Vegard thought the air was very thick in the large house. The amount of pungent spices in the air was choking. It was like the walls themselves were smeared with layers of saffron or cumin. Spices that lingered in the throat and caught.
The lack of bodies was starting to worry the two. For a man that quite obviously liked to display his wealth and power there was a surprising lack of minions about. Vegard found it unlikely that the lord merchant tended to his own meals or served himself his own drink.
The frustration was starting to mount within the warlock. He hadn’t traveled all this way to merely murder a few employees on the outer porch of some rich man’s estate. He came for mercantile blood. Blacktooth was in hand and hungering for a lord’s throat.
At last, they came across an ornate pair of double doors. Long bronze bars were set into the doors that served as handles. Vegard could feel a cool breeze wafting from underneath the wooden frame. They pulled and the door was set in place. Something on the other side was barring their entrance.
The pair had had enough of this tour of the merchant’s house. Vegard flared his powers and Wera formed herself to bear. They both bashed at the door simultaneously with their collective strength. The hinges buckled and popped. Wood splintered and tore away as the hefty door creaked then fell inwards, collapsing upon the cobblestone floor of the next room.
Any pretense of stealth had now vanished. If there was a living soul in the entirety of this ridiculous house then they were made aware of the intruders.
The two stomped triumphantly into the room upon the door they had just defeated. They looked around at the rounded courtyard they had walked into. The merchant had set himself up with a private outdoors in the middle of his grande mansion. Miniature birch trees lined the outer wall and a large marble fountain adorned the heart of the room with makeshift trenches guiding the water to all the plant life decorating the courtyard.
Above their heads was a beautiful glass domed ceiling unlike anything Vegard had seen before. The glass was multicolored and decorated with little religious figures carved carefully into the surface. The rain was still pattering away above their heads. It was almost peaceful within the confines of the glass ceiling.
Across the courtyard sat a pair of figures. One laid very comfortably upon a bed of pillows. The other was quite dead, sprawled out on the floor.
Both figures were dressed in shining white robes with fine golden lace trim. The more breathing of the two was thin and white with a shaved head and a mean looking choker about his neck.
The dead man was much fatter than the other. Where white robes did not cover were folded and greasy mounds of flesh. The unfortunate was stripped of anything but these ceremonial robes and its face was buried in a ceramic bowl pooling with blood.
The skinny one eyed Vegard and Wera playfully as they entered the room. The man played with a dagger at his side, twirling it obnoxiously on the cobblestone floor next to his bed of pillows.
“Who are you?” The skinny man asked. “Come to save the infamous Darold Shaw. Seems you’re too late for that.”
Vegard stopped in his tracks. Darold Shaw? He looked back and forth between the two men. He realized he had never seen the man he was sent to kill. He had no clue what the lord merchant looked like. Could this bloated corpse be him? Could it have been this easy?
“Come now.” The man continued. “All that bluster entering my room and now you seem to want to play the silent librarian. What do you want?”
“We were sent…” Vegard started. A conversation was never part of the plan. Of course, to show up with the deed done for him was not part of the plan either. “We were sent to kill the lord merchant. Is that him on the floor there?”
“Indeed.” The blade stopped twirling. The man’s face changed to a more dour expression. “I asked you who were were.”
“My name is Vegard Orlo. I am the Agaeti of the goddess Flaro Rei’Lind. She sent me to assassinate Shaw. To set balance to the godly realm of Storrhale. But it seems you’ve gone and done the deed for me.” Vegard shrugged. “Less work for me.”
“Agaeti?” The man laughed. He picked himself up from his pillows and glared at the two intruders. “Agaeti?” He said again, his laughter growing more insane.
“My precious boy. You are no Agaeti. I can see that plan as day. But not only that…we Agaeti can sense our own.” He pointed the dagger to his chest. “I am Agaeti. Agaeti of the one true God, Abaniel the Red. I am Vicar Pyris White, head to the Church of Abaniel and kissed at birth by the future ruler of Storrhale, Vlero, and any other realm he wishes to claim as his own.”
