by P D Ceanneir
‘“Hope resides in an Orrinns caulk”, so the prophecy goes,’ said the Nicbetha with a mischievous grin. ‘I think you would be able to work that out for yourself.’ The Blacksword glared at her, looked at the Orrinn in its golden cup, then at the SinDex and grunted.
‘And what about the Dark Tanis?’ he asked the Nicbetha.
The Nicbetha looked lost for words. She deferred to the God, who rested his back against the wall and gave out a long sigh that sounded like snow blowing off a high mountain peak. He suddenly looked very old and very tired.
The Dark Tanis is a form of the Dark Force of the Earth’s evolution that we do not wish to occur. We would be powerless to destroy it. This is why you must complete the task before you at all costs.
‘But you created the Five Who Speak…?’
...as a contingency plan if all fails, interrupted Hagan, giving the Dark Force of the Earth physical form weakens his spirit and therefore his immunity to Pyromantic Energies, energies that only you will possess, you and the Sword that Rules.
‘So…that is why he fears me,’ nodded the Blacksword in understanding.
‘Yes,’ said the Nicbetha, ‘you are his Nemesis and he would like you eradicated. That is why his disciples in the Brethac Order are bent on your destruction.’
The huge mass of the My’thos god suddenly sat with a loud thump and groaned. The Blacksword felt his weariness from where he stood. Life was leaving him, leaching back into the earth that birthed him.
‘What is wrong?’
I grow faint, I have lived many times more than a My’thos should, and soon I will return to the Earth Mother.
‘You can’t go! I have more questions.’
The answers you seek will come in time. We have bestowed cognitive perceptions upon you far greater than any human has. You know things, but are unsure why. You summon familiars to do your bidding, yes? Yet you are unaware of where you acquired this gift.
‘Familiars?’ the Blacksword frowned. ‘Ah! I understand now. The Ravens answer my call; they come from afar in their thousands.’
They hear you and obey you. They amongst others of the night’s scavengers.
Hagan groaned and his eyes dimmed, now I have one last gift for you. He lifted up his mighty hand and left it hovering above the Blacksword’s head. The Blacksword watched it as the thick branches for fingers splayed out. Beside him, the Nicbetha grinned.
I give you the future.
With a sudden jolt, like electricity, images rushed into his head, visions of the future. He screamed as the force of the future weighed heavily upon him. The rush was incomprehensible, even when he concentrated on the pictures they hurt with a searing heat. He allowed them to sink into his mind, letting it seep into his soul. When Hagan severed the connection, he was still screaming.
I am sorry but that was necessary, said the god, in time you will understand why I have given you this gift. Hagan slumped further and leant against the wall of the cave, his eyes faded into a dull glow.
The end has come. As the Old Keeper, I bequeath the Gredligg Orrinn to the New Keeper. Watch over the Book of Lost Souls and protect its precious secrets.
The Blacksword gasped for breath as he recovered from the god’s Thought Link. ‘I will, my Master,’ he said.
The garb of the Old God lost its light green colours, turning brown and then dropped like dead leaves of autumn. The eyes dimmed to dark orbs and finally extinguished into two small columns of smoke that rose towards the ceiling. The body of the last My’thos god crumpled to the floor and turned to dust that scattered over the ground until nothing of him remained.
The soft whispering from the Orrinn stopped. The glow from the Skrol on the celling disappeared. However, the colours from the Gredligg Orrinn remained as they splashed against the orb’s glassy walls.
The blue glow from the Nicbetha dimmed as well.
‘It is done,’ she said, ‘the next stage is set and the Great Plan continues.’
‘And your part?’ asked the Blacksword.
‘My role is always to continue in aiding the Old Gods, and now you. I will reside inside the Glammerstone crystal of the talisman until such time as you need me.’
The Blacksword nodded.
The apparition of the Nicbetha disappeared and the Hall of Whispers became silent for the first time in thousands of years.
