Chosen of the One: Chapter 10, Part 2

21 January 2026

Welcome back to another installment of our epic fantasy, Chosen of the One: Book 1 of The Redemption; for the balance of the chapter, we continue traveling with Thal and Blakstar through rumepant, during which the former deduces the names of the other keys from the name of Blakstar’s sword. Also, we learn that sinister forces are already at work inside Shigmar’s school. . . . (3 March 2014) We again remind our readers to right-click on the Glossary link, open in a new tab or window, thus enabling the reader to learn what each of these new terms mean.

Chapter 10, Part 2

More time passed to recover this time, both of them laughing and ignoring the patronizing looks both mounts gave them when both leaned on their horses for support.

Thal wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. “Feeling better?”

Blakstar pulled a square of cloth out and wiped his face and nodded. “A little.”

Thal stood silent for a moment, while Blakstar tucked the cloth away. “I wonder if we can deduce something about the other keys from what we know about your sword and its name,” Thal suggested.

Blakstar’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “What do you mean?”

“Well, from the sword’s name,” Thal said, “the will to fight, to have courage, or to have heart given from the One, seems to me to be a principle attribute of your order, along with strength and stamina. In my case, the case of a maghi, the principle attribute could be teka–the power to wield elemental forces, maghu, in the ancient language, or maybe knowledge, which is gnumu, or menu, which means ‘thought.’ So the Rod of Melbarth could be eli-maghu-ghebi, ‘teka giver of the One,’ eli-gnumu-ghebi, ‘knowledge giver of the One,’ or eli-menu-ghebi, ‘the One’s giver of thought.’” Thal tapped his chin thoughtfully. “There is a Rod of Melbarth in the tower’s atrium–the tower of the maghi school in Melbarth,” he added, “but it lies in a display case protected by many powerful ortheks . . . ,” he trailed off, still tapping his chin.

Blakstar laughed. “But which is it? and does it really matter?”

Blakstar saw Thal jerk when the kortexi laughed, bringing him back to the present. “I don’t have enough information to decide which it is, and the differences between them would change the rod’s inherent powers, so, yes, it does matter. I can only speak for my own order, but the symbols and their corresponding words from the ancient language are symbols of power. With them, a maghi can weave together ortheks that perform particular teka: change one of the symbols, or its position in the incantation, and the final result is completely different.”

“Maybe only the sword has a name like this,” Blakstar suggested, shrugging.

“If the three are keys that we need in order to complete our life’s quest, then it seems logical that they would have something in common,” Thal said.

“What if they are simply keys that open three different doors,” Blakstar noted, “my sword is the key that opens a special cabinet in the Mountain that holds my armor and equipment; what if they are like that?” Blakstar asked.

“Special cabinet?” Thal asked, suddenly eyeing him with more interest.

“The place where my armor was kept,” Blakstar replied, “the keeper told me that if I needed to replace anything, if something was lost or broken, that I was to return to the room and use my sword to open the cabinet where I would find replacement equipment.”

“How does it work?” the white maghi asked.

“There is a small slot,” the kortexi replied, “about the size of the blade. I simply slide the sword into it, and the cabinet opens.”

“Were there any markings on the cabinet or slot?”

“I don’t remember,” Blakstar said after thinking, “I was preoccupied at the time.”

“Too bad,” Thal frowned, tapping his chin thoughtfully with one finger, “it might help me deduce more.”

“Do you think that we will seek the rod first?” Blakstar asked after a short silence.