“You lie. The goddess told me herself.”
“Believe what you want. You have an odd scent to you, that can be sure, but definitely not one kissed by the gods. You have an unfortunate air about you. Something perverse.” The priest looked curiously at the warlock. “Something familiar yet wholly absurd. I have an odd compulsion to rid your taint from the world. Yet, a curious desire to keep you for study.”
Vegard laughed at this. Blacktooth was swinging menacingly by its owner’s side. “‘Unfortunate’, you say? I’d say its unfortunate for you that you admitted being a consort to this Abaniel fellow.” Vegard’s eyes billowed with smoke.
“Before I kill you I have to ask, why did you murder the merchant? Seems a curious thing for you to do. He was helping to spread your religion, was he not?”
The Vicar looked down at the corpse by his feet. He sighed. “It was a tumultuous and doomed relationship from the start. The people loved his bluster. And could relate not at all to someone like myself.” He cocked his eyebrow. “Peasants. Simpleminded creatures who seek out familiarity like rivers seek out the ocean.”
The priest pushed the dead merchant’s head further into the bowl of blood and gore with his foot. “But, as of late, the bombastic Darold Shaw had lost the general appeal of the public.
“So I figured I would end this charade of a relationship and continue on without him. He has become more of a symbolic figure now, anyways. A brand that I can wield without the living embodiment running around screwing everything up for our movement.” He laughed. “Hells, it’ll be months before anyone even knows of his death. Years, even. If anyone cares to inquire at all.”
“We will make sure to spread the word.” Vegard smirked as his powers began to twist and churn within him.
“Can’t be having that.” The Vicar said. “Asmundr! Make these two bow. I’d like to see their heads roll.”
The name froze Vegard and Wera in place. From around the fountain they finally noticed the Red Paladin lounging in the corner. His armor was battered and stained yet still functional. His kingshelm was slightly bent but the man within still shone with his otherworldly might. Asmundr clattered to his feet and made his way to the center of the room, all the while dragging his plush chair with him.
“My champion, Asmundr.” Pyris started. “Back from his holy mission across the seas. How did you fare, my son?”
Asmundr answered by lazily tossing his ‘seat’ towards the intruders. The thing rolled awkwardly. A sticky, sucking noise echoed throughout the chamber as the matted sphere finally came to a stop.
The thing was gray skinned, with dreadlocked, knotted hair, and bulbous eyes—the head of the giant that was summoned aboard the ship. Its blood had long congealed around the base, its face looked drained of water, tired, and sagging.
“I must thank you.” Asmundr said, pointing at the head with his great-axe. “It was wonderful to test God’s might against such a beast.”
“I must tell you, paladin, that Hannah says hello.” Vegard said through gritted teeth. “She had such wonderful things to say about you betraying your clan and turning your back on your people. All to bend a knee to some false god.”
Amsundr growled his primal growl and, heaving his axe above his bent helm, charged the two intruders.
Vegard met the man with equal temperament. The warlock powered
his form with enhanced strength and speed from the men he had used to fill his dark well.
Blade met blade as the axe slid down the black edge of Vegard’s sword. Vegard ducked under the great-axe, sliding to the side, then dislodging his own weapon and stabbing at the paladin’s face.
Amsundr used his plated armor well, continuously shifting his shoulders and arms around to deflect the razors edge of the warlock’s weapon. Vegard kept stabbing, though. His speed and agility kept him free of the paladin’s grasp.
He moved like a ghost around the warrior. With each pivot came another stab. With each side-step came Blacktooth licking the sides of the golden armor sending a trail of sparks bursting behind.
“Stand still, rodent!” Asmundr yelled. He shifted his axe around and tripped the continuously moving Vegard.
Vegard hit the ground but quickly rolled away. The large crash of the great-axe was reverberated behind him. The blade ripped up some of the solid cobblestone beneath them sending chunks of rock flying. Asmundr’s eyes were aglow with white energy. The man was powered by his faith and blinded to all but the destruction of his opponent.