The remaining Vallkyte soldiers tried to surrender. The small group of Paladin’s and Falesti infantry stubbornly blocked the route to the other end of the bridge, and the local militia of Ternquin attacked their rear. They knew that they could not win and free themselves from this trap. However, the Ternquin inhabitants did not offer any quarter as they hacked every one of the Vallkytes to death, meting out their terrible revenge on those who murdered their Sernac, their families, and destroyed their sacred tree and homes. Powyss and the others looked on with unemotional faces, knowing that they would have done the same in their place.
The battle in the sky was no contest either. Four small Sky Ships of the Ternquin navy appeared from behind the rim of the mountain forests following behind the original three. They attacked the floundering Deucalion and ripped her to shreds. Admiral Hurnac on board the Lartchion saw sense, ordered the ships sails trimmed to catch the west winds, and made an undignified departure from the fight, followed closely by the Ternquin ships.
Hexor pointed out to everyone as he looked at the other end of the bridge that he could see a lone figure walking out of the grey cloud that sheathed Mortkraxnoss. Everyone advanced across the Guardians and almost reached the end when there was a rumbling roar that shook the bridge causing him or her to stumble to the ground. The Floating Isle lifted into the air and gradually moved out of the valley.
Havoc wandered out of the Gateway of Death with the Gredligg Orrinn held tightly in his arms just as his friends approached from the opposite direction. He looked tired, battered, bloody, but very much alive and well. They all stared at the Orrinn of legend and fell to their knees.
‘You have done it…you have done it, my lord,’ gasped Lord Ness as he tentatively reached out to touch the object.
‘It is done, yes,’ said Havoc to everyone, ‘our mission is over. This long journey is at an end. Now we can finally go home.’
Far away on the island continent of Tattoium-Tarridun, in a small circular shrine inside Temple Woods, Lord Sernac, his face concealed by the dark cowl of his cloak, watched the nobles of the Brethac Order arrive. They formed into their own circle around him, Cinnibar and Kasan stood at his side. In the central dais table sat three large orbs covered in a cotton shroud. King Kasan pulled the shroud away to reveal the detailed grandeur of the three large stones of varying colour. One was the colour of jet dashed with a sprinkling of silver so it looked like the night sky and its stars. The other was copper in colour with seams of gold running through it. The last shone an iridescent blue with shards of green lightning bridging the curved top and running straight down to the tapered point at the bottom.
The assembly of nobles gasped at the orbs. The man who brought them wore a vermilion robe belted at the waist, yet all there knew the Acolyte to the Earth Daemon held these orbs secret until now. Their gratitude overflowed to charge the small gathering with positive feelings at this auspicious occasion. Lord Sernac, however, inwardly scoffed at the sycophantic buffoons around him. He saw himself as the sole member of the Brethac Ziggurat and these others were mere minions to the Dark Entity, to be dispensed with at a whim.
Since his decision to bring down the orbs from the Dynaclious Mountain top a few months ago, where they had resided for over a thousand years, he knew he had set himself on a path that would only lead to success. Admiral Hurnac had informed him via a Lobe Stone that the De Proteous was now in possession of the Gredligg Orrinn.
Hurnac and Fowyn’s failure to kill the prince at the orders of Cinnibar and Kasan was inevitable. Lord Sernac had seen that much in his dreams, but deliberately refrained from explaining his vision to the Order. He travelled a diffe
rent path. He walked beside his master, the Earth Daemon. These others walked towards their doom without knowing it. All his visons had been accurate, the War in the Wildlands, the rise of the De Proteous and the forging of the Sword that Rules. He even foresaw the summoning of the dragon Ciriana at the Ancarryn, although that was slightly hazy in its formation due to the powerful fluctuations in the time streams weaving with the Blacksword’s Bani.
Yes, he knew of the Bani, and it worried him. It clouded everything and distorted his images of the future; no matter…the imaginary path he now walked along was blocked to the past. Only the future brought the Dark Force of the Earth’s release.
He silently chuckled.
