“Where’s Lorena?” I questioned.
“THAT WAS NOT HER,” they reminded me.
“Then where’s Hela?”
“WE TOOK HER,” the room answered. “SHE IS PART OF US, NOW.”
“Not one of us,” a single voice spoke.
“But used for parts,” another clarified.
I was naked and dripping with blood. I magically created a towel to dry myself off, but it only smeared the blood that covered me. “Ugh, this won’t do,” I uttered.
Many arms reached out to me. “YOU HELPED US REMEMBER WHO WE ARE. LET US HELP YOU.”
I held my arm out to them, and I was pulled down into the floor! My body was pushed, twisted, and pulled in the cold darkness among the dead. I was then slowly dropped from the ceiling, so I could land on my feet. The blood that covered me was cleared away, and, although they were rough with me, I saw no cuts or bruises. I then concentrated to create a new set of clothing for myself.
The stone floor was cold beneath my bare feet, so I began by magically forming a thick pair of boots. I designed them to look and feel like the fur boots the Dark Elves wore. I then created a pair of black pants and a thick, sleeveless shirt. I felt much better, except for an aching hunger. I sat on the edge of the pool for a moment, suddenly lightheaded.
Holding my stomach, I asked the dead surrounding me, “Do you happen to have a sniff of cheese or a crust of bread?”
“Sniff? Crust? Whatever do you mean?” a skull with a nasally voice asked. “We have neither of those things down here in the dark.”
Catching the scent of the blood that filled the pool behind me, I examined my hands and suddenly realized what had been done to me. “It cannot be! What is this, some sort of sadistic joke? I’ve been changed.”
“WE TOLD YOU. WE TOLD YOU THAT YOU’VE BEEN HEALED.”
I scooped up a palmful of blood from the pool and smelled of it. The blood didn’t smell the way it used to; it smelled sweet. I sipped it, and my body craved more. I had tasted blood before, during my necromantic studies, but I remembered it having a distinct metallic taste. Now, it had a taste similar to warm honey. I drank until I no longer felt the hunger pangs.
“ARE YOU FEELING BETTER, SIR?”
“Yes, thank you. Do you think maybe I can leave, now?”
“OH! OH! YES!”
The walls shifted to reveal a corridor leading to another room. I ran into a larger chamber to find bloody instruments and a clay jar on a table. I could sense dead matter within the jar, so I opened it, finding a brain. I pulled the brain out and held it, feeling its memories through my fingertips. Tears of blood began streaming down my face again.
“It’s her,” I murmured. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Lorena.”
I saw a memory of myself through Lorena’s eyes when I was unconscious in Ashwood. She would never admit it, but she did love me. She held me in our magical prison as it shrunk us down to fit within the orb that Byron carried. Takarha was also held prisoner within the orb. Byron and Dirk blended in as defenders of Ashwood by attacking their own army while making their way to the tunnel leading out of the city. Summoning spectral steeds, they rode to this place where Byron used us in his dark experiments. He used the knowledge he learned from my father’s notes and every drop of Takarha’s blood to create the rejuvenating pool. I was his test subject to find out whether or not the magical elixir mixed with the blood of a vampire would turn me into one. Lorena was chained to this table where Byron removed her brain and replaced it with his queen’s to give her a new, beautiful body.
I carefully placed Lorena’s brain back into the clay jar and sat on the edge of the table to think.
“We’re sorry about your friends,” I heard the skeleton Odilia say. Her voice was a chilling whisper in the cold room.
I looked around at the many skeletons. They had divided and taken shape while I was lost in Lorena’s memories.
“Friends,” I repeated. Sensing she was still here, I called, “Takarha!”
The elfling stepped out from the undead wall. Her flesh was dry and sunken much like Kronyx when Jinxie stabbed him with Devour. I got down on my knees and hugged her.
“Look what he did to me, Ambros,” she said sadly, pulling her head free from her body. “He only wanted my blood, the blood Eve gave me,” her now disembodied head explained.
“I’m sorry, Takarha.”
“It’s okay. I have a new family, now,” she said, lifting her head up to smile at the undead surrounding us.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I offered.
Placing her head back in its proper place, she answered, “Eve’s gift of eternal life now flows through your veins. Don’t waste it. Don’t waste it,” she repeated.
I cried and held her again before she rejoined the others.
“Goodbye, my dear Takarha.”
Now that I was a vampire, I felt my powers were enhanced, for I could sense the remains of horses and even more dead soldiers far above us near the surface of the underground temple.
“Odilia, where is your king?” I asked again. “Where is Byron?”
“He and Master Dirk have gone to the dwarven kingdom.”
“Can you lead me to this kingdom?”
“We can,” Galenos answered. His voice was shrill and frightening. “Byron commanded us to watch over you, so that’s exactly what we’re going to do. We may be twisting his orders, but he can still press his will against us. If we turn on you, it is not our doing.”
“I understand.”
“Centurions! Prepare to depart!” the ancient, undead General commanded.
A hunched back skeleton wearing only a helmet asked, “Do we have to do it outside?”
