Age of Azmoq: The Valantian Imperium

by Rajamayyoor Sharma

  Karn interjected with mock seriousness. “Point to note, I was the most enthusiastic.”

  Elbir laughed. Kazena spoke. “So, we wanted to ask you too, whether you were alright. But we kind of figured you were anyway, given how your moods were around her. She is a good friend, right?”

  I smiled. “You guys do know me well. She is a good friend.”

  We all turned to Flora, who was smiling, listening to our conversation with amusement.

  “So, Flora,” said Elbir. “What do you think?”

  Flora shook her head. “I think… It was really nice meeting you guys. I hope you succeed in your mission. It is too important a mission. I don’t think I am up for it. I would just get in your way.”

  Kazena glided up to Flora. “You think any of us is any better than you are? You are clearly the strongest among us, the best at healing. You have a level head and a maturity missing from most these guys. You wouldn’t be getting in anyone’s way. We will get in our own way far more often.”

  Flora shook her head, and turned around. “Good bye,” she said. I could hear the crack in her voice. I wanted to go after her, and console her. I didn’t know why she was conflicted.

  Elbir held me back. “Don’t… It is a difficult choice. And only she has to make it… We should leave.”

  I reluctantly turned around. For a brief moment, I thought she would come. Especially when everyone was pushing for it. But it was not to be. We were heading out, the four of us. And although I was excited to start what we had decided to do, a mission that was so immensely important for all of us, even millions who didn’t know of it, I was sad to leave behind my village, again. This time around, I was even sadder, because Flora, who might have come, didn’t.

  But as we started towards the northern exit, I heard a voice. We all stopped to see, Flora running full steam at us, with Haiton tied to her back in my scabbard.

  “Wait,” said Flora. “Take me with you. I want to see the world as well. I want to help you find all the swords of legend and the master sword,” she said, panting.

  My heart skipped a beat. It would be great to have Flora with us. The company of four had just become a group of five. It was better than four for sure. After all, all five fingers were needed to make a strong fist. The fist that would move the wheel that turned the world, move it back to a place that made sense, a place of real peace and progress.

  Chapter 48: Cracks in the stone

  The cemetery was an ancient one.

  The religion that used it, was almost extinct. The remaining members had long left the region. As a result, the cemetery was unused. In fact, it had been unvisited for decades, until a few years back. The cemetery had a rich and long history. When the saints of the now lost religion visited the area, they felt a great drain of their energy. They then thought, in their infinite wisdom, that this place that drained their energy was ideal for a cemetery.

  The idea was that energies and souls of the dead would get sucked through to the netherworld faster. And that’s how the cemetery came to be. Its fame spread far and wide, because everyone and anyone who entered it, felt their energies leave their body, and left in the fear that the netherworld would pull their souls before they were ready. The cemetery grew vast. The effects of the energy drain were soon less prominent. Probably because the original site of the saint’s epiphany was lost in the vastness of the cemetery.

  But then Azmoq was discovered. Omokism and Eldurism came to be. The ancient religion started to die.

  And as the religion started to die, fewer people visited the cemetery for their burials. But its legend never died. So, even adventurous folks gave it a wide berth. With its last breaths, the ancient religion changed the narrative of the cemetery. It came to be that the cemetery was cursed by the saints of the ancient religion to drain grave robbers’ energies, completely different from the actual reasons behind the cemetery’s origins.

  In the last few years, the cemetery had suddenly regained popularity. Some mischievous kids, many years ago, saw a large group of people move in formation, into and out of the cemetery. When they left, they seemed to be carrying something big. They decided that if such a large group of people could enter and exit without any effects, the curse must have faded away. And they were right. They did feel a tingling sensation when they entered, and while they were tired when they left, it wasn’t that bad. Soon enough, it was frequented again. Mostly by kids and teenagers, on a dare.

