Assuming the Position
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An Assumed InheritanceChapter 3 free porn video
Plans were made, quickly. An urgent message was sent out via theravara, a device Hrosz was intensely interested in, and asked many questions about, detailing the cylindrical and conic objects and requesting that both be brought with all possible haste to the War College.
Hrosz and Avatharel made plans to shut the gate.
"It must have a locus, a focused area it is tied to, as I understand things," stated the Homesteader. Verothlen agreed.
Avatharel asked if it were better to drive the gate deep into the core of Feldare, where the pressures and heat were too great to expect anything to survive it, or bring it to the surface, out of the fire-mountain it had created above it, and try to disable or destroy it there. Hrosz explained that there were great vast spaces without air between the ball that was Feldare and the sun; and that there were even vaster spaces between the various suns. Even Verothlen seemed daunted by the scope of the cosmos that Hrosz was outlining.
Hrosz suggested they build up a large enough explosion in the fire mountain to throw the gate completely off the surface of Feldare, rather than keep the dangerous object inside the heart of the world. He was of the opinion that demons not in stasis would never be prepared for the airless void, and die quickly. Demons in stasis would just drift near the gate forever - nothing would ever release them from their stasis.
Avatharel inquired, "Hrosz, how would we throw the gate locus out of the fire-mountain? I do not think I could handle enough mana to do this thing alone, nor even with a circle of magi, if even a hundred tons of fire mountain must be moved so far."
"Could you bring a few hundred tons of seawater over a mile?"
Avatharel laughed in sudden understanding. "Yes, that I can do. The fire within Feldare shall flash that water to steam, and the expanding steam will do the work. All we need to do is be sure the gate locus is aligned with the bore - which, I would guess, it is."
After supper that evening, Hrosz spent some time regarding Avatharel. Verothlen was present, but seemingly lost in thought.
Avatharel was pondering recent developments, when Hrosz rumbled, "I know enough of the place that gate leads from to find my way back to my world. Yet, a strike from that middle place, from a direction unanticipated, and I could free us from those who Compel. But I could not do this deed alone."
Verothlen looked up. "Feldare needs such as I, it is why I was made."
Avatharel looked at his friend, suddenly utterly convinced he did not know him at all. Still, he kept his silence, waiting.
"Aye. But Avatharel and a company of elves could do much. And... some of his company must be female, must they not?"
Verothlen stared at Hrosz, speechless for the first time in Avatharel's memory. "Yes..." he finally said. He shook himself, and said, "Yes, of course. You cannot directly handle mana, and you probably lack the means to make the artifacts that you need that can handle it for you. Elves can help remake your world over generations, if we must remove the gate from this one and so lose the opportunity for your people to come here."
Avatharel nodded, it all made a kind of sense. "However, there are some things I must see to here, first. There is the matter of the gate, the matter of finding eight cylinders containing unknown disease, five would-be enemies who are friends, and two confirmed enemies. Then I have my previous mission to replace - encouraging humans to expand and establish civilization across the landmass and nearby islands. Somehow it seems to be of tiny import to me after all I have heard this day, and yet, I must complete the mission; I doubt greatly the humans deem it trivial."
Esfalan was beyond stunned by the revelations Avatharel's memories instilled. While Avatharel slept that long-ago night, Esfalan wondered about many things for the first time, and wondered at his own place in the great Universe.
Outside of Esfalan's own mind, the quasi-light in the cavern indicated the sun and night still streaked madly across the sky.
The next morning dawned, and Avatharel regarded the sun with a very different outlook. Sometime during his sleep, he had come to terms with what needed to be done.
As he broke his fast, Avatharel found Verothlen coming to sit with him. "Hrosz will go with you into the field. He has tested horses, and they do not fear him. He states it is important for him to learn your tactics and your mind - he states this as if it is a certainty you and your command will travel through the gate with him and work to free his people."
Avatharel nodded. "It is so. I have decided. I will ask my Company, and the coupled ones shall ask their spouses and others."
Verothlen studied his friend. "And you? An other?"
Avatharel looked down. "No. I have ever had other matters of pressing moment - once I had some hopes, but I let her slip away."
"Go then, my friend, gather your company, and when the War College replaces your command, we shall close this gate. Though Feldare will sorely miss you, I must think deeply on this."