“We cannot travel that distance in one night. The sun will destroy us!” another spoke out, bringing others to voice their disapproval of leaving the safety of their dark sanctuary.
I waved my hand to silence them. “You’ve grown too comfortable down here in the mountain. The sun will not destroy you, but it may destroy me,” I added, remembering Eve telling me years ago that the sun burned her skin. “How far is the entrance to the dwarven kingdom?”
“It is a three day’s ride. We can leave at dusk and cover a lot of ground before dawn,” Galenos answered.
“Good. Does the sun shine, now?” I asked since I had lost track of time.
“It’s not yet mid-day, Lord Ambros.”
“Thank you. In the meantime, why don’t you all head to the surface, so you can feel the sun on your old bones while you call your horses from their slumber?”
“We have horses?” I heard someone ask excitedly.
The undead soldiers marched out of the room toward the entrance while I looked around their king’s sanctuary. With the walls now bare of bones, the place seemed much larger. I walked into a room where its walls and ceiling were layered in bits of parchment and dried skins with writings on them. In the center of the room was a stone pedestal holding the glass orb that I was captured in. It illuminated the room in a soft light.
Stone steps led up to a sarcophagus large enough for two. A scene of people worshipping a great dragon was carved into it.
Against the left wall, there was a writing desk with a large book under another glowing orb. I sat down at the desk and saw that the book was Byron’s journal. I flipped to the beginning to find out who he was before taking my father’s body. I was amazed how the dark blood that now coursed through my veins allowed me to read much quicker than I ever had before.
What I learned was that near the end of the Draconian Wars, the days of peace began to return under Shadowrath’s solitary rule. Giants, trolls, goblins, even dragons, what few remained, pledged their allegiance, but their lives meant nothing to him, for he preferred the dead over the living. All creatures that once lived were summoned to carry out his commands. But there remained one he feared could overthrow his reign—Arethil, the last phoenix of this world. Before marching his army against her, he devised a plan in case he was to pe
rish. He molded dead flesh over the bones of a fallen elf and breathed undead life into his creation. He named him Byron and bestowed upon him a portion of his terrible power for the sole purpose of reviving him.
As Shadowrath’s immense army marched on the Evergreen Plains, home of the elves, Byron awaited his master’s call in the Citadel of Shadow. Once news reached his ear that Arethil sacrificed herself to defeat Shadowrath, Byron commanded a second army of undead to reclaim the great dragon’s remains. But it was Shadowrath’s living followers that destroyed his army before his ultimate demise. All those who valued their life and the life of their kin turned against Shadowrath and stood alongside the elves to defeat Byron’s undead army.
The weight of the Draconian Wars was lifted, but all races felt defeated. With the light of Arethil extinguished, the Great Winter spread from the north to blanket the world in ice. Many dragons struggled for supremacy once again, while others decided it was best to allow their race time to recover from the brink of extinction. These dragons formed an alliance and vowed to rebuild a peaceful world and live closely with the elves during this new age when the earth itself seemed bent on purging itself of life.
The elves wished for Arethil’s return, but the risk of Shadowrath’s resurrection was much too great. The Dragons, on the other hand, did not want either to exist in their world because both entities posed a threat. After much debate, an obsidian chest was forged and powerful magic was used to hold both Arethil and Shadowrath within a dimensional prison. The chest was then cast into the Abyss of the Dead, along with many of the fallen, never to be brought back to the surface.
No longer with purpose, Byron disappeared into the wilderness. For centuries, he studied himself and what creatures crossed his path until one day, he came upon a small village of people similar to the elves. His dead skin made it impossible to pass as one of them, so he remained in shadow and studied them from a distance. Once he realized they were unskilled with magic and barely capable of surviving the harsh climate, he stepped out of the darkness. The men of the tribe moved to attack him, but Byron called upon the remains of animals that the people had killed for food. Hundreds of skeletons arose from the snow and joined together to form a bone golem. The frightened warriors lowered their spears and bowed down to Byron, along with the rest of the villagers.
To better withstand the cold, Byron led his people into the mountains and into a system of caves that he had discovered in his travels. He then asked the mightiest among them to offer himself as a sacrifice. The man gave himself willingly, and Byron breathed his life into the man. He transferred his consciousness into the man’s body to appear as one of them, to feel alive for the first time in his long life.
From among the flourishing city within the mountain, Byron took a woman as his queen. Her name was Hela, and she was both strong and beautiful. She worked closely with her people while Byron experimented and delved deeper into the arcane.
Through Byron’s magic, his people grew to be very old. After their passing, he brought them back to continue serving him and the living. But the real honor was being chosen as the king and queen’s new vessel. With every century that passed, Byron and Hela chose a new body from among their citizens.
The Great Winter finally came to an end, and the ice receded north, allowing for Byron’s people to live above ground once again. A castle was built on the mountain where they had lived for millennia. The living began building homes for their growing families farther and farther away, while the dead were called to the castle to spend their afterlife in service to their king, defending his kingdom from the multitude of beasts that roamed the lands.
Byron ruled over a prosperous kingdom. That was until a new threat came upon the wind. Though, it wasn’t another ice age to envelop the world. It was a dragon! A Red Dragon from the east, with a taste for human flesh, burned homes and devoured people.
