These Shadow Stone amulets were gifted to each Dromoorai, Baelthrom’s most prized and powerful war machines. Each Shadow Stone was connected to the Shadow Master, and within the Shadow Master, Baelthrom could see through all the Shadow Stones worn by his Dromoorai. He could view his army and the Feylint Halanoi they fought from many angles—a valuable weapon in their war to dominate all Maioria.
Beside the iron ring stood a black stone altar, within which were six round hollows. In one of the hollows sat a crystal orb the size of Baelthrom’s fist. It shone dully in the low light of the brazier. The Orb of Life had not always been dull, Kilkarn had seen the time of its taking in the iron ring. Back then, long ago now, the orb had been bright and shining all the colours of the rainbow. Kilkarn had hated it, it hurt his eyes and made his head throb. The magic it held was the magic of the Ancients, and he was positively allergic to it.
Now it was dull, he could look at it easily, scornfully. For all its supposed power, Baelthrom had simply picked it up when its Keeper, an Ancient High Priest, slipped dead off his lord’s sword. As the life force of the Ancient dwindled, so too did the light of the orb. It was through understanding something of the Orb of Life that Baelthrom had managed to tap into the natural life energies of the planet, and reverse them to create immortal life.
Baelthrom had mentioned once that two Ancients still remained, but more than that he did not say, and Kilkarn always wondered if, when those last two died, would the orb itself turn dark and die? Perhaps that was why Baelthrom allowed two to remain, in case the power of the orb died, but he could not know for sure.
There were five other orbs, and soon they too would fill the empty hollows, and their power would become Baelthrom’s. For whatever Baelthrom wanted, he got, and he wanted nothing more than the power of all the orbs.
‘Maioria.’
Kilkarn jumped at the sound of his master’s voice. It echoed around the chamber.
‘Abundant, rich in magic… And soon, like the land they called Tusarza, it will all be under my control.’ Baelthrom did not move as he spoke and his lips, if he had any, were hidden behind his mouthless helmet. Only his pupil-less eyes changed. At first, they glowed dark green, then to red and back again.
‘Soon, my lord,’ Kilkarn grinned.
‘Long have I waited. In the beginning, when first I struck Tusarza and before I had form, I lay dormant, and yet I knew all that was happening around me. I knew myself as thought, as consciousness, that I had come from somewhere else, somewhere dark and powerful, but even now I cannot remember this place…’ Baelthrom trailed off and shifted so that his back and folded wings were facing Kilkarn. Kilkarn sensed frustration.
‘We had long awaited your glorious arrival,’ Kilkarn offered. Baelthrom considered this.
‘Yes,’ he finally said. ‘Under the nurture of your race, my consciousness grew, or collected itself, and formed into order.’
‘You grew strong, fast,’ Kilkarn nodded.
‘And yet stronger I can grow,’ Baelthrom said. ‘I have yet to find the limits of my power and my being—always there is more. Over years that turned into centuries, I drew into me the life energy of Tusarza. Then I chose my form from the creatures on this planet. Even back then my necromancers had great skill when they created my body. When it was ready, I seeped my consciousness into it. I could look outwards for the first time with physical eyes, I could feel things I had never imagined. I had to have more of this energy, this magic, it gave me strength and power, it gave me my very existence.
‘Tusarza had been bled dry, it offered me no more, and that is why all of Maioria must feed me until I am complete. Or perhaps I have no boundaries of being, and even the goddess, even that Source of All they speak of here, will one day be mine. I think nothing can stop me, even the mighty Ancients fell to me. I destroyed their lands that lay to the east, hundreds of islands lying like emeralds scattered in the ocean ready to be plucked.
‘Their magic was strong, their essence shone like the purest light. I had to have their power, I had to take it for myself. True power cannot be learnt, it cannot be shared. No, I had to take it and consume it. And how I fought them, for so long… I thought even I would break.’
The iron ring flared into life. A battle scene was revealed. An image of Baelthrom stood within it, looking as he did now, encased within armour, his eyes glowing red. Thousands of dark dwarves spread before him, wielding their weapons and casting their black magic against tall, graceful beings shrouded in light.