Esfalan heard little of the day-to-day occurrences from the strong voice now; instead, there were moments of excitement. Avatharel's command took their cue on interaction with Hrosz from their commander - they acted as if he were a senior officer along for observation, whatever they may have thought of his appearance.
There came a day where Avatharel and Hrosz and some dozen others had set a trap for three score barbarians, capturing them. Avatharel now had a strange compunction against slaughtering the barbarians he captured, and encouraged his Company to refrain from slaughter when possible. He placed the lives of his company first for good reason, as he wished to keep them together, but the barbarians - of the sentient races inhabiting Feldare, the only race he had not heard of as 'made' by some other agency were the humans. This was often the subject of thought by Avatharel, though he never discussed it with Hrosz.
He began a campaign to convince the barbarians to become civilized and trade with the Syrisians. He did not know how successful the attempt was, yet he preferred that the humans would be taught to get along; knowing as he did that there was a much larger conflict in the Universe.
The day of the barbarian capture, Avatharel and Hrosz had seemed to work as two parts of a whole; as a pair of hands driven by the same goal. Avatharel admitted privately that Hrosz had been right, and elves and Hrosz' kind worked well together.
Esfalan sat and wondered while the light and dark flickered around him.
The day had dawned, bright and clear. Avatharel had trotted his horse, his company behind him, through the streets to the Port of Syrith. Once underway back to Mindar, he had called his captains and file-leaders to the bow of the ship for a conference, Hrosz by his side.
"Listen well, my Company. For what I have to say is not what you may expect, and may cause you great fear. I will tell of things that will cause you to wonder at my sanity, and yet you shall know them for truth. Mark my words well, for you shall discuss them with each member of your files and with your spouse or other."
He paused to look at twenty serious faces, all experienced warriors. "Last spring, when I had been called back to the War College, sixteen objects had been sighted, ejected from the anva-soraved. After some initial investigation, eight were determined to be a means to spread a disease, a terrible disease. Only five have been recovered. Of the other eight, two were demons captured in stasis - a means of stopping time for them, if you will. Six were of a race new to us - but one that had been compelled to do us harm. We have since found that those are friends - Hrosz is one of them, as you have begun to suspect. We have not found any of these others."
"This chain of events caused us to question the nature of the other side of the gate, and whence Hrosz and his brethren had originated. Hrosz tells us he is from another world, one recently rediscovered by those who command the demons we know. That world was one of many worlds that were created, created by an unknown entity, created for a purpose that was deemed important to one side or another in a great war that has stretched across some fifty thousands of worlds, across some three millions of years - or more. Hrosz' people were soldiers, soldiers created for a purpose, and then lost in battle; they made their way from the confusion of battle through many worlds, finding one that, though devastated, was habitable and would support them. For thirty generations, they had been raising their children."
"They were not to be left in peace." Avatharel looked around at the sea of rapt faces, making eye contact with the individuals, then continued. "The Old Enemy we speak of is the other side in this war. Yet, we know only the forces on the other side of our gate, the gate in anva-soraved. Those forces suborned the Esvatrelii, causing them to hate us even though they are of us. Those forces send demons and other troubles through this gate, this you know. Now, they have something new - they sent Hrosz and others through, after compelling them to leave their world - and they want nothing less than the destruction of the defenders of Feldare."
"There are other defenses, other defenders, yet for their own reasons, this task is left to us. We have two missions before us. The first is to remove the gate from Feldare, remove it completely, by throwing it out the anva-soraved, and up off Feldare, into the airless void between Feldare and the Sun. In this way, no demon unprepared for the airlessness can travel through the gate, and if they were prepared, they shall be far from Feldare."
Avatharel paused. "The second task is to free the people of Hrosz' world, the Driansz, from compulsion. For the first time, we plan to leave Feldare and carry the battle to the Old Enemy. We expect to do some damage, enough damage to cause them to turn their attention to us. Then we expect to defend Hrosz' world and people, with skills they do not possess, while they in turn defend us with skills we do not possess."
"This shall be a one-way trip for us. Our descendants will work towards reuniting with Feldare, to pull the Driansz along with us, off their world, and onto Feldare, though it may take many generations."
"With those who come, should be those who may bear children."
