Just as he was about to lose consciousness, his entire body again convulsed in pain, and he was horrified to see a black barbed halo resting on his flayed open chest. The loop glowed softly red, and as Jonas watched, eyes wide with disbelief, the barbs of the wire elongated, burrowing into his flesh and bones like black worms. More pain assaulted his body as he felt the black cursed steel bind around his ribs, melting into his flesh and bones as the vile symbol of Dykreel became embedded in his body. “Shyann, help me!” he screamed, though he knew she could not hear him.
“Oh, she can’t help you now, no one can,” Raykin said, beginning to fold the flaps of skin back over the symbol.
Jonas’s mind reeled as dark emotions raced through him, hunting down his self and forcing it to retreat. There was a presence inside him, a dark presence threatening to suffocate who he was. He could sense it, so he built a small mental fortress, burying himself there, away from this force of evil that was invading his body. He knew that if the dark presence found it, that he would be destroyed forever. It was his strong willpower alone that enabled him to build the place of solace, to fortify it with enough inner spirit to blanket it from the evil shadow that occupied his body. He needed to rest, and so he did as the blackness covered his inner self, leaving his body alone with the new presence.
***
Jonas came to his senses slowly, as if his mind were pushing through a dense fog into a clearing of blue sky. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings he realized that it was not a blue sky, but a dark round room dimly lit by a wide circle of torches embedded into the ground. Benches filled with screaming, cheering people, lined one side of the room.
Jonas shook his head, trying to clear it, and as he did so he glanced down at his body. Clothed only in a metal and leather skirt resembling the garb worn by the tribes of the Sithgarin, he was otherwise virtually naked, fully exposing the pink scar in the shape of an X on his chest. As he slowly reached up to touch the wound, he noticed that he was carrying a heavy curved sword, the same blades he saw the warriors of the desert use. Where was he? Why was he standing in the middle of a room with a sword in his hand? And how could he stand with his knees having been so brutally crushed? As he gazed down at his legs he saw that both his knees were indeed gravely shattered, swollen to the size of large disfigured melons, bruised and bleeding in shades of purple, black, and red. Strangely, he felt no pain. He sought his mind for the answers and that is when he felt the presence. Then he remembered. The priests of Dykreel had placed a dark symbol in his chest, and it had embedded itself there, leeching a black force into his body.
He stumbled, feeling the presence spread out from his chest as it attempted to grip his inner self and destroy it. Jonas just caught a glimpse of two men, both wearing pieces of armor and carrying swords walk through a door on the far wall. They wore dirty brown breeches and they looked eager to fight. Was he in some sort of underground arena?
The image of the men disappeared as Jonas withdrew into himself, trying to fight off the black presence. He released control of his body and raced through the blackness of his mind. Where was he? It was an odd sensation but it felt as if he was in some empty space, but it was his space, somehow still him. He could feel an evil force reach towards him in the darkness as he neared the inner fortress he had built. All the strength of his mind had been compressed into this one pinpoint of light, and he saw it just ahead, like a star on a clear night.
In this strange place he had taken on the shape of himself, but he was more ethereal, like a ghost. He wore his shining armor and carried his twin swords as he shot towards the fortress of light. As he neared it, he heard the sounds of growling and howling becoming increasingly louder, though he could see nothing in the darkness. It was as if he were being pursued by thousands of screaming demons. The sound became almost deafening as he frantically flew like an arrow toward the light
As he neared the light, a black tendril lined with razor sharp hooks reached out for him from the darkness. Jonas flicked his right sword out, cutting the tendril in half just as he slammed into the light. His eyes flashed briefly and then he found himself in a floating circle of bright light. The walls were translucent and he could just make out the shapes of various demons pounding on the wall, eager to destroy him. Screaming angrily and howling in frustration, they tried to enter the sphere. But every time they touched it, there was a flash of light and they screeched in pain, retreating into the darkness. He was momentarily safe, but he had no control over his physical body, and that worried him greatly.
***
The group ran down a dark street as they followed the glowing sphere. It was almost morning and the sun was just beginning to rise in the distance. But it was still relatively dark, and the early morning rays had not yet penetrated the tall walls of the buildings that lined the roads. Though exhausted and covered with the filth of their battles, they ran on, their tired limbs fueled by thoughts of what could be happening to Jonas. He had saved them all several times, and they would repay him with their own blood if need be.
The glowing ball came to a dead end and stopped in front of an old oak door that was boarded shut with two thick pieces of wood. The area looked deserted, but the ball kept bumping into the wall as if it were knocking.
“What do you think?” Fil asked, breathing deeply.
“He must be somewhere behind this door,” Allindrian replied, examining the door more closely. “I’m sure there is a hidden latch somewhere,” she continued as she felt all around the door with her long delicate fingers.
“Any luck?” Addalis asked after a few moments.
“Not yet,” she replied.
“Enough! We cannot waste any more time. Stand back, Blade Singer,” Kromm ordered.