They fought upon a land of green grass, forests and rivers. In the distance reached the elegant spires of crystal cities—far more advanced than could be found on Maioria today. There were no Maphraxies, they had yet to be created.
Kilkarn snickered. ‘Yes, Lord Baelthrom, I see in the iron ring my ancestors at your side, as I have seen many times before. In your power they are fearless. The Ancient’s blood ran like rivers through the necromancers’ chambers…’
‘They were strong,’ Baelthrom nodded, ‘but they showed me where I was weak. Only a fool would deny how close they came to destroying me utterly.’
Kilkarn chuckled and then fell silent as his lord’s eyes dimmed to blackish-red, and the air grew chill and heavy.
‘They crushed me and bound me deep beneath these very mountains. And all I could do was watch, powerless…’ Baelthrom fell silent. When he spoke again, his voice was a rumbling whisper.
‘They were powerful enough to sunder the very magic of the planet, and bind me with unbreakable magic. For eons I struggled in that prison, trapped in my own body, seething in hatred. All the while, I planned the demise of those that bound me. My body wasted away, and I moved back into consciousness. I watched the world, learnt its power, its gods and goddesses, its people, its weakness, and in the end I planned its eventual downfall.
‘I learned that the light is nothing without the darkness, and freedom does not exist without first the chains. I know true freedom, the chains that bound me taught me that,’ Baelthrom fell into a brooding silence once more.
It unnerved Kilkarn. His lord was the epitome of confidence, unshakeable will, and swift, direct action. But now he seemed unsure as if something had challenged his confidence. Indeed, it almost seemed as if his lord was concerned about something, and this feeling he did not like at all. Which is why he chose to stay silent.
His lord never talked of the past, so why now? He had mentioned many times recently the subtle change in the energies of Maioria, and that was the only thing Kilkarn could think of that could be the cause of his lord’s disturbance. It was impossible to think that the Feylint Halanoi had any power to stop Baelthrom now. Their concentrated numbers on the northern shores of Frayon were putting up a strong resistance, but even they were dwindling. It was simply a waiting game. And with Sirin Derenax flowing in their veins, the immortals had all the time in the world. Yet still, Baelthrom was disturbed, and that made Kilkarn disturbed.
‘There is no power that can stop us now, Lord Baelthrom,’ Kilkarn chanced with a laugh that portrayed his utter confidence in their victory.
Baelthrom nodded, ‘Indeed, Kilkarn. It would seem no power is greater than ours. Each day I feel my power growing stronger, and yet…’
Kilkarn waited as the minutes went by, and when his lord did not speak, asked, ‘And yet what, Lord Baelthrom, what is it you see?’
‘This new power in the west… It’s strange. I don’t understand it, and that is very dangerous. No, it isn’t new. It’s as if it has always been there, within or beneath everything, like the thought that precedes the action. But now it’s… focused… It’s linked to that cursed blue moon and… something more.’
‘The Dark Moon of Death has been with us before, eons ago, my lord. So long ago that few scriptures remain, and only myth perpetuates its memory. It heralds a time of great change, and, Lord Baelthrom, you are that change,’ Kilkarn grinned and nodded as his lord cast him a glance.
‘This power is nothing compared to ours
, Lord Baelthrom. Our powers only grow stronger as we assimilate all. Soon this power of which you speak will also be ours. We are unstoppable, and any that stand in our way will be killed. Either way, living or dead, willingly or not, they will be assimilated.’
Killed.
The notion rolled around Baelthrom’s mind for a long while. Killing did not bother him, but he did not revel in and relish it like his dark dwarves and necromancers. Killing meant death, and the notion disturbed him. Even in choosing his body, the hybrid form in which his consciousness now stood, he had found the death of those beings from whom his parts were created, disturbing. The very thought of death, of not existing, disturbed him. If he really thought hard about death, and all its consequences, he came close to feeling something very alien and very uncomfortable. Fear.
