Tyrus
Kelverin was awakened by the now familiar sound of the cell door being slammed shut. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked up just in time to see Tyrus struggling with six armored guards who were leading him away. Ellison looked at the prisoners for a moment before following the guards and closing the door behind him. .
Kelverin looked about the cell. They were now down to eight in their cell. Most were sitting alone, huddling in the straw trying to stay warm. He leaned back up against the cold stone wall and looked out the crack. Stars. How long had he been asleep? Four hours? Eight? It didn't matter, he supposed. He rubbed his stiff neck and tried to think. He poured himself another bowl of gruel and fell to it hungrily.
Belrin, frustrated, began walked to the back of the cell and began beating his fists against the stone wall. He concentrated his blows on the red bricks of the archer's slit. He bellowed and roared and beat his fists in frustration. The others watched, to weary and downtrodden to stop him. Belrin acted out their hopelessness. He eventually stomped back to the iron bars of the cell door, grasped them in both hands and sank to his knees with a sob.
Kelverin looked to the archers slit. One of the bricks had crumbled and cracked under Belrin's onslaught.
And then the screams began.
Blind Ambition
The clang of metal and groans of pain floated about the Battle District, rising above the cold winter wind. The sun shone down into the main courtyard of the great and legendary War Hall of Kitar.
The War Hall. It was here that warriors of all races and ages came to test their mettle. It was here that young men, with the gleam of battle lust in their eyes, came to learn the secrets of the Warlords. It was here, in this courtyard, that mock battles were played out, duels fought and blood shed for honor, love and justice. And it was here, into this courtyard, that Caspian strode.
A few warriors glanced up at his entrance with assessing eyes. He had the weather worn skin, old scars and grim set jaw of a warrior who had seen enough battles. Grey stubble matched his grey hair. He had the look of a freeman about him, even though his clothes were ragged and in disrepair. With one hand, he casually leaned on a long staff which was tipped one end by a long curved blade and on the other by a small, pommel-like counterweight. A long bow and quiver were slung across his back. He would have been ignored by those who fought and sweated under the overcast sky that day, another young swordsman looking for a teacher or to make a name for himself, but for the tattered rag bound over his eyes. Several men, hot and dusty, ceased their swordplay to look on. The Attendant, a fat and balding man, walked over to greet the newcomer. The Warlord, a tall man with greying beard, turned to see who the stranger was. Several of the warriors took advantage of the Warlord's distraction to fetch a drink from the water barrel and rest weary limbs. They kept their eyes on the Warlord lest he end their reprieve with a crack of his whip. But the Warlord did not move. With folded arms, he watched the encounter and waited.
None could hear the conversation between Attendant and the newcomer; most didn't care. The Warlord noticed the Attendant shifting his bulbous mass from foot to foot, a nervous habit. With growing agitation, the newcomer pushed the Attendant aside and strode boldly out into the courtyard. As he walked, he lightly and rhythmically brushed the ground with the blunt end of the bladed staff.
"Hear me, Warriors of the Hall! I am Caspian. I seek a score of men-at-arms and as many archers to serve me in a grand and noble quest to recapture a corrupt fief on the borders of the Rukemian Empire. There shall be gold aplenty for all who partake as well as the chance to prove yourself in battle and earn names for yourselves. Who will join me?"
A moment of silence was ended as laughter began, echoing about the courtyard.
"And why would we follow you, blind man?" called a huge bearded man.
"Do you take us for fools?" cried another.
"On the Duthelm border? There's war in the air, haven't you heard?"
Insults and catcalls suddenly filled the air.
Caspian reached back and took off the great horn bow that had been slung across his back. A few of the archers stopped their chuckling and gazed with renewed interest. A gekra horn bow is a fabulous weapon. Made from the two matching horns of the great gekra herd beast of the Northern Tusks. Such bows are hand crafted by the Aerithians and are reknowned for strength, accuracy and durability, rivaling even the jevani telex wood bows of the west.
Many of the guildsmen were still laughing, doubled over or wiping tears from their eyes and so they failed to see Caspian pull a long, feathered shaft from his quiver, nock, draw and fire all in a single, fluid motion.