Allindrian stepped away from the door as the giant warrior stepped before it. He then lifted up his right leg, snapping it forward and kicking the door with incredible power. The door shook violently as wood cracked and splintered. He grunted with the effort of another powerful kick. This time one of the beams cracked, giving way and causing the door to snap at its hinges, bending inward. Kromm kicked the door one more time, putting as much effort into it as he could muster, and that was all it needed. The snapping wood echoed in the corridor and the door crashed forward, landing in the darkness.
Allindrian whispered a magical word under her breath and a glowing sphere of light appeared before her. The searching sphere created by Addalis shed some light, but not enough to see well in a large space. So she sent the light slowly creeping into the darkness as they followed the little dancing ball.
Kromm went in first, and the others followed. They had entered a large room filled with old empty pallets and various crates and barrels. It looked like an old warehouse, but it obviously had not been used recently.
“Look,” Allindrian said, pointing to the floor. Everyone glanced down and saw various footprints across the dusty ground. People had been in the room recently, and by the looks of the tracks, there were many.
The ball continued to float forward and Kromm led the group through the old warehouse. The king had just stepped past a large pile of broken and discarded crates when he caught a glimpse of movement from behind them. Something very large had caught his attention.
Kromm turned, lifting up his arm in an attempt to deflect an attack. Something very large and very strong came at him, striking him a glancing blow on the shoulder with enough force to send him flying sideways. He felt a searing pain, but luckily he had succeeded in diffusing much of the power of the attack by pivoting and ducking his shoulder at the last minute.
The rest of the group reacted quickly, leaping out of the way as the king was knocked from his feet. Allindrian’s light, floating above them, illuminated their attacker, a being shaped like a man, but much larger, maybe nine feet tall. But it wasn’t a man, more like a non-descript statue made of gray stone. It came at Allindrian, who happened to be the closest.
“Stone Golem!” she yelled, leaping out of the way of
a flying fist. Each of the golem’s fists was twice as big as a man’s, and they carried enough weight and force to crush bones and armor.
Fil, right behind Allindrian, swung his short sword down on top of the golem’s arm. His blade bounced off it harmlessly, and the golem, nonplussed, reversed its swing, striking Fil in the shoulder, the tremendous blow tossing Fil through the air. He smashed into a nearby post, and slumped, dazed, to the floor.
“Only magical weapons can harm it!” Allindrian yelled, surging forward at the back of the golem with her silver sword. Her blade cut into its stone body, slicing a shallow valley across its back. The beast showed no pain or reaction, it simply turned, and walked toward the retreating Blade Singer.
Durgen moved in quickly and attacked the golem from the side. His silver axe swung left and right, cutting deep into the golem’s leg.
Meanwhile, Kromm had pulled himself up from the floor and grabbed his fallen sword. His shoulder hurt, but he could move it, so he assumed it wasn’t broken or dislocated. He ran at the golem, attacking it from the opposite side, his huge sword coming down hard, digging a shallow valley into the golem’s back. It felt like his blade had struck moist clay rather than hard rock. The golem spun, flinging a fist towards Kromm. The stone construct was strong, but not very quick. Kromm easily ducked under the blow, ramming his sword up into its belly. The point struck hard, but only penetrated the golem’s tough exterior a few inches.
Allindrian then attacked the golem, this time from the front, with lighting quick flashes of her sword. Now the golem was being attacked from three sides, and every time it turned to engage another attacker, it was struck two or three times by the other two. Individually their blades did little damage, but all together, after numerous hits, the magical weapons of the warriors began to take their toll.
Finally, after several long minutes of fighting, the golem fell to its knees and crashed face first to the floor. There it froze, becoming as rigid as the stone from which it was made.
“Addalis, see to Fil,” Kromm ordered, nudging the golem with his foot. His booted foot struck stone, and the giant statue didn’t move at all.
“A guardian it would seem,” Durgen said as he stood above the golem.
“Aye, they are often used to guard entrances,” Allindrian agreed as she looked towards Addalis who was helping Fil to his feet. “How are you, Fil?” she asked.
“I’m fine, I think,” Fil said, rubbing his injured shoulder. “I don’t think anything is broken,” he added, slowly moving his arm in a circle. He grimaced as pain shot through his shoulder. He could move it slowly, but not without substantial pain.
“You may have damaged the joint, or severely bruised it. Can you swing your sword?” Kromm asked.
“Yes, I think so. But it’s painful. I’ll be fine though. Let’s go,” he said, forcing himself to ignore the pain as he retrieved his sword from the ground.
“That noise was bound to have attracted attention, so be vigilant. I’m sure we are not alone,” Allindrian warned, following Kromm after the little glowing ball.
***
Suddenly light flared and Jonas was again awake. It felt like a heavy dark blanket had been lifted from him, revealing his body to himself for the first time. All the sensations of his physical body rocked him at the same time. The sound of screaming men and women pounded in his head. Pain shot through his chest and his knees and he fell to the ground, his broken and damaged knees crumpling under him. Through his blurred vision he gradually focused on the ground. His hands were holding him up and his bloody and dirty fingers were digging into the dirt. The pain in his knees was excruciating and it was all he could do to keep himself from falling flat on his stomach.
