“ ‘A new Dark is rising’?” Mirabel repeated, with a chuckle.
“Ha, my old reputation in those lands aids us—when I belonged to the Dark. I may have abandoned my master, but there’s no reason for them to think I converted to the Light.”
“Things sure work out strange, don’t they?”
Olchemy looked to the sky, as if pondering the mysteries of the Heavens. “Aye, Mirabel, strange indeed.”
“Soul Crusher,” Darshun repeated the phrase. “When speaking to the Cullach, you mentioned a Soul Crusher. What is that?”
Olchemy sighed. “Just a tool of great evil Tanarokai wields.”
“And the Fire Crystal is mightier?”
“Darshun, the power this sacred ball contains cannot be fathomed by the hand of Tanarokai. If only we had the authority to use it. But as long as it exists, ironically, the earth lies in danger—all because of that wretched Abaddon and his corruptive powers.” He looked to Mirabel. “All right, old friend, I will see you soon. No time to waste. Master Seth, King Adeleric.” He nodded to each of them. Then, he turned to Darshun with a more serious expression. “Darshun, may the powers of the Light remain with you and guide you into Syngothra should any harm befall me.”
“Don’t abandon us with words such as that.”
The Wizard Olchemy raised his lips for a smile, then took hold of the horse he’d been given and departed with the Fire Crystal.
CHAPTER NINE
TRAGEDY IN THE MOUNTAIN
The Cullach from Zithel arrived at Asgoth and reported to Castle Volborg, the castle of the Dark King and Queen. Ziah, the commander of that platoon, the one Olchemy had instructed, approached the doors of the king’s lair; his heart raced, adrenaline pumping, ever wondering what would happen after he delivered the message. Taking another deep breath, he knocked.
The doors opened.
“Come forward, Cullach of Zithel,” a female voice ordered.
Ziah knew the voice immediately…the Dark Queen Talvenya, sitting there on her throne. He obeyed, passing through a host of silent Draconian guards, but wouldn’t dare look upon her unless spoken to. With his head hung low, staring at the polished marble floor, each square beautifully patterned with black and blood red, he stopped a few paces before her and kneeled.
“Raise your face to me,” she commanded.
Trembling, he obeyed.
There she sat, in a black scarlet cloth dress with sheer sleeves and shiny black leather boots. Long raven hair drifted past her shoulder, painted black lips and violet eyes. She also wore amethyst earrings, blue, red and citrine spinel necklaces. Her hands sported long dark fingernails, sharp like daggers that could rip apart flesh. Yes, even Cullach found her ‘desirable,’ for she appeared to be very stunning, though in a deadly way. She existed as lust, pure lust that could lead another—had led others straight into Hell.
Her Indigo gaze dominated him, and he could scarcely breathe.
“Ziah, why is it you return here empty handed?”
“For—give me my Queen, but it was not—not my fault, neither was it the fault of my platoon. Let me explain what happened—”
“Silence, Cullach!” Fire lashed in her tone. She rose and stepped hard toward him.
Her angry presence making Ziah feel as though it were the coldest winter day.
“You come back to my castle, stand before my throne, my presence—with no crystals, and say it is not your fault?”
In humility he sank to the floor, throwing his face at her feet, kissing her leather boots. “Please, my Queen, my Goddess, if I could just explain.”
Placing a sole against his face, she kicked him over onto his back. “Spare me your excuses. Instead, you may tell the king, who is returning now.”
And he was. They could hear his loud footsteps echoing down the hall and approaching the lair.
In a way, this pleased Ziah. When he’d first entered and saw him not in his throne, or anywhere in the room, his fear grew worse because if any were to show him mercy, it would be the king.
The queen was unforgiving. All who’d ever failed her in the past were now either stone or dust. Perhaps now, this ‘poor’ Cullach would have a chance?
