The Node - Chapter One

         Zillian trudged through the snow, the force of the blizzard pelting him with bits of ice.  At each step, a new blast of cold assailed him, making forward movement more and more difficult as he went on.  He could see the familiar stone city walls in the distance -- if he could only reach them, he would be safe, but in the middle of the storm they seemed so very far away!  Snowdrifts were spread across the winter landscape before him, the fine powder blowing through the air, striking his face, stinging his eyes.  The white substance crunched and compacted beneath his feet, the frigid fingers of death reaching up to grasp his heart.
         He reached into the pouch of leather slung over his shoulder and brought out a small stone which was glowing red with the radiance of the great Art.  Zillian tightened his grip on the stone with his right hand and took another, stubborn step forward, gritting his teeth against the numbing onslaught and refusing to give in.
         Many would have given up and fallen down then, let the blizzard claim them.  But Zillian continued onward, knowing that he had power on his side.  The cold was still bitter even with the magic, but it was easier to bear when the heat was flowing through him.  He took another step, closing his eyes as the snowfall changed directions and flew into his face, sending him stumbling back with the force of the wind. 
         He raised his left hand, balling his right into a fist, and kicked forward with his left foot, sending a shower of fine, powdered snow onto the ground nearby.  The direction of the wind changed yet again, whipping around Zillian, and the power of the breeze picked up.  There was little energy left in him, and he stumbled, standing there, threatening to collapse, until the wind became so fierce that it threw him from the ground and sent him flying towards the city.
-----
         N’shyi had just been standing there, wishing that something would happen, on the inside of the great doorway, and begun to doze off.
         That ended abruptly with an audible smash as something hit the door.  N’shyi ran over to the gateway, pulling the opening aside and looking through.  He saw no one greeting him, until he searched downward with his eyes, where a man lay unconscious, his arms splayed out and his blank eyes staring up at the guard.
         Quickly N’shyi grabbed onto the winch near the gateway, and began to pull it in a large, sweeping circle, stepping towards the opening as soon as he finished.  He reached down and wrapped his hands around the unconscious, freezing man’s wrists and pulled him inside.
         A small red pebble fell out of his palm.
         N’shyi ran over to the winch and quickly closed the gateway, then took a step back towards Zillian, who had begun to stir.  His fingers reached out and clasped the stone, bringing it back to his open pack.  Slowly he attempted to bring himself to his feet, his palms against the ground, until the guard grabbed him.  “Ye be careful,” he said.
         Zillian looked up at the guard with sudden shock, pulling his arm away from the grip of the armored gauntlet.  After a moment he calmed down, taking a deep breath and standing up.  “Thank you,” he said to N’shyi, who smiled.  Zillian strode away from the gate and deep into the city, headed for its center.
         Zillian walked among the crowds of people, struggling not to be pushed to the ground by the bustling citizens.  He kept a hand on the hilt of his dagger constantly, and when the ones he had come to see came into view, he pulled the black hood over his head and snapped his fingers.  None of the others would notice as the shroud of darkness surrounded him.
         The three armored men saw Zillian and walked forward , stretching their arms.  One of them yawned lazily as he approached the sorcerer.  Zillian looked up and smiled slightly in the direction of the three thugs coming his way, then looked towards the white-robed woman who seemed to hold them under her thrall.
         A gruff hand reached forward and grabbed onto his shoulder.  Zillian struggled slightly, still smiling under the hood, and one of the thugs sent a fist into the side of Zillian’s head.  The shroud of shadows faded, and the three huge men carried Zillian’s limp body off.
-----
         “I apologize for that.”  The voice above Zillian was gentle and light.  He opened his eyes, the lids slowly falling away from each other to reveal deep green irises and tiny, jet-black pupils which were narrowed to slits – the only outward sign of his nonhuman nature.
         “It was necessary,” the woman continued.  Her eyes were a deep blue, and the pupils were similar to Zillian’s – narrowed to nothing but slits.  She held a short staff topped with a spherical blue gem, which was glowing brightly.  Behind her stood – or rather, as Zillian noticed with surprise, floated – a creature of pure flame.  Despite the thing’s nature, Zillian didn’t feel the heat at all, nor did the woman seem to.  The thug who’d knocked him out earlier seemed to feel it, though, for he was standing in a corner, looking at the elemental with wide eyes.
         “Why?” Zillian asked, standing up and drawing his dagger partway out of its sheath.  Finding that it was still there calmed him slightly, but her was still seething.  The woman smiled slightly, showing rows of sharp teeth and unnerving Zillian.  She looked into his eyes directly.  The young sorcerer stared back.  The mysterious, white-robed woman had such beauty!