The bearded giant who had spoken out first suddenly found his jerkin pinned to a wooden beam behind him. A bellow of fury escaped his lips as he struggled to free himself.
Several guildsmen drew their weapons and advanced upon Caspian. Caspian dropped his bow, kicked his bladed staff up to his hands with the tip of his boot and assumed a combat stance.
"Wait!" The giant tore his jerkin free and strode forward. "He's mine."
The giant picked up a massive hammer from one of the tables and walked boldly toward the blindfolded newcomer. Caspian began to move his bladed staff from hand to hand, twirling it as he went. The motion became a dizzying blur, an intricate dance of steel. The motion was graceful, almost delicate. And so the giant was unprepared when delicacy turned to brutality and the weapon shot out toward him. The steel whipped by the giant's jerkin and left a tear and a thin trail of blood. Gripping the hammer tightly, Kor let out a great roar and swung the weapon in a wide arc. Caspian ducked and fell back even as Kor advanced. The two began to circle each other swatting here and there, testing each other's defenses. Again and again, the great hammer came crashing down where Caspian had been only a heartbeat before. Each time a thunderous boom echoed in the courtyard and cracks appeared in the stone tiles. Caspian's weapon danced with circular motions, seeming an extension of his own body. Both kept moving.
Sensing a rhythm in his opponent's movements, Caspian feigned a slip of the foot. The hammer lashed out narrowly missing. Caspian took advantage of his opponent's extension, his mass out of place, and lunged in low raking his blade across the giant's side. A roar of pain and fury escaped his lips. Kor growled and kept his hammer closer to his body. He wasn't going to fall for that again. Cas began circling more quickly, strike, dodge, strike... waiting for an opening. Finding none, he lunged in with a flurry of quick strikes that blurred before the giant's vision. Three strikes shot out to the giant's hands in quick secession and three of Kor's fingers dropped to the ground along side the hammer. A stunned Kor staggered back holding bloodied hands up before his disbelieving eyes.
Caspian stuck his weapon in the soft earth at his feet. Many of the gathered warriors grunted in approval. Such an act during a duel could only be viewed as an honorable one. Caspian took advantage of the giant's distraction and lunged low toward the giant, sweeping his feet out from beneath him. The giant landed on his stomach and a great whoosh of air escaped his lips. Caspian rolled, turned and leapt onto the giant's back. He then gripped Kor's neck with both hands and squeezed evoking a spasm of pain from Kor. The giant Kor moaned as his eye's rolled up into his head and his body slumped into unconsciousness.
Seeing a clear victory, and a fair one, many of the warriors began beating weapons on shields and cheering in approval.
"Enough!"
The word cut through the din and echoed about the courtyard. Instantly, the guild warriors withdrew dragging an unconscious Kor with them. Warriors looked up to the balcony from where the shout had originated. A short, grey haired man with a gristly beard stood like a rock on the balcony raining down an angry glare upon the courtyard. His face was massacred by a vicious scar which ran from his forehead, through his left eye, down to his cheek.
"Who are you to come in to my guild and challenge my warriors to a fight?" The man gripped the rails of the balcony with his hands
"Caspian, heir to the Duchy of Storming Glen."
"Well, I've never heard of you. I'm lord of this guild and I decide who goes and who stays. You want warriors for some damned quest, you talk to me and do you're talking with gold."
"Can they not decide for themselves?"
"Not while I'm master here."
"Is there nothing I can say to sway you?"
"You can sway me with your riches. If you're heir to a duchy, you must have mountains of the stuff."
"I have no gold, nor anything else of value, except what may be won from the quest.
"What have you got now?"
"Only my honor and my life."
"Little value do those have here, I assure you."
"Then I challenge you to a duel, Guild Master. If you win, I'll leave in peace and if I win-"
"-you'll not win, boy."
"Then you have nothing to lose. Come. Fight me. Surely, the master of a warrior's guild has nothing to fear from a blind man. Or are you a coward?" Caspian said in a mocking tone.
The guildmaster began stomping down the stairs.
"If it's a good thrashin' you want, then you've come to the man who'll oblige ya."
