the maze of garden hedges and quaint bridges arched across to reach the other side. It was the closest to paradise Simon had ever been.

“The Mythic Gardens,” Rikiovic was beaming as he looked at Simon, “First constructed one hundred and fifty two years ago with the oversite of the High Council and the Wizard Commander of the time Alexandro Breakwhite. Today there are over two hundred species of unique magic plants featured within the gardens.”

“THE Alexandro Breakwhite?” Simon asked, “Of Breakwhite’s catechisms?”

“Indeed. His contributions to the high age of magic saw us through the darkest times of the last Wizard War. These gardens were one of the last things he accomplished before he died at the age of two hundred and seventy four; right here in the Alliance Keep.”

“I’ve read about the current Wizard Commander; she took over at that time?”

“There was a lot of debate, but yes, Tamasi Arany was eventually elected the new Wizard Commander of the Votu Alliance.”

“Why was there a debate?”

“Wizard Commander Arany never agreed with Breakwhite when he formed a truce with the Vomirian Empire to the north. They were largely responsible for the deadly conflict that engulfed the entire world. But there was little left of the empire, and Breakwhite felt that healing could only occur if they forgive those that survived. The fourth and final part of the Alliance was added as Votu Vomir.”

“I’ve always heard Votu Vomir is a barren, icy wasteland where few ever travel.”

“There is much truth to that,” Rikiovic considered, “The ultimate weapon that ended the war left a massive crater where the Vomirian Empire once rested, but new cities and civilizations have been built through the years. Those that survived adapted to the harsh conditions.”

Rikiovic seemed to realize he had stopped again to chat, “I’m sorry, we really must keep moving.”

Simon followed through the maze of gardens and together they reached the keep. The doors were immense and thick stone slabs with ornate scrollwork and Simon figured they would be impossible to open, but then they began to shine with a faint blue light and magically opened on their own. Rikiovic led Simon inside the darkened keep as the heavy doors rumbled close behind them. The keep was only dimly lit compared to the gardens and Simon’s eyes were struggling to adjust. The wall sconces were surprisingly sparce and far apart.

“It’s so dark.”

“That’s why the molekin are so invaluable to the keep. It offers an additional layer of security that most guests require an escort within the keep walls. Don’t worry, there are plenty of well-lit chambers within.”

Simon decided most guests would get lost in the maze of passageways even without the darkness of the keep, but perhaps the use of molekin escorts was an old tradition that had never faded with the time. They arrived at last into a great open chamber filled with hundreds of people. Simon could hear the commotion of voices even before they turned the corner. The people waited in two separate queues that ascended stairs on either side of the room. Overhead an enchanted projection of the cosmos was spinning slowly, and Simon could make out familiar constellations beneath the vaulted ceiling.

“Welcome to the Oratorium,” Rikiovic bowed with a flourish.

“It’s amazing,” Simon spun around, noticing the large portraits of stately figures on the walls, likely capturing the grandeur of the Council members of the past.

“Please, join the queue,” Rikiovic motioned, “This is where I must leave you for now.”

“What happens now?” Simon asked.

“When your turn comes, you will be brought before the Votu High Council to state your request.”

“This is a long line…”

“Indeed, it is,” Rikiovic smiled and then scurried away. Simon had found the little molekin quite charming up until that moment.

The wait was long, but Simon was pleased to see the line moving at a fairly rapid pace. He supposed the council was eager to be done with all these petitions as well. As the day waned on, Simon saw other molekin arrive and add more petitioners to the line behind him. It would be well after nightfall before the council spoke with everyone.

Hours later, Simon was finally standing at the top of the stairs and he was in front of a massive stone door, much like the door at the entrance. He’d watched several people ahead of him enter the chamber beyond but not return. They must be escorted out through a different passage. Security seemed lax, but two wingless guards did stand in their golden armor before the stone door.

The doors opened magically, and the guards motioned for Simon to step inside. There was a sloping corridor up to the center of a massive amphitheater. Wealthy people lounged around on pillowed perches. Many looked bored as servants ran hither and yon to bring them things or even place food directly into their mouths. There were hushed whispers all throughout the chamber. On the far side of the amphitheater were raised platforms with five thrones. Each throne was occupied by a member of the High Council, but the center throne was larger and more ostentatious than the others. There was seated a radiant, dark-skinned woman with a sparkling emerald-colored gown. She was dripping with jewels from her wrist and neck. On her face, a look of utter disgust.