  It then attracted other, more sinister folks, including grave robbers. The grave robbers were usually disappointed here, as even after hitting 5—10 graves, they would barely get some small trinkets of silver, gold if they were lucky.

  One of those grave robbers, William Burke was a persistent criminal. He had raided over 100 graves, but had no luck. But then, he had a lucky day, or so he thought at the time. At the end of a long day, he was about to exit the cemetery, when he rested his back with a thud against the arch at the cemetery’s entrance.

  The millennia old arch had taken its final hit. It broke down, revealing a gold plated central beam. When established, the cemetery had been envisioned as a great place for the dead. The then ruler had spared little expense in ensuring it lasts till the end of times, when the cemetery would merge with the nether realms it was a passage to. Hence the golden beam. The man couldn’t believe it. He immediately dug it out. He dug around the entire area near the beam, in hopes of more gold. He didn’t get more gold, but he did find something else. An ancient blade.

  It was about three feet long, but only two and a half fingers wide. And it was too thick, almost two-thirds of a finger thick, for effective use as a blade. It had intricate design etched deep into the blade, suggesting it was a ceremonial blade. There was a big black jewel embedded near its rectangular guard. There was some weird marking just under the jewel. The hilt below the marking had a plain band, mostly for holding the blade, followed by an intricately engraved part, ending in a sharp pommel. He was excited by this find—depending on how old it was, he could sell it for a fortune.

  He took the gold beam and sold it part by part in the local flea markets and jewelry shops. He made enough to live a comfortable life. He had to find a better place to sell the sword. He moved across Amur, to a place near Elduria’s border with Azon. This was known to be a good place to sell stolen antiques. William entered the city, set up a meeting with a wealthy antiques buyer, and slept in a nice hotel there, knowing the next day he would be a rich man. He never woke up. You could never trust anyone in Amurazon, a place so sleazy, it stole its name from the lands adjacent to it, Amur and Azon. The sword was taken from William, and given to the buyer directly.

  The antiques dealer was a happy man. He examined the sword and admired its beauty. He could sense the Azmoq used in it. He saw the large black Maktsten as well. He had never seen a sword having a black one. He knew the sword was invaluable. He could never part with it. Of course, he didn’t notice the markings below the Maktsten. After all, although everyone had heard of the swords of legend, no one had seen Ayasiddh’s markings on them. He placed the sword with all the other Azmoqian blades he had. The nearest one, a scimitar over 500 years old, had a brown Maktsten. It was a powerful weapon, not one of Valantia.

  No one entered this chamber which held many secrets and valuables, but for when there was an imminent sale. In a week’s time, the brown Maktsten was transparent. The black one, had cracked. No one had entered the chamber. No one noticed anything.

  But the instant the black stone cracked, thousands of kilometers away, a coffin, stolen from a distant land, moved.

  The instant the stone cracked, Shukra, the priest of the world’s largest temple, belonging to a long-lost religion, was about to end his 18th prayer ceremony successfully. His five-day long ordeal was coming to an end. He was about to complete the last round with his 50-kg lamp, his final offering to the unseen idol. Relief was taking hold of his body. But the instant the stone on the ornamental sword cracked in Amurazon, Shukra knew s
omething had gone wrong. His intuition had been proven right.

  All the 1008 wicks on the lamp went out at the same time. Simultaneously, the screen that had guarded the idol for hundreds of years without event, caught fire. Shukra was scared, and confused. He didn’t know what had just happened. The lamp was nowhere near the screen. Before he could do anything, the screen had burnt down to ashes. He saw what he wasn’t supposed to see. The idol. It was the most magnificent thing he had ever seen.

  The idol was ablaze. He had only heard about the splendor of the idol. Now he could see it. It was a 30 foot tall, 10-armed statue of the one god that Shukra worshipped. The statue was standing on one of its legs. The other leg was slightly folded, raised across the other, like the god was dancing. But looking at the idol now, no one would have thought it had been sculpted to look like the god was dancing.