Caspian retrieved his weapon from the soil and wiped it off. Taking a few practice swings in the air, he readied himself. He heard the clink of coins and the sounds of betting. It seemed that the crowd had taken a renewed interest in this fighting.
"What are my odds?" asked Caspian, directing the question toward the sounds of betting.
"10 to 1 against you." a voice said.
The guildmaster drew two short blades, each only a forearm's length.
"Before we begin, boy," the Guildmaster growled, "know that you face Belisar, Giant Slayer, Dwarf Crusher, Scourge of Battle, Lord of the Kitaran Military and Master of this War Hall".
Caspian made no response but responded by placing his blade in a low, ready stance. As he had done with the bearded giant, Caspian concentrated and reached out with his mind. He allowed himself to be aware of the life of the man that stood before him, separate from his own life. He felt the warmth of Belisar's body, the pulse in Belisar's neck. And he envisioned the glow of the man's aura. It was bright and strong. This man was healthy. He stood with his right foot forward, both hands held low. Caspian smiled inwardly.
Belisar lunged in, one blade leading the way. The first blade swatting Caspian's weapon aside and was quickly followed by the second blade which raked down. Fiery pain tore through his shoulder and Caspian gasped. Again the two blades came in, this time from a different direction and Caspian raised his weapon to defend. The twin blades came in a flurry striking high then low then to the side. It was all Caspian could do to keep up. But he managed. Twisting his bladed staff to and fro, he moved as he sensed Belisar moving. Blow after blow Caspian parried.
Sensing an opening in Belisar's pose, Caspian lunged in. He felt solid contact, knowing he had been blocked, and pulled back just in time to parry another blow from the side. The two warriors were circling each other quickly in a dance of death. The weapons struck and struck again. Metal clanged loudly and the onlookers roared in excitement.
Suddenly, Caspian sensed Belisar was in the air, three feet off the ground and Caspian realized too late that his opponent was standing on a table. Caspian felt a booted foot connect with his jaw and he flew backwards, sprawling in the dirt. Cas rolled over and sprang to his feet, facing the other direction just as Belisar landed in a low crouch.
A blade came in from the side raking across Caspian's thigh while the other smacked the staff aside. Caspian faultered and then quickly regained his balance. But the blows were coming in from all directions, too fast. Caspian held up his staff blocking here and there. He felt the warm sticky blood flow from a dozen minor wounds. He tried to think of what to do as the blows rained down on him. It came to him. From his earlier years, the Focusing. He had to focus his strength. If he could only concentrate, focus everything he had into one blow. He ignored the pain, the blows, concentrating on his own energy, calling strength to him from deep within him. He felt the warm glow begin tospread through his body seeping into the wounds, dulling the pain.
But then a sudden shock of steel rang through his head and Caspian felt the ground rise up to meet him. All sense of up and down fled. The roar of the crowd began to fade into the distance and his senses blurred. Silence engulfed him and Caspian sank into unconsciousness..
Tavern Meeting
Sendel stabbed at his thunderbeast steak with vicious slashes of fork and knife. A fat sack sat carelessly on the ledge next to him in the corner table of the tavern. Smoky shadows danced against the wall from the flickering candle on his table. How could he have been so careless? He had been so close. A lock. A simple lock had been all that stood between him and the trophy room. He had disarmed hundreds of locks. He remembered his training back at the academy. His instructors. Endless repetition. Granted, this had been no ordinary lock. A visionary locksmith with a sadistic gift. But still, to be foiled by a lock. A puzzle of metal. It was more than he could bare. And so he took it out on his meal. He took another bite and washed it down with frothy gulp of Perrenland Black Mead. Atleast he could get delicacies from his homeland here... with enough money. As he tilted his head back and threw back the last of his mead, he spotted a slim figure slinking through the shadows and smoke toward him.
The figure moved into the light revealing himself. It was a wizened old man with pointy beard and bright eyes that shone out from beneath the brim of his broad hat. His dusty coat was ragged and worn thin as were his gloves and shoes.
"It's about time, Norrik. Another hour and I'd have gone to the guild for another fence."
"And been robbed in the process I assure you. No one knows this city like me. I can lose the loot with no danger to you and I'll get you more'n what's fair."