He slowly brought his head up and his eyes found the bodies of two men sprawled near him. One of the men was dark haired and had eyes as bright as lightning. He could clearly see his wide eyes, staring at him in death, his hand still gripping his sword. Blood had pooled on the ground around his torso. He was no more than a pace away from Jonas. The other man’s head was turned and he could not see his face. But Jonas knew that he was dead as well, for the back of his head was matted with blood and Jonas could see a nasty crease where a sword had struck the fighter at the base of his skull.
It was then that he realized what had happened, and the memory of it caused him to convulse and vomit on the ground. He had killed them, and there, lying next to him, was his bloody sword, the same blade he was holding in his hand before he lost consciousness. He was fighting in some sort of arena. Men were screaming, money was changing hands, and Jonas seemed to be at the center of it all.
“You killed those men, how does that make you feel?” Dakar said, squatting near Jonas.
“I have killed men before.”
“But not innocent men,” Dakar said as the screaming and yelling continued. Obviously, the crowd wanted more fighting.
“They chose to fight in this arena. No one made them,” Jonas reasoned.
“True. But did you know that Baldar here,” Dakar said as he nudged the nearest body with his foot, “was hoping to make enough money to buy his girlfriend a ring. He wanted to marry her. He was an ex-soldier and I told him that he would defeat you easily. But your skills as a cavalier surfaced, your body reacting smoothly, and you killed him quickly. Actually, you killed them both with little effort. The other man was his brother, hoping to earn some money so he could leave this town and buy some land of his own. But he won’t be doing that, will he?”
“I did not kill them!” Jonas yelled. “You did! Their blood is on your hands!”
“I have lots of blood on my hands, but not the blood of these two men. I’m afraid the sword that cut them down was in your hands,” Dakar said, standing up. “It was great sport watching a cavalier kill two innocent men. The crowd loved it!” With Dakar’s last statement the onlookers roared and cheered loudly.
“No!” Jonas spat, “I…was not aware…I was not….in control…”
“Semantics, Cavalier…if you were not here then they would be alive. Logic dictates then that you were their cause of death,” he said, kicking Jonas in the side.
“I can’t even move, let alone fight,” stammered Jonas. He looked around and saw that the circular room was lined with a waist high wall. Five men, attired entirely in black, stood at guard along the perimeter. There was an area of seats on one side where over fifty men were yelling and shouting out bets. The other side of the round arena had a large wood and metal door that opened into a small pen. Jonas saw another man, this one much larger than the two he had just fought, swinging a heavy axe back and forth, warming up for what Jonas guessed was the next fight. He must be in some underground arena, where men fought to the death, for a crowd’s entertainment, and the chance to earn some coin.
Another kick flew at Jonas from the other side, the force of the blow knocked the air from his lungs, flipping him over on his back. He coughed violently, trying to suck in air as he looked up at his new attacker. It was the second cleric, the one called Raykin.
“Ahhh, yes, we crushed your knees, but you were standing and fighting. It is simple really. We placed a symbol of Dykreel into your chest. In that symbol sleeps a dark presence, a blackness that can take on the form of anything, deriving its power from Dykreel himself. All we need do is activate the symbol and the blackness seeps into your body, claiming it, and then it does our bidding. You have lost, Cavalier. After a while your inner self will lose the battle and your body will be an empty shell controlled by the Forsworn.”
“You lie!” Jonas hissed weakly.
“Did you ever wonder how the Banthras were created? Every ounce of goodness was driven out by the Forsworn until there was nothing left. It took some time, but don’t worry, we are in no hurry. You will be our slave. Correction, your body will be our slave. You will disappear forever,” Dakar said with a laugh.
“You see,” Raykin added, “when we deactivate the symbol you feel the pain of your normal flesh, but when the mag
ic of the Forsworn is controlling you, your physical body does not follow the rules of nature.”
“Shyann will protect me,” Jonas whispered.
“Oh? Where is your precious goddess now?” Dakar asked. “Just like the altar room, this room is protected by Dykreel himself.”
“She will find me…my friends will find me,” Jonas whispered with forced conviction.
“Even if they do, you are forever tainted with Dykreel’s mark. There is nothing they can do for you,” Dakar said icily.
“Shyann will find a way,” Jonas murmured through the pain, rolling over and turning his back in defiance of the clerics.
“No, she will not!” Dakar yelled, kicking Jonas in the face, snapping his head back and spinning his body so he was lying on his back again. Jonas groaned in pain, spitting out blood just before he lost consciousness.
***
When Jonas opened his eyes, he found himself inside a glowing sphere. He began to lose track of time and whether or not he was unconscious or awake. He assumed his physical body was unconscious, or he couldn’t access it; either way he did not have control of his body. He thought of those two men he had killed and his anger began to grow. What were they trying to do to him? He would fight back against this darkness inside him. He did not want to be a prisoner in his own body…he would rather die trying to free it.
His rage grew until it began to consume him, and his body began to glow as the anger coalesced inside him. He set his chin and narrowed his eyes as he looked outside his translucent mental shield. There was nothing there, at least nothing he could see. Jonas drew both blades and took a deep breath as his anger flared even brighter. Then he pointed both blades up and flew towards the wall of the sphere.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck Page 35
