The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2)

by Everet Martins

  “Be gone,” Lajoy said, leading them out and slamming the door behind.

  “This goes for you too advisor,” the king shouted from behind the door.

  Malek snarled, “Well done you fools.”

  Chapter Six

  Disagreements

  “The Cerumal are feral in nature, having no interest other than to pillage and slaughter. Without a Black Wynch to lead them, reports indicate they prefer to attack communities in the borderlands without warning and without quarter. They do not appear to care for marks of any denomination or women, only destruction.” -from the Death Spawn Compendium by Nazli Tegen

  In the Temple of Meditation, Malek stood over his laboratory table, eyes shifting over the slew of curious artifacts. He grabbed a glowing scimitar with jagged teeth on one side and an eyeball that looked to be made of white glass. The Plague Blade and a Basilisk’s Eye should do nicely, he thought.

  “There’s something I must do, stay here and practice what I’ve taught you. Baylan can guide you in my stead,” he said, eyes protruding. Walter and Nyset exchanged glances. She swallowed under Malek’s gaze and Walter’s brows knitted together.

  “Where are you going? What are you going to do?” Baylan asked, rubbing his narrow chin.

  Malek marched up the stairs to the roof and a circular portal snapped open, revealing a lush environment before the backdrop of the Midgaard cityscape. He stepped through and the portal closed behind him, sparks sizzling in the air.

  “Darkthorne, you bastard,” he whispered.

  Before Malek was the mouth of a jagged cave surrounded by a thick wood, seemingly impassable. Midgaard was a small hill from this, far south, Ezra’s castle a cream insect on the horizon. Two Cerumal soldiers stepped from the entrance to Snowden’s Caverns, blocking his entry. One breathed heavily and the other let out a low growl.

  “Move,” Malek commanded. They responded by leveling barbed spears at him. “Alright then,” he said. He gently pressed his fingers against the white eye in his left hand and twirled the blade in his right. The white eye glowed with red light and Malek’s eyes burst alight with the same hue. The light spilled from eyes in the form of smoke, glowing and billowing over his head.

  The soldier on his left lunged with teeth bared. Two beams of red light erupted from Malek’s eyes, cutting the Cerumal from shoulder to hip in a diagonal slice. Its body split apart with a lovely fountain of blood. He slashed with the blade and a green streak of light cut the air. The other Cerumal’s skin exploded with pustules, bursting and popping with sprays of blood. It dropped its spear and clawed at its lizard like face. It screamed as muscle, bone and tendons were exposed with each sundering bubble.

  Malek strode into the cave, boot squishing on tattered skin. The light from his weapons dispelled the enveloping darkness. A group of Cerumal ran from the depths, armor clanging, skidding to a halt before him.

  “You’re going to make this fun, I see,” he said, smirking.

  A Cerumal roared, hurling its vicious spear. It went around Malek, unnaturally veering at the last second.

  “Pathetic automatons,” he said, jaw clenched. The others emulated the first, spears hissing past Malek’s form and clattering to the stone or sticking into walls. “Looks like you boys don’t train the spear anymore.” Malek slashed with fury, cutting the air with green streaks of light. The Cerumal fell, screaming and rolling into one another in a pool of blood and bursting skin. A wedge of tissue hung from a stalactite, drops of blood pattering onto the floor.

  Malek turned to the right at a fork. The screams behind him faded, swallowed by the impossibly high walls. The crystal around his neck sparked and a bolt of lightning arced over his shoulder into something behind him. He turned, a Black Wynch lay twitching on the ground with smoking, charred armor.

  “Electricity and metal, not a very good combination, wouldn’t you say?” he said, frowning at the corpse. He brought the crystal to his lips and kissed it. He started down the path again, stepping around stalagmites jutting in the dank air. “Where are you coward?”

  Three Black Wynches exploded from a nearby door, their bodies bobbing and slithering, bladed fingers reflecting the greens and reds of Malek’s weapons. Malek’s eyes pulsed and cut across them, effortlessly slicing and hewing their lithe bodies into chunks of bleeding flesh. Dismembered arms and legs twitched on the stony floor. The steel fingers of a severed hand clacked against a wall.