The metal doors swung open and in he walked, overshadowing all. He stood seven feet, with long reddish-black hair, and wore a crimson ganache draped over his shoulders to his elbows, a black cape, and murrey leather boots. Sheathed in a thick black girdle was his great sword, the Soul Crusher, a sword that not only cut enemies apart like the softest wheat, but spawned magic as a Wizard’s staff might. Most frightening of all were his eyes, if it were right to call them ‘eyes’ for they had no visible pupils, just dark, shadows-like ovals. “Word is spread Zithel has been retaken,” he stated, his voice dripping with darkness, yet at the same time strangely mundane.
“Ziah wishes to explain his failure to you, oh mighty one,” Queen Talvenya commented with a grin.
The king peered down at the cowering Cullach. “Failure?”
“My great King,” Ziah spoke, remaining on his knees. “Please hear me out, it was not my fault, and we now have a bigger problem than we thought. A Wizard who calls himself ‘Olchemy’ has killed the sorcerer Morgh, the Cullach at Zithel, and stolen the Fire Crystal—probably the Water Crystal too. He calls himself the ‘Master of the Fire Crystal,’ claiming to wield its power, and if you do not abandon Asgoth—every post under your Rule, he will destroy us, swift and flawless. So he claims.”
Tanarokai shifted his head at Talvenya. “Olchemy,” he whispered. “So, he is alive.”
“Forgive me,” Ziah begged, “I will not fail you again.”
Fixing his dark eyes back on the Cullach, he sneered, “Of course you won’t.” His voice suddenly changed to a frenzy of rage. “Because you shall never get a second chance!” He grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air effortlessly, crushing his throat with his bare hand.
Wiggling his legs, Ziah struggled to break free, thrashing to and fro, attempting to pry the king’s fingers apart, but could not. His eyes fell still and everything went dark.
~~***~~
Tanarokai tossed the lifeless body to the ground like a doll. “Take this corpse out of my presence,” he commanded the Draconian guards. Frustrated, he walked over to a window and gazed out at the night sky.
The queen followed, slowly walking around his presence, then stopping in front of him.
Her gaze met his. She smiled, and sipped the chalice of wine she carried, staining the cup with her black lips. She offered him some but he turned away, grunting. “Relax, my King,” she said. “A small problem in our conquest is all.”
“Small? Talvenya, my Queen of Darkness, do you not know Lord Abaddon is coming here for the crystals?”
“I do.”
“My messengers have already informed him we found one of the crystals and are in the process of getting another. The news excited him greatly. What do you expect me to say now—that Olchemy the Fire Wizard came back from the dead and stole them from us? If he learns of this you and I will lose our thrones, possibly our lives!”
“He won’t have to know. This Olchemy said he was going to attack our forces in the east, so tell our soldiers to abandon their posts and watches. Temporarily, of course, for I have a plan.”
Tanarokai looked in her eyes and recognized that dark seducing look she always gave him.
“My King,” she purred while grinning, “how much do you love me?”
* * * *
King Adeleric sent scouts out across the eastern lands to watch for danger. Mirabel, Seth, Darshun and Nayland, along with a few hundred men, traveled down the mountain and set up posts, awaiting the messengers or any signs of the Dark and—most anxiously, the return of Olchemy.
After days of Darshun being stationed to a post in the middle of nowhere, upon nothing more than a stretch of field, he grew tired from boredom. He'd rather be fighting a horde of enemies than to mindlessly keep still in a little hut. Mythaen was around to
keep him company, but after conjuring up a little plan, Darshun sent him off to his Uncle Alaric's post.
At first, Mythaen tried to argue, claiming Dar should not be alone. But now, Darshun had something going for him, the title Guardian. If it was true, then Mythaen had no choice but to obey—and he did after some persuading words. Of course, this intimidation would not have worked with Mirabel or Seth, but they weren't present, fortunately. Darshun's plan was to venture after Olchemy, nailing a paper to his post explaining his disappearance. He knew his father would be upset, but Darshun wasn't a child anymore and didn’t have to obey other’s commands if he didn't truly want to. After all, he felt useless sitting around for days doing absolutely nothing when right now the Wizard journeyed across dangerous country with nothing more than an annoying little gnome. It wouldn't be so difficult finding him. When concentrating, he discerned the presence of the Fire Crystal rather easily and felt confident he could catch up in no time flat.