  There were jewels laid on the idol. Jewels in the eyes, a jewel between the eyes, one on each of its fingers across the ten hands, jewels on the weapons held in each hand, there were jewels everywhere. But the largest one, by far, was the jewel on the idol’s chest. It was almost a foot in diameter, deep blue in color. And it was on fire. All the jewels, similarly blue colored, were all ablaze, emitting a hot blue flame. The idol had flames across its entire silhouette. It was the fire that emerged from the idol that had burnt the screen down. Shukra wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t know why his god was so angry.

  Thousands of kilometers away, the demons of sea and land, located in far reaches of the world, suddenly had clarity. They felt happy. They knew their wait was over. They knew what was coming. They could leave their caves now. They could kill, maim and terrorize anyone and everyone they could find. An age of blood and carnage was about to begin.

  Epilogue: Repercussions

  Vikraan was pacing along in his house, waiting for some news to tell him that the battle was over…

  Happy news was rare those days. After months of careful planning, despite some major setbacks, we were hopefully about to receive some good news. Major Morgan had sent us an eagle a couple of weeks back, just as he reached the entrance of the path leading to this secret village. Everything had gone well subsequently. The progress was slow, but without incident. The last eagle mentioned that the unit was probably a day’s ride away. It had been a couple of days since that eagle had come. I waited eagerly for the next one.

  The next eagle did not come. There were no more eagles for the next three weeks. All the council members were worried. A massive victory, one that would surely boost the power of this Imperium, which seemed just a day away, now seemed to have been stalled by forces unknown. None of us could imagine Major Morgan getting defeated by some villagers. Many of us had a real concern; had the Order of Seven discovered our movements? Had they found out that there was an unknown Azmoq reserve, and moved to take control of it?

  Ashwatthama and I, working closely together over the last month to understand how the destruction of the barracks took place, spoke about this predicament multiple times. Neither of us could make much headway on this. We would finally settle down to the same solution. We wait for the next unit to explore the area, before we take any further calls.

  Our work on the secret behind the explosion was progressing much better. We had already figured out that the power transfer between Maktstens, was the chief reason for the explosion.

  Ashwatthama and our chief engineer, who we had included in our circle of trust, seemed confident that this power transfer could be controlled. I had, in fact, walked in on Ashwatthama trying out various weaponized forms of the Maktsten, from a head band that held a large stone between the eyes, to a glove with the stones forming its knuckles. These were being tried out, to see how the stone could directly be controlled by the human body.

  But that wasn’t priority. Even Magnot’s abduction, which was the most significant crime in our history, wasn’t a priority. But that was more because there really wasn’t anything we could do at that point but push the investigation hard. But the reserve capture, that was tangible.

  We were waiting for an eagle from the reinforcements. Their objective was to observe what had happened, establish contact only if they were clear that the Valantian troops had been victorious. Otherwise, they just had to report back. We hadn’t sent any elite unit or even Final 100 member. Just the regular troops, who knew absolutely nothing, but for the fact that there was some small Azmoq cache found in the forests. We didn’t want this story to get any attention from any of the power centers in the continent. Certainly not the Morgenian royalty or the Order of Seven. After our last engagement with the Order of Seven, which created such seeds of doubt in our minds, we did not want to trust any single power center.

  The captain of the army of reinforcements had been sending regular eagles, the same as Major Morgan’s unit, for almost a week after entering the path. Their progress was faster, given that the path had been cleared by the previous set of troops sent there. Then, we got a particularly distressing letter from the captain. He seemed to have suddenly become paranoid. Something had happened, and his letter gave us an inkling of what had gone wrong with Morgan’s unit.

  Peace through stability, respected members of the Valantian Imperium!

  Captain Muken reporting from the forest front. I am sad to confirm that Major Morgan, Azrial and his entire unit no longer exists. I also regret to inform the Imperium that we found no reason to believe that there is any hidden village or Azmoq reserve in that area. I believe I know the reason for the destruction of the previous army unit and the lies that the assassins told the Imperium.