"So you've said, old man. Now... have a seat and I'll show you what I bagged."
With a quick look about to make sure they were well hidden in the shadows, he began withdrawing items from the sack, one by one.
"Very nice", the old man said, handling a crystal goblet. "Beautiful. Remarkable piece of glasswork."
"Why this tavern?" asked Sendel, "why here, out in the open."
"There's a certain anonimity that comes with a crowded tavern. Easy enough to blend in and become part of the background. Besides, this lot of ruffians is mostly pickpockets and thieves themselves. Not the kind to raise an eyebrow at two respectable folk conducting a private business meeting in the back corner." He smiled and winked to assure him. "Now come on... let's see the rest."
The old man ooohed and aaahed appropriately. Sendel made a good show of it. But he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in the old man's expression.
"I'm going back", Sendel blurted suddenly. The old man looked up.
"Back? Sounds a bit risky. After tonight's foray, the gentle lord whom you took these pretties from won't be so lax with his guards and wards."
"The trophy room. You've heard of it?"
"I've heard tell of it, yes."
"I was there. I found the entrance, but I couldn't get in. But I will... soon."
"Don't be a fool. No one's ever gotten into the trophy room. Every thief in this city has heard of the treasures within. Many of the best have tried. They've all failed. What makes you think you can get in?"
"I just will, that's all," said Sendel. Norrik starred hard at him for awhile, searching for a crack in the young man's courage. With a sigh, he gave up. Sendel watched as the old man packed up the remaining trinkets back into the bag and stood up.
"I'll be in touch," said Norrik and with a tip of his hat, he blended into the crowd and was gone.
Birth
Thin blue tendrils of smoke rose from the sputtering flames filling the atmosphere and mixing with the pungent odor of herbs and decay. The flickering torches threw harsh shadows about the Hall of Incantations that leapt and danced around the stones. The sickly sweet smoke swirled, churning, rising up to curve with the dome of the large spherical chamber. At its center, a massive cauldron of some dark grey metal adorned with bas relief and wizard's markings sat in a depression in the stone floor. Around the cauldron, a walkway ran. Opposite the only door, a podium stood facing the pit. Tables and shelves lined the walls, running the length of the walkway.
Moving quietly about the room, Bardun Leyans, the castle's alchemist and herbalist, prepared the many herbs and elixirs that would be needed in the approaching ritual. It was not often that Bardun had the opportunity to directly aid Alfax in one of his spells. Usually, "Barley" (as many of the castle's inhabitants jokingly referred to him) was only involved in the preparatory stages of cleaning equipment and concocting herbal elixirs, tedious work that was done long before Alfax even began summoning the appropriate energies. But not this time. As always, when working, Bardun had his long red hair tied into a tail which tumbled carelessly down his back, his white robes emaculate. With intense concentration and a barely suppressed grin, Bardun went about his work. His hands quickly separated powders and liquids into precise proportions into the clean (recently cleaned by his own hands) flasks and jars. Some of the spell components required were rather gruesome and offensive to Bardun' delicate nature. He suppressed a gag while handling the jar in which a severed eye floated and tried not to think about where it had come from.
Across the chamber, a beautiful young woman sat in peaceful repose holding a methkari crystal before her. Ragell (she insisted that everyone call her by a last name) gently cupped the large clear shard in both hands. Its magical resonant quality was perfect for focusing herself and attuning herself to the magic. She blew a wisp of golden brown hair out of her eyes and listened carefully for the approach of Alfax and Kaellor. Although she sometimes needed the aid of the crystal to prepare for a complex spell, she would never allow Alfax to catch her using it. He considered such to be the ken of apprentices and punishment would be swift. She kept her eyes closed, but listened to Bardun, following him about the chamber, imagining him performing the various duties. She heard the clinking of flasks as he laid them out in neat rows. She listened as he filled the cauldron with the putrid slime that Alfax used in spells such as the one for which they prepared. She grinned as she heard Bardun gag from the stench. A weakling, that one, she thought. He'll never rise above petty alchemy and love potions. She grasped the crystal tighter, quite smug with herself, and concentrated harder.