  Malek put his hands on his hips, pausing to examine the gore at his feet. “I never liked those things, move too much like sea creatures.”

  He looked through the open door and sauntered in, pushing his hood back. “What do we have here… you’ve been busy Darkthorne.” He gently closed the door and sheathed the glowing Plague Blade and stowed the Basilisk’s eye in a hip pouch.

  The room was small with a round table at the center and a few chairs surrounding it. Up and down the walls, candles burned in various stages, frozen dribbles running to the floor. Maps covered the table of the Zoria realm. There was a highly detailed map of the Midgaard palace and of the treetops of the Great Retreat. Red circles were scrawled around Breden, a village in the Nether, as well as Midgaard and a few places Malek was less familiar with. He folded up the maps and stuffed them into his pouch.

  He left the room and stopped to listen in the hall. Wind rushed into the cavern, blowing his hood across his mouth. He raised his hood and stalked further into the bowels, weapons at the ready. He came upon a large opening with torches burning on either side. A pair of malevolent eyes penetrated the darkness beyond, meeting his. He stepped forward and more eyes appeared, snapping open like stars in a black sky.

  “Peace my brothers,” Darkthorne said. The sea of yellow eyes parted, shifting to the sides of what seemed to be a massive room. Dozens of torches burst alight, searing Malek’s night vision. He put a hand up to shield his eyes and winced.

  “You always knew how to welcome an old friend,” said Malek.

  “Friends are we? That’s not quite how I remember it,” Darkthorne said, voice like rocks grinding together. He strolled from a massive table, flickering flames reflecting off of his gleaming armor. In one hand, he clutched an open tome resting on his hip. His billowing red cape floated to the ground as he came to a stop in the center of the room.

  Dozens of Cerumal, Black Wynches, Skin Flayers and their soulbound Blood Dogs circled Malek. Jaws snapped and spears beat against armor.

  “Now this isn’t exactly fair, is it?” Malek said.

  Darkthorne stomped with his foot, rattling the room. “Enough, why are you here?”

  “You know why.”

  “So the King is dead?” Darkthorne asked, dragging one of his pointed fingers across his neck. “That was long overdue.”

  “You insolent prick, how dare you meddle in my affairs,” Malek said, eyes burning with glowing intensity.

  “Your affairs? Ezra was about to mobilize the Falcon. You had one task and you failed. Why he lets you live is beyond me.” Darkthorne gingerly flipped pages in his book.

  “No, no, no, my friend you have it all wrong. The King is alive and well and your Skin Flayers are quite dead,” Malek said smiling. “The King is still under my control. Your minions were slain by a few humans.” A Skin Flayer in the circle lunged at him, but stopped when Darkthorne raised his hand. It hefted its glowing blades, growling, its face a mask of sheer flesh except for the golden eyes.

  “I know the Falcon is moving, I received a report from a trusted source today. You have indeed failed and you are also a bad liar.”

  Malek’s face reddened and his fists tightened around his blade and boiling eyeball. “You know nothing!” Malek screamed. Beams of red death shot from his eyes, tunneling towards Darkthorne. Darkthorne pressed his arm forward, palm splayed. A green rectangle split the air, translucent before him. The red beam collided with the glowing shield and it vibrated, shattering into thousands of splinters of blue light.

  Darkthorne fell back, tumbling down a
n unseen slope. The beasts around him screeched and roared. The red light that bathed his eyes winked out and the eyeball shriveled in his hand. He dropped the Basilisk’s eye and grasped the glowing Plague Blade in both hands. Too many. He twisted, dodging a spear in flight. He turned on his heels and sprinted to the room’s entrance.

  The beasts followed, barking, jaws snapping the air, blades spinning, and clawed feet pounding. At the room’s entryway, a blue portal exploded to life behind Malek. Some tried to stop. Those at the back pushed harder, forcing those at the front through the portal’s entrance.

  “Come on, come get me you stupid bastards!” Malek laughed, arms wide. Somewhere high upon the Mountains of Misery a portal snapped open, dumping a small horde of Death Spawn into its icy, notched peaks. They screeched and pushed, tumbling through the portal.