“There is no need to look,” Thal replied, “as the rod is in a case in Melbarth,” he repeated, forgetting that he had already mentioned this fact. Thal thought a moment. “No, since we are being sent to Shigmar,” he added, “home of the order he founded, I’d guess we will be looking for Shigmar’s staff.” He stopped and tapped his chin again. “The name of the staff is even more difficult than the rod. The principle attribute of a kailu is wisdom and what they do is healing; wisdom is a compound word in the ancient, wedhu, from weid, ‘to see,’ and dhu, ‘to set or put,’ as in setting something in motion or putting something into practice. In many ways, wisdom is putting knowledge into practice, so it combines knowledge and experience. But ‘wisdom’ is a late word, so in the time of Shigmar, it could have been, gnudhu, which is putting knowledge into practice. Healing is to make one whole, so the symbol for it is kailu, which would be the simplest–eli-kailu-ghebi–the ‘One’s giver of health.’”

Blakstar barked a laugh. “And we are still where we were,” he noted, “speculating, and no closer to knowing anything useful.”

The laugh again jerked Thal out of his musings. “You may be right,” he admitted, “but the more we know, the more prepared we are to face whatever Gar places in our way.”

The kortexi nodded, lapsing into silence; the red-haired maghi also fell silent, one finger still tapping his chin; the horses shifted and nickered in turn, joining their masters in the other-worldly silence surrounding them.

A shadow detached itself from the corner of the small room, little more than a closet with a tiny desk; a tall, cloaked figure moved toward the green-robed figure seated at the desk. The seated kailu jumped when the cloaked figure’s cold hand touched the kailu’s shoulder from behind; the kailu apprentice wiped his sweaty face with a red silk handkerchief.

“About time,” he wheezed, “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me.”

The cloaked figure pulled a chair around next to the desk, sitting and placing his fingertips together in front of his still hooded and shadowed face. The figure lounged rather than sat in the chair; his fingers drumming slowly together. The kailu wiped his face again, sweating even more under the silent scrutiny. The cloaked figure waited for a time before speaking.

“I had more important business to attend to, kerteradi,” the cloaked figure finally said.

“That is not my name!” the kailu protested.

“It is the name of those who sell themselves to the Great Lord, so it is your name,” the figure replied coldly.

The kailu flinched and compulsively wiped his face.

The cloaked figure leaned back and laughed, his mouth and chin, surrounded by a perfectly trimmed brown beard, were momentarily visible. “Never think that the Great Lord has forgotten you, kerteradi,” the figure grasped the arms of the chair and leaned toward the kailu, his voice becoming an ominous whisper, “the Great Lord never forgets those who have sworn into his service, never fails to reward the obedient, never fails to punish those who fail in their assigned tasks.” The figure reached with his right hand toward the kailu, index finger pointing and touching the center of the kailu’s chest; the kailu arched back in his chair, a scream exploding from between his clenched teeth. The cloaked figure pressed his finger harder into the kailu’s chest, causing more writhing and louder screaming, removing his finger a moment later. “Have you forgotten whom you serve?” he whispered.

The kailu still shook, panting and trying to speak. “No, Lord,” he croaked, “but someone might hear: many who saw you here would recognize you,” he managed between pants, “and I would be revealed, ending my usefulness here, to the Great Lord.”

The cloaked figure laughed again. “If that happens, I will kill you myself, but not before you have screamed yourself hoarse and after we have stretched you across the altar and let Mistress Melufa have her way with you, giving your still beating heart to the Great Lord. Do you take me for a fool?”

The kailu fell out of his chair, prostrating himself in front of the cloaked figure. “Never! I serve the Great Lord, and his favored servant.”

The cloaked figure kicked the kailu off his feet. “Get up, kerteradi, and give me your report. How proceeds the Great Lord’s plan?”

The kailu got painfully back into his chair, wiping his face with the red silk, then picking up a mirror off the desk. He looked at the place where the cloaked figure had kicked him, saw a bruise forming under his left eye. “Lord, if people see this bruise they will ask questions.”

“Then heal yourself, kerteradi,” the figure snapped.

“I . . . I cannot,” the kailu admitted.

“Then cover it,” the figure replied. “My patience is not unlimited.”

The kailu flinched, tried to wipe the sweat from his face, but tossed the red silk handkerchief, soaked with sweat, onto the desk. “I did as you instructed,” he reported, “I took my kailu master to the secret glade and showed him the altar.”