Alfax hobbled into the Hall of Incantations with Kaellor behind. In a flurry of movement, a startled Ragell shoved the methkari crystal beneath her robes and stood, restoring life to her limbs. Alfax feigned a cough to cover his grin and made a mental note to double her work load for the day. Alfax wore his Magus Robes, shimmering white robes adorned with jagged black runes which seemed to crawl about the folds of the material. Bardun looked up from his work and gave a quick bow, smoothing his robes with his hands. He stepped aside and bowed again, hoping Alfax would notice his neat rows, his perfectly arranged tools. Alfax hobbled by without a glance. Kaellor, a hulking brute of a bodyguard, took up a position by the door.
Pausing before the podium, Alfax knelt with lowered visage, and offered up a prayer to Carrikos, Father of Magic, and after some thought, to Karenia, the Dark Lady. Bardun finished his work, as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the master's prayers. Ragell bowed her head, but her mind was racing, going over everything she had studied about this spell. Her gaze strayed to the large tome that sat upon the podium, its closed cover bound in the rough, scaly hide of some creature. Within those forbidden pages was power. Power denied her because of an old man who belittled her experience. Someday, she would peruse that book freely. Someday, but not today.
Rising slowly to his feet, Alfax opened the ancient grimoire which creaked in protest. He withdrew a bronze and sapphire medallion from a pocket and clasped it about his neck. This done, he began to slowly page through the book. The dark burgundy gem clutched within the carved talon atop his staff began to glow with an inner light. And Alfax began to read from the book. Ragell listened with every fiber of her being, hoping to catch a glimpse of the power. But the words melted on the air like liquid smoke, the power used up. Alfax clutched the staff with his gnarled hands slowly moving the shining tip about in slowly patterns, leaving a sparkling burgundy trail in the air. He began chanting dark verses, words of power. Softly at first and then louder, his frail voice grew strong. The air began to glow, charged with the energy of the magic. Ragell could feel her skin tingling and could hear the hum of energy. The stones began to rumble and throw back the echoes until the chamber trembled and the air shook.
Blocking out the pain, the vision, the sound... Ragell and Bardun went about their tasks. Bardun gripped the handle of a long wooden oar and began stirring the green ichor which churned and writhed in the great central vat as if alive. Foul green vapors rose slowly and steadily, mixing with the smoke from the braziers, choking the air, adding their stench to the palpable fumes. As the bubbling mixture began to glow from within, Ragell began to gather ingredients from the stone table at her side. With each verse the great wizard spoke, she added an ingredient to the slime. A chalice full of blood, a lock of hair, a shard of bone, an eye, a lump of flesh, a tooth, a strip of skin, a fingernail. With each addition, the slime grew more agitated, swirling and frothing into a frenzy.
For hours, the first rite continued as the chanting rose and fell. Bardun stirred until his arms ached from the work, but still he continued. Slowly, the blood soaked into the flesh. From this small lump of matter, tendrils of muscles and veins flowed outward entwining the bone, which splintered and grew and splintered again. The skin wrapped around the flesh shrouded bones, drawing them together into the semblance of a body. The eye, splitting and separating into two, forced its way into the mass of flesh which was not quite yet a head. The strands of hair swam toward the head, burrowing into the flesh like the dreaded bore worms of the swamps. A gash split the face in a gaping maw and likewise did burrow the shards of the shattered tooth.
Curling into a fetal position, the slime coated figure floated, turning slowly with the churning elixir. Bardun continued straining against the great oaken shaft stirring the mass of life below him.
Ragell stepped forward and rested her hands on a table before her upon which were neatly arranged a dozen scroll tubes. She closed her eyes and focused, probing the depths of the vat with her mind. She wished she could use the methkari crystal now, but this was the second rite and Alfax' eyes were surely upon her. She found the mind she searched for, quite suddenly. It was cold, empty, unconscious, but there. As she melded with the mind, she found herself floating in the bubbling putrescence, surrounding by the ectoplasmic currents. She physically recoiled, unprepared for the intensity of the sensations. The heat, the pain, the disgust she felt at the touch of the liquid. It was almost more than she could bear. But she could not fail. Would not. Not now, with him watching. She willed herself to be strong. Redoubling her efforts, she forced herself into the mind of the floating body, opened her eyes, opened the first scroll and began to read.