  Malek allowed the portal to close, and finished the few that remained with deft slashes of his blade.

  “The great lord will hear of this,” Darkthorne said rapidly, flipping pages of his tome. “Ah man iptus daman!” he incanted.

  The floor begin to rumble. The ground under Malek’s feet cracked. He shuffled aside and a black tentacle rose from the ground. Its gelatinous form wound into the air as if scenting. It turned on Malek, rushing towards him. He slashed left, right, and diagonally sending three waves of light into it. The tentacle easily passed through the streaks of light and Malek rolled, barely avoiding its slam. The tentacle rose to strike again and paused in the air. Small creatures that resembled forest squirrels sprouted from its skin, skittering across its body. Hundreds of them began devouring its flesh, cackling wickedly. The tentacle rose and shot back into the ground.

  “That was different,” Malek said, glancing at the Plague Blade.

  Two more tentacles exploded from the ground on either side of Malek. One snatched his leg and the other his arms, lifting him into the air. They pulled on his body, stretching him to his breaking point. His sword clattered to the ground, green light fading.

  “Release me, now!” Malek screamed.

  “You are in no position to make demands.”

  Another tentacle sprouted between the two and enveloped his body in its crushing grip. It cinched and wrapped around his torso. A rib cracked and burst through his skin, tearing at his robe.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” Darkthorne said, purple light emanated from behind the bars of his helm. He is favored by the great lord. How could I have been so stupid and forgotten?

  “You’ve ruined everything, everything.” Malek whispered. “I’ll have your head on a pike,” he said between breaths.

  He reached under his entangled arm and retrieved the talon-like dagger from his sleeve, brandishing it between his fingers. He slashed at the tentacle binding his chest and at the one around his wrist. The tentacles withered and shrunk, releasing their grasp on him. He hung upside down from the tentacle that bound his ankle. It whipped him through the air like a doll, preparing to smash him upon the cave’s floor. His robe spilled over his head, exposing his pale body, a canvas of tattooed arcane letters.

  The letters on his skin flashed and a portal sliced horizontally through the air, bisecting the tentacle and dropping him through the blue oval of light. A jet of blood shot from the remaining tentacle half, spraying like champagne. The top half of the tentacle flopped behind Darkthorne, followed by Malek through the other side of his portal. Malek reached his arm around Darkthorne’s helm, raising it and exposing his neck. In his other hand, he pressed the crescent dagger firmly against Darkthorne’s scarred neck.

  “I told you I would —” A burst of purple light flashed from Darkthorne’s body. Malek was sent hurling into the wall. He fell to a slump and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. The spots of Darkthorne’s armor where flesh was exposed glowed with brilliant purple. His vision swam with white bubbles.

  “You talk too much,” Darkthorne said. The great lord’s favor. No, not like this.

  Darkthorne raised his hand and a purple ball of light grew in size in his palm. I must kill him. Slay one of the Wretched?

  “You pathetic fools,” a booming voice resounded in the chamber. A humanoid like figure appeared of swirling mist and forking lightning. The violet ball of light in Darkthorne’s hand vanished as he turned to face the intruder.

  “Who dares —?”

  The misting electricity faded, becoming the form of Asebor. “You squabble against yourselves, undermining all of our efforts,” Asebor said. Darkthorne and Malek immediately prostrated themselves against the dusty floor.

  “My lord,” Malek croaked.

  “You will bring ruin to my house. The Tower works night and day, pulling the strings of the other realms, mounting their forces against us.” Asebor paced around them and the chains around his legs clinked against each other.

  “I hear echoes from the historians of the Great Retreat, speaking of my former reign. The villagers listen, taking up arms.” The torches burned with increased intensity, brightening the room. “They do not trust the rumors we’ve spread. We are not prepared to withstand an assault from the realms. If they come to grasp our hold on Zoria…” He released a long breath. “And here are you two, my generals, obliterating each other.”

  “Great lord,” Darkthorne said, raising his head from the floor. “Malek has failed you, master. The Falcon moves,” he stammered.