“And how did your kailu master respond?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“As you anticipated, he was outraged,” the kailu continued. “I reminded him who was there last, and he vowed to take action. When we returned, he called for a council.”

“Does he have enough votes?”

“Yes.” The kailu wiped his face with the sleeve of his green robe. “The seeds have borne fruit.”

“When he is condemned, signal. The purem and ghelem hordes will be unleashed against Shigmar.”

“But the seklesem?” the kailu asked, hoping not to upset the figure.

The figure laughed again. “Do you think you are the only kerteradi among the Great Lord’s foes? There are others, many others; they will ensure that Shigmar falls and that if the seklesem come, it will be too late even to bury the dead.” The cloaked figure was silent for a moment, tapping his fingertips together before his shadowed face. “What about your little job in the Infirmary?”

“I did as you commanded,” the sweating kailu replied; “it slid into the wound and disappeared, as you said it would.”

“Not even that meddling fool, Avril, will notice,” the figure noted with satisfaction. “You have done well, kerteradi. When the captives are dragged from Shigmar, the Great Lord will make sure you are rewarded with she whom you desire.”

“But what if something goes wrong? Headmaster Myron is notorious for having tricks up his sleeve: what if he pulls off another miracle?”

“Myron has one great weakness,” the figure assured his cringing servant, “everything has been set up to exploit his weakness.”

“What is it?”

“The law,” the figure replied, “he is a great believer in the law. He will not pull another miracle out of his sleeve when his apprentice has been tried and convicted according to the laws he holds dear. The plan can only fail if you fail, and I know,” the cloaked figure continued slowly, pointing at the kailu’s chest, “you will not fail, for you fear the pain of failure and desire the promised reward with all the fires of your lust: the apprentice’s witch will be yours.”

The kailu’s face lit up; a vision of Klare filled his mind. “You will teach me the red kailu way of mastering the will of another, so that she becomes my willing slave?” he asked in a breathy whisper.

“Yes,” the cloaked figure hissed, “think of her, your willing slave, ready to fulfill your every desire.” The cloaked figure paused, giving the implications time to sink in. “Now, kerteradi, there is one more thing.”

The kailu looked up at the cloaked figure, his cheeks colored with the visions filling his head. “What?” he asked, his desire plain upon his face.

“You must take me to visit your master,” the cloaked figure said.

The vision snapped shut; the kailu leaped out of his chair. “Are you mad?” he shouted.

The cloaked figure raised his arm, finger pointing and moving toward the kailu’s chest; the kailu stumbled backward, trying to avoid the pain he saw coming toward him. “You dare accuse me?” the cloaked figure asked, power and menace filling each word.

The kailu fell again to his knees. “Forgive me, Lord,” he choked, “the vision you called up in my mind distracted me, and your request caught me off guard.” The kailu placed his head on the floor in abjection.

The cloaked figure bent over the kailu groveling at his feet and brushed his fingers across the top of the kailu’s head, giving him only the slightest jolt of pain. “Get up, kerteradi, and take me to your master.”

The kailu got slowly to his feet, eyes on the cloaked figure. “May I ask why?”

“You may ask,” the figure replied, “and I may answer, depending on how quickly you fulfill my command.”

“We will go at once, Lord,” the kailu replied, moving quickly to the door of his room. He opened it only a crack, to view the hall.

“The Great Lord,” the figure continued, “wants to be sure all of the chosen now present in Shigmar are condemned to death, so I will become your master.”

“How is this possible?” the kailu asked in awe.

“To the Great Lord, all things are possible,” the figure replied, naked eagerness revealed in every word. . . .

Return tomorrow for the Poet’s Corner, and Friday for another installment of our tale! In the next chapter we will see the first meeting between the principle chosen, and some of the early results of their new fellowship. Remember that the entire text is available from Smashwords for free! Also, for those who prefer print, use the link provided.