         Zillian shook his head violently and stepped forward, his foot tapping against the ground audibly as he reached into a pouch at his belt and produced a small shard of crystal.  He held it in between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, his eyes closed.  “Why?” he asked.
         The woman’s smile widened.  “You came to speak to the queen of Brillhalm.  You now stand before her.”  Her visage changed, and where the white robes had been, there was a suit of plated armor.  Instead of a staff in her hands, she held a huge sword whose hilt ended in the same spherical gem that had been on the top of the staff.  She sheathed the blade and smiled again.
         Zillian gasped and gave a bow, then looked up at the Queen.  His slitted pupils widened, becoming huge circles that consumed his irises until his eyes were opalescent orbs of black, as pure as the darkest ebony.  The sorcerer took a step towards the Queen.  “You summoned me,” he said.  “I have come.  Why do you wish to speak to me so as to place me under such personal risk?  The blizzard could have killed me, and...”  As he spoke those words, he stuttered slightly.
         The Queen finished Zillian’s sentence for him.  “The Inquisitors will surely claim you if you remain.  I do not require you to stay here.  My scouts have brought me news of a source of power, connected by a magical cord to the heart of the world.”
         “You wish for me to harness its powers.”
         The Queen nodded, and waved Zillian away.  He moved towards the door, pulling the hood over his head as his pupils faded to small slits again.  The cloak flowed behind him, and to the Queen it seemed that it was radiating power.
         Zillian snapped his fingers as soon as he was outside of the door, the slight sound reaching no ears but his.  He grinned again.  One of his teeth was cracked.  As he neared the opposite end of the hallway, he heard footsteps.  He snapped his fingers again, the sound disappearing from the air around him, and began to speak.
         His voice sounded as though it was coming from everywhere at once, distorted, echoed throughout the hall.  Zillian stopped moving completely and mouthed a single word: “Si’la.”  He felt a shift in the light around him, and everything was dark.
         Standing completely still, he waited as the sound-warping spell expired and the footsteps returned.  Slowly they left, receding into the shadows, and Zillian breathed a sigh of relief, clasping his hands together and pointing them downward at a steep angle.
         Steel pressed against the back of his neck, and a rough hand grasped his side, spinning him ‘round and pinning him against the stone of the wall.  His hood fell off of his head, and he stared with surprise into the eyes of the Inquisitor before him.  As he made a motion with his hand, the blade pressed harder against him, while a second weapon’s flat edge struck him in the wrist.  He cried out in pain, and the man plunged his blade into Zillian’s side again, and again.
         And again.
-----
         “I trust that you have apprehended the beast?”  Brann’s accent was thick, putting a large accent on every other word he spoke.  Even with that put aside, his voice came out in a low hiss, sounding not as human as the owner of the voice was.
         “Not certain, sir.  We haven’t received word from the Inquisitors sent to capture it,” he spat out the word it as if the subject of that conversation was a mere animal.  “However,” he continued without delay, his voice shaky, “It shouldn’t be long before he brings the creature to us.”
         “Sorcerers,” Brann said in that same, hissing voice.  “The Queen is fortunate.  It is only her position that protects her.  Understand that we will strike at the root of this corruption -- even if it means resorting to assassination!”
         “It calls itself Zillian,” the trainee said.  “And it has not only the power of magic at its disposal.  This... Zillian... has the favor of the Queen, and as you have said, her position protects her -- and him.  Beyond that, sir....” he trailed off.
         “Yes?”  Brann’s voice snapped; he had spoken with sudden ferocity.
         “I’ve fought him before, Sir.  We fended him off, but as he’s still alive, that means we can’t kill him by normal means.”  He paused.  “When we clashed, my blade met his heart.  I am sure this is the same one.  Somehow, he survived.”
         “Then this time, we shall snap his neck and bring his head tumbling from his shoulders.”
-----
         N’shyi wandered the roads of dreams, not sure where he was going and not entirely caring.  He’d never been particularly wise.  The darkness surrounded him, seeming to diminish the glow of his lantern to a mere fraction of what it should have been.
         There was something pulsing nearby; with each second, he could hear it.  His heart thumped in perfect harmony with the object, and that alone unnerved N’shyi greatly.  He stepped off of the road and into the unearthly glow that surrounded it on all sides.
         Sensations of all sorts erupted in his head.  It was beyond pain, beyond bliss... he felt his frame melting away as he joined with the Node.
         Then consciousness faded.