Death was a terrible thing. To live and exist, and then to die as nothing, to nothing—even the thought of it now made him shudder. Death; seeing the life disappear from a once animate being, as he had seen it disappear from the things that had created his body… he could not understand it.
There was something terribly wrong with death. But not pain, no. Pain was good. Pain, like any information, was useful, and it could be used to teach very effectively. He had killed a great many things, but it was only through the Black Drink of Immortality that he found a chance to capture that escaping life force, to make sure it wasn’t lost and pointless.
No, he did not agree with death. He was here to give all things a great gift—immortality. It was a pitiful shame that the beings upon Maioria were too weak and stupid to understand that gift. They followed the teachings of the goddess; a being that made them die, a being that refused to help the very people who worshipped her.
‘It’s time for a new god, Kilkarn. One who delivers on promises and answers prayers. One who gives immortality to all life. Too long have the people of Maioria been denied the eternal by a greedy, selfish goddess. What’s the point of a goddess if she cannot even stop death, or worse, choose not to? I’m here to give back to the people what she has so long denied them.’
Kilkarn nodded and rubbed his hands, pleased to hear the certainty again in his lord’s voice.
‘Death is a disease that should not be,’ Baelthrom continued. ‘Long ago in the days when I was trying to take form and did not understand death, I kept the dead close to me. I watched their limp forms decay, smelt the stench of putrefaction. I waited for months for them to move again, but they did not. They rotted, disintegrated, and eventually disappeared.
‘The horror of it was beyond my comprehension. “How could this be?” I asked, and I feared then for my own demise. It was a terror that haunted me like no other. But I did not age. I did not die. For I’m not of Maioria, but from the place you call the Dark Rift. All I remember of this place is that there was no such thing as death there. My immortality would be a great gift to this world. I just had to find out what it was within me that could bring immortality to a being. I had to create the greatest cure the world has ever known, the cure for death.’
‘That is what our prophets told us, Lord Baelthrom,’ Kilkarn said. ‘The True God would end death. So we came to you, with as much knowledge as our necromantic art had taught us. It had taught us its darkness, its deceit, its terrible strength, and its awesome power, but it was wildly unpredictable.
‘Even in the beginning, we called ourselves Life Seekers, for we sought the eternal, we sought immortality. But without you, we could not reach it. You rewarded us for our devotion; you gave us our greatest desire—immortality. You taught us how to capture the life force within a body and use it to create the blessed Elixir of Immortality. Through you, Lord Baelthrom, we unlocked powerful magic from the Dark Rift itself.’
‘Yes. The Elixir of Immortality describes this wonderful gift better than what the elves call it,’ Baelthrom nodded. ‘Sirin Derenax, the Black Drink. But it does more than instil immortality into the imbiber, it binds their small and weak soul to me forever, connecting them to the greater divine.’
Baelthrom chuckled. ‘How crude the first creations were. They required scores of lives to create but one immortal. And now it takes only one. It is the key to taking over this world. Millions of lives have been sacrificed to make this most wondrous thing. Every life has made it purer, stronger, and more powerful.
‘But the Maphraxies’ desire for the elixir can never be quenched. This desire is a weakness for which we still need a cure. Though immortal, my Maphraxies still need to consume it, albeit a weaker cruder version. It keeps their bodies strong and powerful. Otherwise, they wither. Though they cannot die, they become useless lumps of flesh,’ Baelthrom’s voice hardened.
‘Anything can be made immortal, from the ants in the ground to the fish in the sea, all human kin and dragons, but it changes them forever,’ Baelthrom said. ‘Perhaps this change is why few come to me for the great gift I offer. If the fools do not want my gift, then they will not be spared. I cannot abide stupidity,’ his voice dropped so low the ground rumbled. ‘That is why we must enslave them, they must be forced to take the elixir. I’m sure it’s this goddess who makes them foolish. Even under torture they do not deny her. She must be destroyed!’
