The Plight of Radius

Four individuals appeared where there was in truth but one.

Radius looked over his brothers and his sister, their images wrought by his own will. The illusion was an elaborate one, powered by a breath-taking magical artefact. Not only could Radius see the images before him, but he could smell and even feel the familiar presence of his kin. It stirred great feelings within him and brought back powerful memories.

Their presence had bolstered his resolve and emboldened his quest. The entities of the night were wary of stout-hearted loners, but they soon became needful. Four in company, then, was much safer than one alone, the creatures unlikely to attack a composed gathering of adventurers. Radius had thoughtfully armed each brother and sister with a naked sword of silver as a deterrent. In the forest, many evil crimson orbs had peered out from the darkness. The party of four had hastened onward, the creatures awaiting an opportunity throughout the window of attack.

Fortunately, that attack had not come. But Radius knew his kin would soon be needed more than ever—for one last sacrifice beyond death.

A solitary path now wound up a dark cliff side. It was from here the wolves would descend. Radius held his three brethren low on the coastline, at the base of cliff, in imaginary debate. He continued onward, sneaking past them, as close the swelling waves as he dared. Once well past he mentally bade his kin climb the winding cliff path.

It wasn’t long before the howling of the wolves carried toward him, over the crashing turmoil of the sea. They ran high above, along the edge of the cliff, each faster than the wind. Beneath the ragged moon, they were revealed as fleeting spirits of fury. While his illusory kin worked as the bait, Radius moved away from the spray of the waves and set himself the task of climbing the looming cliffs. He didn’t have much time. The face was steep, but thankfully very rocky, and his limbs had no problem finding adequate hand- and foot- holds. He didn’t halt his ascent, finding speed something of a necessity. He knew that the wolves would rip the illusion apart.

Three-quarters of the way up the face, his fears were realised, as the mental connection dropped. The power of the jewel in his trouser pocket was exhausted.

It seemed an eternity later when Radius neared the top of the cliff. He hoped the wolves had been occupied long enough. Breathing hard, he pulled himself up and over and to his feet. As he did so, a soft, charming voice cut through his fatigued demeanour.

“Ah, you finally rise above your depleted companions.”

Jessel—it was he, the Were Fiend, in human form—stood before him, smiling down upon him.

“Clever,” he admonished, “but ultimately in vain.”


* * * * *

Radius almost fell from the cliff-top in his horror. He gasped aloud as he gazed the lord of the wolves. His doom was at hand.

“But you did succeed in testing my wolves—and they failed, if that’s any consolation?”

The man had a pointed chin and sharp cheekbones which jutted out so far as to appear to cause him excruciating pain. His eyes were cold, if faintly amused. Deception swam in those pools of silver, and if one were to gaze too long, they would step back in sudden knowledge and horror and plummet over a precipice of cunning, dashed on the rocks below. Jessel’s spreading smile served only to manipulate impossible angles: to expose conspiracies which where thitherto previously concealed. His smile was so confident, so cocksure, that one watching would naturally assume he was a master of whatever game he was playing.

“You know, you’ve still got your tongue.”

Radius was clearly unnerved by this turn of events. But then, as he opened his mouth to speak, Jessel’s movement shifted. The man’s head and attention diverted to another form. Radius glanced over but saw only a masked silhouette.

“Come, can you, at a more inopportune time?” he snarled, showing his true emotion on the matter.

“I have little or no choice,” answered a feminine voice from the backdrop. The voice was thin and cold and menacing. “One comes from over the border, Jessel.”

“Timorous?”

“Yes.”

“Then, Tisiphone,” his silver eyes turned to gauge Radius with shining malevolence, “our friend here has some merit.”

She laughed, her hidden black eyes blazing with fervent delight.


* * * * *


Tisiphone watched the newcomer step forward and approach her lord directly. He was a tall man, dressed in a magnificent robe of navy. Rays of moonlight bathed it and seemed to infuse it with a mysterious glow. The man had dark black hair and a face of pale, fair vision. His eyes were a flawless blue, possessing a rare purity. Secretly, she was enamoured of the librarian. He was an enigma, a secretive man who would often aid travellers into Fairhaven. While she resented his goodly traits, there was just something about him . . .

“Slowly!” she crowed, relishing the moment and the possibility of controlling him.

Lord Candlemar ignored Jessel’s underling and instead looked the wolf lord straight in the eye. He was not offset by his wicked glare.

“Let the man pass,” he declared in a soft, steady tone.

Jessel let surprise enter his tone, “He is another to attempt to flee the disfigurement of this land—why would I accept your proposal?”

The Were Fiend continued, “None enter Fairhaven without the prior consent or knowledge of my Lord, librarian.”

Jessel let his final words slide, “Else they chance my brethren.”

Radius watched all of it, listening intently, amazed by this turn of developments. Did he dare rest his hopes with Lord Candlemar, the librarian of the High Libraries of Fairhaven? Why did Jessel not just attack the man? Radius remained silent though, his life in the balance. Lord Candlemar was not of this land, but his stature was high—perhaps he could trade or negotiate his release into the Great Haven?

Presently, Lord Candlemar frowned.

“Jessel,” he began . . .

“I’m not having any of it librarian.”

“Oh but you are!”

There was a sudden flash of intense, searing light. Before he knew what was happening, Radius felt the ground rise up, and darkness swallow him . . .


* * * * *