It made an easy target for Wera, who’s jaws grasped the distracted holy warrior by the arm and flung him backwards.
Asmundr crashed onto the fallen double doors of the room. This time he was ready for the hver, though. Asmundr shot back up and lunged himself at the charging bear. He slammed his mass into Wera’s midsection and wrapped his thick arms around her waist. The paladin looked to have abandoned all civility of human warfare and opted Ice Dragon clan he descended from. The Havan snarled and squeezed.
Wera growled back and raked defiantly at the paladin’s head. Each blow was powerful enough to stagger the great man. And yet, he held steady to his target. Until Vegard made it apparent he was still in this fight.
Asmundr shifted and slammed Wera down upon ground. Her body bounced heavily just as Vegard flew by, leading his charge with pointed sword. The warlock dashed in and stabbed into the thick plate armor. The force drove the tip through the layers and bit into the flesh underneath.
With the momentary surprise of mortality wracking the paladin, Vegard reached out with his powers to embed themselves in the mighty warrior—yet, still, could draw nothing from the man. The kingshelm reflected the influence of Vegard’s powers. The bent headpiece still imbued with all its magical properties.
Asmundr backhanded Vegard sending him spinning and sprawling to the floor. The paladin pulled Blacktooth from his side and dropped it by his feet.
“You’ve finally wounded me, dark-one.” Asmundr smiled. “This was a good fight.”
As he spoke, Vegard surged with speed, springing from his prone position like a whirl of vapor. His hand grasped the pommel of his blade just as his face met the solid knee of Asmundr.
The crack resounded through the room. Stars flashed and popped before Vegard like a bunch of dying flicker flies. He didn’t feel his body slide across the cool floor. He couldn’t feel the jarring motion of his head as it bounced against the stone. The blow was surprisingly painless in its complete effectiveness. A knee so solidly placed that the body threatened to shutdown in mere shock.
Vegard blinked the bugs away. He smacked the sound back into his head as he stared up at the transparent domed windows above.
“Rock solid hit there, friend.” Vegard smiled while realigning his jaw. He sat up, dazed.
“I didn’t break you, did I? I am far from done here.” The paladin responded.
He pointed his finger at the prone warlock, a ball of pure white forming at his finger. The beam shot out and struck Vegard in the chest sending him flying further across the room, slamming into the wall and compounding his already dazed and broken state. His body slid to the floor, his sword clattering uselessly next to him.
A burning stink issued forth from the hole the light had left in his armor.
Wera was upon the paladin once more. Her mighty strikes hefted the paladin off his feet and tossed him backwards. Asmundr was still fighting with his bare hands against the mighty beast. Asmundr the Havan, the Red Paladin of the Church of Abaniel, was challenging nature itself at the claim for raw martial power.
The two muscled foes wrestled each other to the ground. One slam was answered by another.
Vegard blinked heavily as he got to his feet. He dragged his sword lazily up with him. His powers were already at work fixing broken tissue and mending fractured bones. He could hear the snaps and cracks echoing within his skull. It was a beating he wasn’t soon to forget.
The Vicar, Pyris White laughed aloud as he watched the hver and his holy champion tossing each other about. The priest seemed not at all concerned with the life and death situation being played out before him.
Vegard figured he would remind the man.
He dashed from his spot, sword gripped in both hands. As the point dove toward the fragile neck of the priest, Vegard felt himself stop. Pyris turned towards Vegard, the Vicar’s eyes aglow with celestial strength.
“You thought me weak, warlock, didn’t you? As if I stood here helplessly as my champion fought on my behalf.” He wagged his finger. “I am Agaeti. You are nothing to me.”
Vegard turned to see what had stopped his momentum. A monstrous tendril had his foot wrapped and pinned. The base of the creature was lost within a dark, swirling portal that fumed with plagued energy.