Simon almost ducked in surprise at the floating scroll at eye level and a quill tickled his right ear. He was dumbfounded by the floating parchment and quill, but as his eyes focused on them, he realized that names had been written. No one spoke to him or addressed him in any way, they just waited and stared. Simon looked desperately around again and was surprised to see a familiar face among the High Council members. On the leftmost side of the Wizard Commander was a man dressed completely in black, but his gaunt visage was unmistakably Lord Crusnik. Of the members of the High Council, he was the most underdressed for the occasion, while the others seemed to elevate themselves to an almost regal status.

Lord Crusnik had been equally bored by the events of the day, but as he noticed Simon watching him he sat up in his chair straighter and seemed suddenly intrigued. Crusnik made a writing motion in the air and then a ‘get-on-with-it’ gesture. Simon plucked the floating quill from the air and wrote on the scroll, following the format laid out by the previous entry.

“Simon Kingmaker!” the parchment announced loudly to the chamber after Simon had stopped writing, “Representative of Orc King Tetlak of the Savage Lands!”

“Kingmaker,” the woman to the right of the Wizard Commander scoffed, “highly doubt that was your given name.”

The woman was a gray-scaled serpent folk, her eerie eyes blinking vertically as they rolled to focus on Simon. Her dress was much like others he had seen in Votu N’Saga, long flowing pieces of peach fabric like a robe and cinched with a golden rope around her waist.

“This is true…” Simon began.

“Silence!” Wizard Commander Tamasi Arany spoke abruptly and harshly, “I don’t care who you are.”

“But…” Simon began then immediately fell silent when many of the hushed whispers in the chamber fell silent. Eyes flicked between the Wizard Commander and the boy standing in the center of the amphitheater. He had everyone’s attention now.

“I shall be addressed as Wizard Commander Arany or Your Excellency! When I call for silence, you will no longer waggle your insubordinate tongue! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Simon shifted nervously.

“You can tell your new Orc King, there will be no terms. After the devastation they wrought during the last Wizard War, they are lucky we even allowed them to survive. Their demands and petitions mean less than nothing to me…”

“Your Excellency,” Lord Crusnik interrupted cautiously. The look the Wizard Commander shot in his direction would have likely killed most men where they stood, but Lord Crusnik remained unphased.

“Is this not a matter of enough importance to warrant discussion with the entire council?” Crusnik continued.

“He makes a fair point,” the rightmost council member concurred. The only other man on the council was very effeminate in his own way. Very high cheekbones and slightly pointed ears likely indicating elven lineage. His skin was soft and delicate, and his voice was equally so, despite its baritone nature.

“The Council wishes to vote?” the Wizard Commander shrugged with irritation, “Then let’s vote! Shall we hear out the orcs and their petty demands?”

Lord Crusnik raised his hand in favor. The elven man, despite his agreement about the vote, did not agree with listening to the orc petition. Neither did any of the others.

“Well then,” Commander Arany snapped, “If we are quite done with this ridiculous pretense, let us hear the next petition.”

“I have one last thing to discuss,” Lord Crusnik pressed. Again, the Wizard Commander looked beside herself as she seethed.

“Perhaps this young man would be a good candidate for the Wizard’s College?”

“You cannot be serious!” the woman next to Lord Crusnik recoiled. She was a gorgeous, olive-skinned woman with a seafoam green dress. Instead of jewels she wore a collection of seashells around her neck. She also had on unique ornamental face painting and her nails were long and filed to points. It was clear she spent a great deal of time focused on the latest fashions.

“I am quite serious, Lady Talovien. Surely you can sense what I can, even from this distance.”

“This is absurd,” Wizard Commander Arany groaned, “You say nothing for months in this chamber and suddenly speak on behalf of this orc play toy?”

“Besides, we do not allow warlocks into the Wizard’s College,” the woman who must be Lady Talovien continued, “I can smell the stench of his demon from here!”

“The matter is concluded,” the Wizard Commander glared, daring Lord Crusnik to disagree, “Bring in the next petition.”

Simon was unceremoniously escorted from the room by guards and shoved through a sparkling archway. When he got up off his knees, he realized he was in a corner of the Mythic Gardens with other petitioners milling about or heading back toward the city below. It was only late afternoon, so he couldn’t have been inside the keep for as many hours as he thought. He looked behind him, but the archway was gone. Transported by magic, he’d been dumped out of the keep.

“All this way…” Yidian was stunned, then he started to laugh at the turn of events.

“I really thought I was supposed to come here. I thought more would be revealed.”

“I say fuck them,” Yidian laughed.

“Fuck them.”