He stretched his hand out to the orbs in front of him, realising that their destruction would mean he would lose communication with his master, it was a small price to pay. According to Elemental Lore, only the power within the Firesprite gave him the ability to talk to Gods. The unique harmonic resonance held within the outer casings of these three orbs together bypassed that rule. Although, the link always drew much energy from him even with the use of the mountain‘s own Driftcircle to enhance his powers, he would not be sorry never to perform the link ever again and face the weeks of recovery he always had to endure in the aftermath.
Lord Sernac used the Wind Element to lift the black orb off the dais and allow it to float above the floor. He sent a hot stream of Fire to engulf it for a few seconds and then dropped it. The bubbled surface of the orb split apart into smaller, rounder white stones as it shattered on the floor. The smoke and the flame faded away as Lord Sernac called an armoured knight forward to stand next to the fragments of stone.
‘Let it’s eyes see you,’ said Sernac, ‘let it bond to you as father and son.’
The knight crouched as far as his armour would allow him and he took off his helmet. His wide eyes looked down at the hunched form amongst the shattered fragments, which slowly moved and stretched it’s black body as if it had remained in that position for very a long time.
The sounds of joints clicking into place loudly made some of the Brethac onlookers cringe. The creature’s body grew to twice its size right in front of their eyes until it was the size of a large dog, sloughing off scales as it did so. It mewed and screeched at the pain of growing, shaking violently. The long neck elongated as it lifted its head; it opened one reptilian eye to look straight into the knights smiling face
The baby dragon rubbed its snout on his outstretched hand. The crowd erupted into a roar of triumph.
Part Two
The Dragon Wars
With one claw on the quaking shore
and the other on his domain of lore
He sent his enemies into a fleeing dread
and roared in triumph as the Sept was fed
Great Jarrod the Red ruled the land
mighty dragon of the ethereal clan
He took by force what man’s last sown
and doomed their fate with his own.
The fall of Jarrod the Red
From the Dragor-rix
By Herodotus
Bide thee await Deaths harsh touch
Sit and ponder the final call
There you see the weave falter!
Sit and share the loss of all
Will the Bani change the thread?
Bide thee await the Shadowfall
Shadowfall
From the Legend of the Blacksword
By Opeac the Historian
Chapter Sixteen
Shadowfall
The sixteenth day of Marach 3039 YOA
H
e could move.
Not physically, but mentally, the shift was slight, hardly perceptible at all, yet after millions of years trapped by the cloying host of souls clutching his incorporeal form, he felt the unmistakable taste of freedom.
Something had changed.
However, this new freedom was barely tangible. His influence on the world started small, subtle, just whispers in the air, a tickle of cold on skin, a blight spreading like an uncontrollable disease.
This tentative probing was weak, although over time it would grow stronger as the boundaries of his prison weakened and diminished.
He spread his powerful mental muscles to force his essence beyond the walls of his prison. As with the Blacksword, who could taint the air with uncomfortable pressure when he was angry, the Earth Daemon did the same, though he covered the entire planet with his influence.
The changes were slow to begin with. The weather first became changeable. Hotter climates felt a curious chill descend before the dusk, colder climates became warmer as snow-laden clouds failed to empty. The gale smashed grasslands of the Marrow quietly becalmed while the forested mountains of the Hinterland suffered relentless lashings of storms for days on end. Uncommon thaws in the Midlands of the Ventoli meant that flash floods burst the banks of great rivers and flooded the plains and pastures and the deserts of Mubea concealed its many oases with huge sandstorms.
The people of the Realms felt the cloying malevolence. They feared the paranoia and danger around them when nothing was evident. Their dreams were beset by nightmares, their waking hours meant that the young grew short of temper as their headaches increased; the old complained about the pains in their joints and the uncontrollable feeling of hopelessness.
Shadowfall had begun.