Byron and his army of both living and dead soldiers attacked the great serpent with arrows and spears. They lured the dragon away from the homes to the castle. It broke down the doors, and while taking the form of an elf, it stormed in to see what king would cower behind the throne while his cities burned. But Byron did not cower. He called forth a flood of undead from the depths of the castle to force the beast back outside where they merged to form a massive golem. The dragon returned to its true form and fought the golem before taking to the air to flee.
Homes were rebuilt, and the living felt safe again while their deceased ancestors kept unblinking eyes on the kingdom’s ever-expanding borders. Peace had returned, but it was not to last.
From the east, a storm blew that shook the very walls of Byron’s keep. The dragon had returned but, this time, with others carrying giants on their backs! Byron’s great kingdom was reduced to ash, and his army of undead was destroyed by fire and lightning. Byron and his queen, along with what few families escaped, retreated back into the ancient tunnels of the mountain.
Leaving Hela to watch over their people, Byron journeyed east to learn that the race of dragons had grown strong. They claimed to serve the elves, but, in secret, they drew plans against them and used the lesser creatures to set their scheme into motion. The elves were kept divided, weak, while the dragons’ numbers grew. The dragons of the council believed it was nearing time to strike.
Upon meeting him, Byron knew Magnus was undead. He knew he was a type of vampire, but an opportunity to study him didn’t arise until now. It seemed Magnus survived his decent into the abyss, and he sent word to Dirk that he was imprisoned and residing in the dwarven kingdom until the spell could be broken. He also sent word that he had recovered the chest containing Arethil’s remains. A band of dwarves attempted to bring it to Dirk and Byron, but they were killed by goblins before reaching the surface.
Magnus instructed Dirk to locate the lost chest and carry it to the surface where direct sunlight will revive Arethil, and the race of dragons can be vanquished forever. While Arethil is capable of creating herself a new body, Byron fears he will be called by Shadowrath to give up his to hold the immense power of his master within this world. Byron has lived many ages, now, and doesn’t wish to give up his existence.
Byron believes he can break the spell on Magnus, but he needs the mystical properties found only in the blood of a dragon. From what race of dragon, he doesn’t yet know. The sample taken from the infant Black Dragon in Ashwood ruled out their blood. While he continues to search for a dragon that he can capture easily, he plans to release Magnus only after he has taken the chest for himself. He wants to study its contents without releasing its prisoners in hopes of siphoning the power from within.
Scattered throughout his journal, Byron drew strange symbols that glowed various colors to the trained eye. Rubbing a finger over the symbols, I could feel a pulsing energy that sent visions into my mind. It was a list of spells he had learned and created over the centuries! There were spells on raising and controlling the dead. There were many spells learned from an enchanted staff called the Staff of Storms. A spell to summon weapons made of ethereal energy was learned from Dirk. There were also many pages with detailed drawings of creatures that he had seen in his travels and experimented on.
His experiment on me was a success. He intended to use the blood of a vampire to heal his own body so that he wouldn’t have to continue transferring his consciousness into another. He had learned from my father’s notes in Ashwood that he could replicate a small sample of blood to the amount he needed.
I read all that he had written, learning everything before I felt it was time to leave.
CHAPTER XI
WAR IN THE EARTH
My swords, Scourge and Devour, were on another table. I strapped them to my back and carried the clay jar containing Lorena’s brain up a long tunnel that led into a ruined castle. The roof had long since collapsed, but the rubble had been pushed aside to create a path outside. The skeletons were standing shoulder to shoulder, filling the courtyard, staring up at the darkening sky. The sun had fall
en below the tree line, making the green glow of their joints look as though a strange mist had descended on the hillside.
I saw no horses. I could feel they were still buried in the earth. I took a seat on a block of stone in the courtyard of the castle and waited until the undead army watched the last rays of sunlight fade into the shadow of night.
When the dead turned to face me, I ordered them, pointing at the dirt beneath my feet, “I want all of Lorena’s remains right here.”
One by one, they stepped forward, and, without argument, they removed bones from their bodies that once belonged to the charismatic captain and placed them at my feet. The last skeleton to approach took hold of its skull and popped it free from its spine before gently placing it on the pile of freshly stripped bones.
I knelt next to the remains to examine the skull. The stitching used to hold the top in place was broken, and Hela’s brain had been removed. I took Lorena’s brain from the jar and placed it within the skull. For a moment, I thought of resurrecting her, but I knew she would be disgusted without flesh. While standing among the quietly waiting dead, I finally decided it was best to let her go. With a snap of my fingers, Lorena’s remains burst into flames.
The skeletons made a strange hissing noise that caused the ground to shake. The decomposed bodies of hundreds of horses stood up beneath their rider. They were held together by the same green aura. As quickly as they were summoned, they began riding out of the courtyard. I called for a horse of my own and followed the army east.
Skeletal horses can travel much faster than live ones, so we swept across the land quickly. During the day, I found that the sun did in fact burn my skin, so I wore enough clothing to protect myself from the light.
After three days, we reached a castle built on the side of a volcano.
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