“Abaniel the Red gives me more power than I know what to do with. And with his ascension in Storrhale as the One True God…I will have power unlike that which I could even fathom. Your goddess, Flaro, and all the other gods will be destroyed and Vlero will be under my command.”
Vegard attempted to chop his leg free but another tendril formed above his head and slammed his head to the floor.
Whatever the monster was, it was impossibly strong. Ash fluttered about the warlock’s head and a stink like the bjia he had fought in the grotto filled his nostrils.
“Abaniel is the rightful ruler of many realms.” Pyris mocked. “With the powers he has given me I can summon those from Arkyamish…the land of the jarro, themselves!”
That answers that question, he thought as he tried in vain to free himself from this demon’s grasp.
Vegard looked to see how his friend was doing. Wera was still battling the mighty paladin. The man’s stamina was that of a god’s. He kept heaving his massive bulk at the hver without ever losing speed. The man that felled a giant. And his friend was battling him alone.
The companions locked eyes for a moment. Wera redoubled her attack on Asmundr. Shifting from bear to human, she twirled through the man’s defenses. As he came after her petite form, Wera shifted to bird and flew between the man’s legs, then shifted to bear just as she was under him.
The sudden mass forming underneath Asmundr sent him flipping in the air and landing hard upon his back.
His eyes were barely open before Wera pounced upon his chest. Her claws battered the kingshelm left and right, adding to the immense amount of damage it had already suffered from the giant.
Asmundr fought back savagely, delivering crushing blows from his prone position. And yet Wera continued to batter away at the mystical helm.
“You will not break a kingshelm, wench!” Asmundr roared. “Its power is beyond you! As is mine!” They both landed simultaneous blows at the other’s head.
Asmundr suddenly realized his helm had shifted slightly from the last blow, unclasping at the neck.
Just as he was about to set it straight the bear that was sitting on his chest, shifted form once more. Wera shifted to raven, grasped two clawed feet on the lip of the kingshelm and tore it from the man’s head. Her wings beating furiously to gain distance from the crazed paladin. She was only a few feet away when she felt plated fingers close around her body.
Vegard saw opportunity. His eyes blackened to coal as his power shot across the room and burrowed their way deep into the bareheaded paladin.
Asmu
ndr froze in place as the foreign power wormed its way into his soul.
“No…no!” He screamed.
But it was too late. The man’s pain was before him in a matter of seconds. The wounds of his past festered as if freshly had. The Havan had turned a blind eye to healing, instead turning to a force that could mask his gapping wounds, but never set them right.
It was a luscious feast of pain the warlock had at his fingertips. It brimmed at the very edges of this man’s consciousness.
“No!” Asmundr screamed, once more, as the men and women of his past clan, the Ice Dragons of Havansgard, appeared before him. All the eyes of his kinsman bore into Asmundr. His ridiculous golden armor felt like an embarrassing dress in the eyes of his primal people. They shook their heads. Their disapproval palpable.
The pious, holy light in Asmundr’s eyes began to fade. His humanity flooding back in dizzying waves of shame and disgust.
“I had not meant to abandon you, my people.” He spoke to the silhouettes that stood around him. “I was in need of more power. To see Meena once more. My daughter.”
Meena appeared before her father. A beautiful young girl of eight. She had fierce eyes like her father’s and long brown hair decorated with twisted leather bands.
Asmundr could barely believe his eyes. His voice caught within his heaving chest. The paladin looked to melt away in complete vulnerability. His body shook with pangs of sudden sadness.
“Meena?” He cried. “My baby girl. Come to me, please.” He reached a stained hand to her. The little one grasped the enormous hand and held it to her face.
“What have you become, father?” The little girl asked as her small fingers rubbed the armor on her dad’s arm. “I do not recognize you.”
Asmundr stared at his daughter for a silent moment, drinking in the presence of one that has lived only in his memories for so long.
“I did what I thought I must to get you back.”
“You know where I am, father. With the gods, in Storrhale. I wait for you. When battle has taken you we can be a family once more.”
A Forgotten Soul: The Vegard Orlo Saga Page 23