‘Are you sure that is the right symbol for subduing?’ shouted Lord Ness over the din of the storm outside. He was watching Prince Havoc carve another Skrol marking into the ceiling of the Choylorran Room where the roots of the Choylorran tree shifted inside the long trough that contained the cloying mush of Choy. The long spine of the lower hull room was an ideal place to store the Gredligg Orrinn, placed inside a makeshift wooden cup that the prince and Tia had decorated with Skrol several days ago.
‘I can’t remember all of the Skrol etching from the cave,’ answered the prince as he gripped a root beam whilst the Cybeleion shuddered through the turbulence. ‘Most are so obscure that they do not appear in our alphabet, but I instantly recognised this one as being very important,’ he pointed to another area of the ceiling, ‘add the same symbol over there and also there.’
Tia jumped off the small set of wooden ladders as she finished carving another symbol. ‘From what you told me, there were literary thousands of Skrol markings in the cave. We are going to be here forever doing this and the Choylorran is not going to be happy with us scratching at her roots!’
‘I understand, but if this Shadowfall effect is not controlled we will never get out of this storm!’ added Lord Ness with some annoyance.
‘If we can’t stop the effects,’ said the Havoc, ‘we can at least slow it down. We have to get home quickly and in one piece, which is imperative.’
Above decks, the Cybeleion fared the storm better than the fleet of Ternquin Sky Ships that followed close behind the Quest Ship, and diligently persevered through the buffeting winds and flashes of sheet lightening.
Shadowfall spread.
In the Wadis of Summerland Amon sheep and cattle gave birth to malformed young and swarms of flies erupted from the mountain lakes to plague the inhabitants of Wadi Sepp in South Amon. It spread over the Fyrandian Straight to the Sea of Green Waters and onto the distant continent of Fyrandia itself where hail the size of a new-born’s head pummelled the coastal towns of Loru Wadi, Irmakesh and as far south as Dalance.
The spread of the Shadow touched the Fyrandian capital of Xirm where a rampant fever struck the infants, and the dead rose up to infest the Canyons of the Crystal Moon leaving them to wander the empty halls within the ancient Watchtower of Loth-Baradoum, or so it is written in the Xirmal Provence Records of that year.
Shadowfall’s influence grew weaker as the crew of the Cybeleion added more subduing Skrol around the Great Orrinn, yet it’s effect could not be contained entirely, or indefinitely.
High on her Tower of Solitude in the Tenk of Mubea, the High Sultana Lady Leufite adjusted her shawl
as she shivered. She had stepped out onto the balcony and watched the dark clouds amass over the high peaks of the Plysarus Mountains far to the east. A chilly breeze ruffled her silk shirt and something cold and repugnant touched her shoulder causing her to cry out in horror at the pain. From that day forward, she would have a burn mark in the shape of a handprint, and no explanation of how it got there.
As Shadowfall moved even closer towards Tattoium-Tarridun, the winds changed over the Mariners Sea to spin and coil in various directions. Sailors witnessed huge water spouts form in rows and then disappear. When ships passed through these areas of disruption, they would find many species of fish floating on the surface of a choppy sea, their dead eyes staring back at them.
In the city of Sonora, the heat of the day became stifling, but night brought a layer of frost that covered the streets and houses. In the morning, wealthy stable owners found all of their horses bathed in sweat as if they had been galloping all night. Fresh milk turned sour within minutes and baked bread became stale as soon as it left the ovens.
Shadowfall recoiled as it touched the fringes of the enchanted Eternal Forest, but draped itself over the canal town of Aquen where it caused a plague of billions of Waterslugs to crawl onto walkways and into the homes of the town.
Further to the north in the trader town of Kerness, a man killed his son because he suspected the teenager interfered with his stepmother, days later she miscarried and continued to bleed constantly for four days until she died. Shadowfall may not have been the cause of this, but there were many incidents of expectant mothers losing their babies from as far as Farness and Dutresi.
There is a lonely structure of standing stones near to the town of Aquen commonly referred to as the Rings of Port. Port was an ancient word for high moorland that sat near to the slopes of mountains; in this case, the mountains were the Haplann hills.