"I will reconvene the Company in three weeks, to hear your decisions. Speak of this to your filemen, to your spouses, to your others. All who will brave the danger are welcome, though I would rather children be old enough to fight and decide for themselves."
Esfalan sat immobile. The grey light was taking on a deeper tone; almost the flickers were visible again.
Verothlen and Avatharel were discussing things. "Verothlen, it is madness to not move the War College. I believe that the eruption of the anva-soraved will be so great that Mindar will be afflicted, and even Syrisia shall feel the water pushed aside. I would that the Mindarrim move inland, prepared to take all they have that is dear."
"Very well, Avatharel. I will suggest it to the War College; they will likely take a half-measure, and retreat slightly, only some of the Mindarrim will remain; they will believe that they can come back to the island after your departure."
Hardly mollified, Avatharel fumed. "They chose not to believe. I would almost call this off rather than have them find out differently to their detriment, and yet, I dare not leave this gate here, nor do I dare leave the Driansz under the threat of compulsion by the Old Enemy."
Verothlen spoke softly. "Avatharel, you are leaving Feldare with the threat of disease, and two demons waiting to be unleashed."
Avatharel nodded unhappily. "I cannot be in two places at once, Verothlen. I deem this to be the greater need."
Verothlen spoke again, even more softly. "And if there were a way?"
"Then you should tell me of the way."
"I would make a matrix of mana, and emplace within it a copy of your memories. It would be a copy of you, Avatharel, down to the least thought, the least memory, the least mannerism. It would enable another to have your skills, most especially your demon fighting skills, your leadership, and your magelore."
Avatharel considered this silently for a great period of time. Verothlen had refilled his own wineglass for the fourth time, when Avatharel spoke again. "I suppose I am not so proud of some moments of my life, and yet, they are not so terrible to share."
Verothlen turned to Avatharel, and the younger elf was struck by the alienness in his face, the sense of great age and knowledge the older elf possessed. Suddenly uneasy, Avatharel recalled Hrosz' label of the other elf as 'Firstborn'.
Verothlen nodded when the sudden revelation came to Avatharel. "Yes," he said, somewhat sadly, "But what you overlook is that your personality will compel whomever receives a copy of your soul to take up your cause. In its' own way, this is as bad a thing as the Old Enemy compelling the Driansz. Rest on this, and speak to me in the morning."
Esfalan decided that the torrent of words was diminished greatly. His concentration on the tale the main voice had woven had led him to miss the tapering off - and the daylight was visibly alternating with the night now.
Avatharel had spent the night on a battlement on the War College's north coast, staring sleeplessly at the anva-soraved. To his eyes, the plume of thin smoke it trailed led down below the surface of the sea, to where a spot of malevolence rested, a thing not of Feldare. Long his thoughts rested on what was of Feldare.
As dawn broke, he turned to go and find Verothlen in his chambers.
"I have made the choice."
Verothlen gestured, nearly negligently, and Avatharel saw a ball of mana form in the older mage's hands. Verothlen grinned, which was highly unusual for him, in Avatharel's experience, and spoke, "You shall have to tell me if this hurts."
He gestured, and a bright flash of light consumed Avatharel.
Esfalan knelt in the sand of the chamber, part of him watching the band of sunlight crawl across the floor, and part of him contemplating what he had learned - was still learning as the thoughts placed in his head drained into his soul.
Some uncountable period of time later, the sun shone steadily on the wall before him. Esfalan knew he needed food and water, his joints were stiff, as if he had been in one position for days. Though he was in dire need of water, and he had not died of dehydration, there was no telling how many days had passed in the world outside the cave while Esfalan sat immobile, caught in the throes of a great magic, still Esfalan could not have endured more than two days' depravation of water. He could not bear to dwell on the paradox - the thirst was overwhelming.
Unbidden, the memory came. His memory, now, there was no distinguishing feel about the memory, just the knowledge that he had not lived through the event. He remembered the stores at the War College.
He caught a tendril of mana, and gave it that peculiar twist, that snapped the far end like a whip to that which he sought, in the place he sought it, and felt the shock as the far end attached itself to what he desired. Esfalan would not let himself think on how he knew to manipulate mana - this was the first time in this body he had ever done so - and instead tugged metaphysically on the thread.
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