He awoke just minutes before dawn—later than he’d planned. He wanted to get a good night's rest before unleashing a great amount of energy on catching the Wizard. Gathering a sack full of materials and essentials, he went outside his post. The sun was beginning to climb the early red sky. “I better get going while I still can.”
Then something from afar caught his eyes, someone riding a horse across the pasture, venturing toward him.
“What—who is coming to me now? Can't they just trust that I'll be all right? I knew I should’ve left right after I sent Mythaen away!”
Unexpectedly, the horse stopped and the individual fell off, lying still upon the grass.
“Wonderful.” He sighed, knowing he must go and see what was wrong. “So much for my disappearing act.” He leapt onto his mare and rode toward the stranger. Drawing closer, he saw that it was a woman, but neither Loreladian nor Zithelian.
She looked dirty, weak and dehydrated, but her eyes remained on him.
That's interesting. “Miss, are you all right?” he asked, stepping down.
“Water,” she begged. “Wa—water!”
He took out his canteen, gently lifted up her head and dripped some into her mouth.
Coming alive, she ripped the canteen out of his hands, tightly gripping it and selfishly gulped the cold water down until there was nothing left. She buried her head into the grass before Darshun's feet. “Oh thank you, kind sir,” she gasped out, breathing heavily, then rose to meet him, tossing her long hair from her face. “Thank you ever so much.”
Darshun gazed in her eyes, sky blue, and for a moment, he felt lost.
She appeared to be very beautiful. Her face shining like the sun with perky cheeks and blush red lips, her hair was strawberry-blonde and she had the body some might say of a goddess, firm and perfect at every curve. She wore a simple gray tunic and a dark blue skirt. The garments were torn and she was barefoot, but it didn’t matter—this woman was made of pure beauty.
“Are—are you all right?” he asked again.
“Yes. I don’t think I’m hurt. Just weak—hungry.”
“Come with me and I’ll get you something to eat.” He reached out a hand, but she cowered as if he was going to strike her. In his softest voice, Darshun urged, “My lady, please trust me. I won't hurt you.”
Staring at him for at least a minute, she finally extended her hand.
Darshun took it and gently helped her to her feet.
From a lack of energy her legs began to quiver and she struggled to remain standing, so Darshun picked her up, her hair falling against his face, and set her onto his mare; then he climbed on as well and began to ride back to his post, whistling for the lady’s horse to follow.
With what little strength she seemed to have she held onto him tightly as they rode, resting her head against his back. Her hands felt warm, skin soft. And her smell was a combination of lilacs and roses.
Who is this woman? Beautiful as can be, she’s come out of nowhere. Is she from a lost tribe? Another unknown kingdom of men? There must be answers to these questions, but I suppose I should hold off asking until I feed her. She needs to regain strength.
They arrived and Darshun helped her down. He sat her on a nice patch of soft grass and covered her with his wool blanket. Then he made a fire.
The lady said nothing this entire time, only watched as he worked the flames, throwing on a few more thick chunks of wood.
Once the flames were steady, he set a teakettle on one side of the fire, and in his little cast iron pans, he cooked elk sausage and sautéed onions on the other. Still, the woman did not speak, and Darshun said nothing either.
She seemed timid, afraid and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“You poor thing,” he finally spoke, breaking the silence. “You must have been through a lot.”
She glanced up at him, curving her lips into a weak smile, then looked away.
Darshun’s heart went out to her, and more than anything, he wanted to comfort her.
When the food was finished, he set it on his very own stone plate he’d brought with him from Loreladia and handed the dish to her. He also gave her a mug of hot black tea steaming with cinnamon and shredded vanilla beans. “Eat and drink. The food will fill you with strength and the tea will warm your body.”
“Do you not want any?”
“I am fine, my lady. You eat up.”