Kilkarn covered his ears from the booming sound of his Lord’s voice. For several minutes his words echoed around them and red magic fizzled around his furious lord. When silence descended, he tentatively spoke.
‘Lord Baelthrom. The Black Drink has been a great gift to us all,’ he lusted for it even now.
‘It can be better,’ Baelthrom said. ‘Yet despite all I offer, the people still worship this goddess, this being with many faces, the eternal Source of All. How can they pray to something without material form, something they cannot see? Do the people not see the life stolen from them? Do they not yearn for a life that never ends?
‘For all those years in my prison, I tried and failed to understand the people. I detest this thing to which they give their energies, this thing which makes death acceptable,’ Baelthrom’s voice rolled around the chamber and his eyes turned from gold to copper. ‘But I will find this thing and destroy it. I shall remove the chains the goddess has placed upon the people, and take her power. The people will then worship me, and I will give them something she does not. I will give them immortality, and I will be a flesh and blood god who walks among them.’
‘Your mighty kingdom awaits you, my lord,’ Kilkarn bowed. ‘Like the Ancients who, in their arrogance, refused your immortal gift, those who refuse you shall be… assimilated.’
A laugh rumbled from Baelthrom. ‘Indeed, the Ancients refused immortality as they refused to worship me. I hated them and pitied their short lives, though they lived far longer than any race alive today. Their arrogance was their downfall. It’s not just power that feeds me, Kilkarn, I also hunger for knowledge. There is more to life than just a physical body, there is the essence that animates, that which they call the soul.
‘I need to know where these souls go when they die when they aren’t distilled into Sirin Derenax, or ensnared in Keteth’s Shadowlands. Keteth knows where they go, and that was why I let him live. But his mind is insane and too difficult to read. This new… force, this dark moon and the Night Goddess of which the people now speak… The truth lies in there, and I must have it.’
‘You needn’t concern yourself about so small a thing,’ Kilkarn crooned. ‘Over centuries your army has amassed into vast numbers. None can withstand our might as we swarm across Maioria. Even great Drax, the place we thought would fall last, fell sooner. As they die fighting us, their bodies and souls are assimilated into our ranks. We can only grow stronger, an unstoppable force purging the planet of death.’ Kilkarn laughed, but his lord stayed silent for a time.
‘Yet still there is this change in Maioria,’ Baelthrom whispered. ‘A movement in the energies that entwine this world, and a presence I don’t yet understand—like another power let loose upon the world, or an ancient power reawakened. Nothing more than a gentle bree
ze, and yet this magic feels as old as the sun, and it grows in the west.’
‘What exactly is this power, Lord Baelthrom?’ Kilkarn stepped closer, but Baelthrom did not hear him. Kilkarn frowned and looked around. Everything had become completely still. Not that anything was moving anyway, there was not even a breeze that could reach in here. Instead, it seemed as if time itself had stopped and they were suspended like frozen figures within it.
‘Keteth–’ Baelthrom’s words were cut off as a tidal wave of raw magical power surged through the room, through the fabric of Maioria.
Kilkarn was knocked off his feet. The magical energy struck Baelthrom so hard he was forced to his knees. Kilkarn’s mind spun, and his heart pounded. Lightning flashed all around them and danced off the iron ring. The Orb of Life flared into a myriad of colours.
No longer were they suspended in time but being thrown about by magical forces. The magic grew in a crescendo that ripped through everything. Kilkarn gripped onto the pedestal he was beside. The iron ring blazed into life, flames of pure white ignited the chamber, and rippled like water spilling out from the ring’s centre. The force of it sent Kilkarn flying backwards into the wall, where he crumpled and lay winded. Baelthrom roared.
Issa’s story continues HERE. Get your copy of THE FALL OF CELENE today!
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When strangers knock on Fraya’s door in the middle of a stormy night, her life is changed forever. The man is a bard, a warrior, and a follower of the Old Ways. The woman is a seer, heavily pregnant with a child so blessed by the goddess, they are forced to flee for their lives from the immortals.
Night Goddess (The Goddess Prophecies Book 1) Page 45