  “How have you come upon this knowledge, my favored?”

  “I, well— I sent assassins to Midgaard. They told me and I felt it necessary to take swift action, my lord.” He rose to his hands and knees, armor glowing with a faint purple light. “Before this bumbling wizard created more problems. He hasn’t been able to control the King. I was going to silence —”

  “So you sent Skin Flayers to silence the King, did you? To ensure he did not send the Falcon?” Asebor interrupted, eyes burning. “You were to keep our presence quiet, not solidify its existence in the minds of the people!” He put his boot on the back of Darkthorne’s head and pressed it into the floor.

  “And did you succeed in silencing our beloved King?” Asebor leaned forward, pressing his weight upon Darkthorne’s steely head. Malek bit his lip and the insides of his mouth.

  “No, but he’s going to —” He gasped as the chains from around Asebor’s legs flew into the air, like vipers to about to strike. The tendrils wound around Darkthorne’s body, becoming black as night. The light shimmering behind his helm winked out and traveled up the chains into Asebor. Asebor’s chains lifted Darkthorne’s body to standing position.

  “You have failed me. You disobeyed my command.” Asebor crossed his arms, muscles flexing in his chest.

  “Yes, master. It will not happen again.”

  “Good, let this be a reminder.” The chains unfurled from around Darkthorne’s body and violently wrapped around his elbow, pulling it over his head.

  “Great lord, please no.” Darkthorne grabbed his entangled elbow with his other hand. His armor screamed against the sliding and cutting chains. They ripped across and chewed through his elbow, removing it from the joint down. Darkthorne fell to his side, frantically breathing as the other hand tried to stop the bleeding. Asebor slammed his boot into Darkthorne’s gut and he flew through the air, smashing against the adjacent wall. He fell with sparks buzzing through the slits of his plate.

  “Do not disobey me again.”

  “Never, never, great lord.” His deep voice quavered.

  “You are mine, do not forget our bargain. What can be created can be destroyed.” Asebor inhaled and his saw-toothed mouth formed a smile. “Get back on task, children. Do not let the army move Malek. Get a hold of the situation. If you can’t, I will.”

  Asebor gestured towards the writhing Darkthorne. “Remember what happens when you fail me.” Malek rose to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth, nodding and bowing. “Yes, master.”

  Malek stormed down the long corridor, passing the pustule laden bodies of Cerumal and Black Wynches he had slain e
arlier. A Cerumal crawled across the floor, groaning and reaching a gnarled hand towards him. Its legs had been severed from the thigh down, leaving a river of dark blood behind it.

  “I’m amazed you’re still alive,” Malek said.

  It had two wisps of gray hair sprouting from its ashen head and a pair of nostrils where its nose should have been. The Cerumal’s mouth snapped at Malek’s foot, inches away from seizing it in its bladed teeth. Malek growled and raised his leg back, preparing to kick the creature in the head. In one fluid motion, he summoned a translucent Phoenix shield around the front of his foot and accelerated the force of his leg with telekinetic strength, allowing him to kick five times as hard. His foot collided with the Cerumal’s skull, smashing it like a blacksmith’s hammer on a grape. The shield vanished, leaving his toes unbroken. He wiped away the beads of sweat that formed on his brow.

  Malek glanced through the open door into a room where he had previously found Darkthorne’s maps.

  “What else are you hiding Darkthorne?” he whispered.

  Malek shut his eyes for a few seconds and opened them, now glowing with a hint of blue light. The armor of the Black Wynches and Cerumal lying on the floor now glowed, indicating their magical nature. He scanned the room again with his enhanced vision, hoping to see something glowing with blue, but it appeared normal.

  He turned around and grinned at the sight of a concealed door outlined in dancing wisps of blue light. The glowing rectangle was on the stone wall on the opposite side of the corridor.

  He walked to the door and tried to push it open with both hands, but it wouldn’t budge. A waving Phoenix’s tail feather sprung from his finger tip and slipped into the glowing crack. Malek bit the sides of his tongue, tracing the glowing line with the translucent feather, searching for the latch that had to be hidden somewhere.

  “There it is, you clever bastard,” Malek said.