  The reason lies in a drug that is found in the forest. This drug causes severe hallucinations, resulting in death after prolonged exposure. We have evidence that this drug caused the destruction of the complete army unit, and the created visions of a village in the minds of the assassins. I have, at great personal risk, collected evidence to prove this, and I wanted to present it to you in person to assure you that my investigations have led to the right conclusions.

  I couldn’t believe this captain. While his explanation gave us a benign reason for lack of communication from Morgan, it also destroyed our hopes of securing another Azmoq reserve, and enhancing our power. I needed to be doubly sure of this man’s claim before I announced it to the Imperium. It would be a big blow to the morale of the Imperium, already reeling under the still unexplained loss of Magnot. Our communication with the Order of Seven on that matter was never in person. While they seemed to indicate that the kidnapping was carried out by the same person who stole the spear of destiny, I did not feel confident that this investigation was resulting in a concrete output. Especially given that in the eyes of the Imperium, the investigators were the prime suspects.

  So if this Azmoq reserve did not really exist, the paranoia and fear of further such kidnapping, kept at bay by the hope and euphoria of securing this reserve, would return to everyone’s minds with a vengeance. The psychological and strategic impact of this loss was incalculable.

  The captain Muken arrived at my chambers a week after the letter. I decided to meet him alone, so that I could apply my judgement and verify his tale, before taking it to the rest of the Imperium.

  Muken came in, clearly overwhelmed by the place he was in. For obvious reasons. I had to be blunt with him. There could be no room for doubt in my mind.

  “Thank you for your efforts, Captain. But I cannot believe your story. Please present your story and supporting evidence.”

  I am sure my words doubled his nervousness.

  He stuttered through a tale about “Blue Haze” and dead soldiers, coincidences that led to this situation. He then presented three sets of proofs that were quite compelling. One was the uniform of a soldier, that the captain made his soldiers take off a corpse they found in the forest. It was accompanied by a certificate from the physician in the High Seat, confirming that the soldier was Valantian, and had died recently. More importantly, it confirmed that the man was assigned to the unit
that Morgan had led.

  The second piece of evidence the man presented was a piece of Azmoq. Apparently, some foolish lumberjacks had bought a couple of Azmoq pieces at Azmoqshthaal and that had triggered the tracking mechanism in the assassin’s daggers. The assassins apparently possessed some, which they had taken from the lumberjacks before they went into the forest. The captain had picked up the other piece.

  The last piece of evidence was the most interesting one. It was a vial, which seemed completely empty.

  “My lord, this is a vial of the Blue Haze,” Muken started. “We braved our lives to capture some of the plants that produce the Blue Haze, and brought it back to the High Seat to synthesize it. Its potency can be assessed from the fact that, of the 10 soldiers assigned to carrying the plants, three have died from continuous hallucination.”

  I was instantly scared. This small vial had a hallucinogen that could kill! I had to know if it was real. And there really was only one way.

  “Hand me the vial,” I said, steeling myself. I didn’t want to involve my physician, although that would have been the safest thing to do. Fewer the people involved, easier it would be. And I had to experience this for myself. Because where everyone else would see only disaster, I saw opportunity. If the Blue Haze was truly potent, it could be our alternative defense against the Order of Seven.

  Muken wasn’t sure why, but he gave me the vial.

  “Thanks for all these. I am convinced of what has happened in the forest. Now, leave.”

  Muken gave me a low bow before fading away. “Of course, my lord.”

  I held the vial in my hand, and lifted it to my face. It was a reasonably sized one, the length being about two fingers and width of about half a finger. I slowly rotated the cork carefully, just to allow the vial’s contents to come in contact with the air outside. As soon as I felt that the cork was high enough, I closed it. After all, I was taking a huge risk, exposing myself to this drug. There was no smell, so there was no way for me to know whether any of it got out of the vial.