Her voice wavered at first, fearing to compete with the syllables of power that Alfax intoned. But gradually, she became more confident. Her clear voice rose and fell, playing around Alfax's spell casting, Above the bubbling slime her voice rose, above the roaring fire and distant thunder. She read... a name and lineage, a family and history. The next scroll was unraveled and the next, telling of duels won and battles lost, political trials, speeches written, traditions and lore. After a time, the final scroll was read. Exhausted, Ragell resumed her position and watched with tired but eager eyes. Alfax would soon be beginning the final rite.
The chamber door swung open and, answering some silent summons, Mandos, the Slave Master, strode in clutching a near naked female. His bulbous mass, pale pink skin and white eyes contrasted with the tanned skin and raven black hair of the slave who struggled in his arms. The albino half carried, half dragged the struggling woman to a table next to the podium and lashed her down with leather straps attached to it. Without haste or concern, Alfax walked to the table and bent over the woman. At his approach she recoiled, almost shrinking within herself, trying to escape him. But the straps prevented it, digging into her flesh. Cupping her cheeks in his gnarled hands, Alfax gazed deep into her fear filled eyes. Ragell leaned forward to see, starting to get interested. Bardun watched carefully. Slowly, almost reverently, Alfax withdrew a tiny green jewel from within the folds of his robe. No larger than a raven's eye. Ragell's breath caught in her throat as she gazed at the sparkling green gem. Vertrillium. She had heard of the substance, read studies conducted by long dead wizards, but never did she think that she would ever see it used.
Alfax, gently holding the gem between thumb and finger, held the gem above the woman's heaving breasts and closed his eyes in concentration. The woman, panting and straining against her bonds, tensed in fear as she saw the gem begin to glow. With a sickly moan, she relaxed and rolled her eyes back into her head. Her body began to heave and convulse unnaturally. Bardun offered up a quick prayer for the woman's soul, but then realized how futile that was. Her soul stood no chance against Alfax's magic. Slowly, a thin whitish mist began to rise from her body. Pure essence. Ragell's heart leapt into her throat. This was more than she had hoped for. She watched as the mist drew into the tiny vertrillium shard. The woman's body began to twitch and quiver more violently and a long moan escaped her lips before she fell limp and lifeless. Alfax held the gem up above him and inspected it. It was glowing brightly and humming slightly. Without a second glance at the woman, he turned to the cauldron and threw the gem into the bubbling slime. A flash of light lanced through the slime with a peal of thunder. Slime splattered about the room, the body shaped thing floating in the slime twitched in spasmodic agony. Ragell winced as the spasm echoed through her mental connection.
Alfax returned to the book and, with a disgusted look, wiped away a few droplets of the slime that had fallen on the holy pages. Again, the words flowed from him, dissolving in the air like a shadow of smoke. "Nok qwar mekdo chi'ja masune qep'zam hel shi'kai vudnek..." His words trailed off into the night. The form, floating in the cauldron, quieted. The thunder outside faded. With a snort of satisfaction, Mandos turned his huge mass and waddled out of the room.
Alfax closed the book, snatched up his cane and headed for the door, pausing half way round the chamber. "When the fluid has cooled, drain the cauldron and move the simulant," he gestured to the floating body, "to the table. It's flesh is still forming," he said to Ragell. "My work is done for now. Inform me when it awakens."
"As you wish, m'Lord", said Ragell. Her mind boiled at such an ego and such power. Someday, such power would be hers. Her gaze followed him he ascended the stone stairs up and out of the spell chamber. She was suddenly startled as Kaellor started to move, following his master. Kaellor had been silent and still for so long, she had forgotten he was there. It was almost as if a section of the wall detached itself to follow after Alfax. With slow, heavy footsteps, he ascended the stairs and followed his master to the heavy oak doors which led to the upper level. Ragell watched quietly as they left. When she was sure they were gone, she resumed her position of meditation across the chamber and took out her methkari crystal. Bardun began cleaning up.
This page last updated Wednesday, December 24, 2008. Copyright 1990-2009 David M. Roomes.