She did, and surprisingly Darshun had never seen anyone besides himself, take in so much food so quickly. She even gagged on a few onions which stuck in her throat but quickly coughed them out. Feeling embarrassed, she turned away from Darshun until she finished the rest of her food.
He chuckled. “I'm the same way when I eat, even if I’m not starving.”
She smiled lightly—and oh…was it like sunshine—then sipped her tea and sat back, beginning to relax, warming up to him.
“Feeling better?”
She nodded.
“My name is Darshun Luthais.”
“Dar—shun?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You keep calling me your lady. Do I—belong to you?”
Darshun felt embarrassed and unsure how to answer. “Umm, it’s just a way of speaking to a woman. Where I am from, the husbands say that to their wives—?”
She tilted her head. “So, I’ve become your wife?”
Blushing ridiculously, he wanted to hit himself in the head at how stupid he sounded. “I am sorry. I'm not well spoken."
She laughed. “Language differs in every culture. It is all right, Darshun. I gather your meaning, sort of. I am Aurora Anthea, daughter of Sermones Anthea. I am from Mundoria Mountain.”
Mundoria Mountain! “Ahh, so that explains who you are.”
“...You know of my people?”
“Not personally. Only that a terrible legion of Cullach attacked you. Word has spread, even here.”
Her eyes lit up, part fear, part excitement. “I know not what they’re called, but if I were to take a guess I'd say they were barbaric men who bred with boars.”
Remembering their description, especially the first time laying eyes on the race, he answered, “That’s a good way of putting it.”
“I'm never eating swine again. Ugh! Glad you fed me elk.”
He smiled. “Regardless of how they look, the true origin of the Cullach I do not know, though I understand perfectly well how malicious they are. Tell me what happened to you to have come all this way?”
“When the 'boarmen' attacked a few weeks ago, my people had little time to prepare. They sprung up our mountain like ravaged animals, striking us hard. Though we killed a number of them, there were just too many to defend against. Our fortress was soon to fall. My father knew this and sent me away down a secret path for escape. I did—barely. I was lost in the wilderness for a time, until I wandered here. I do not know the fate of my father now, but I fear the worst. They attacked us for the sacred object we worshiped and adorned…The red crystal ball of Kieran, our god.”
“I know of the cry
stal. The Cullach passed by here seven days ago, and we retrieved it.”
Her eyes widened. “Then there’s still hope! I must take the crystal back to my people. It may restore their lives.”
“I am sorry, that will never happen.”
“How—do you mean? The Presence of Kieran dwells within it. He’s the god of Mundoria, creator of the mountain.”
“Then why did he let it fall?” Darshun asked, but soon realized the question was too sharp and wished he could take it back.
Eyes tearing up, she answered, “I don't know, Darshun. Why does any evil happen to the faithful?”
She had a point there. Darshun thought the very same thing about his life and his god Abidan, casting such a burden onto him as Guardian, invading his life and dictating his decisions—so it felt.
“I have to at least try,” she vowed.
“Aurora, however the myths of your people came about, you must understand the red crystal is not what you think, and as of now, it rests in the hands of its true owner.”
“True owner? The crystal of Kieran has been in my people’s possession for a thousand years! It’s what we lived for each day. It’s where our energy, strength and will came from. It belongs to us. And you’re telling me someone else has claimed it?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of a person are you?” She scowled.
“Aurora, I’m truly sorry for your people. But that crystal doesn’t belong to any god, nor does it hold the presence of a deity. Rather, it's an object of great power, of great magic, and has been lost for over two thousand years. It belongs were it is now. There’s nothing I can do.”
“What did you do with the boarmen that attacked my people?” she asked with a glare of fire.
Nervously licking his lips, Darshun answered, “We let them go.”
She stood up in rage and tears. “How could you have done such a thing? First, you tell me you’re keeping my people’s crystal, and then you say you spared the lives of the boarmen. Whose side are you on? Those heathens showed no mercy! And you’re no different than them.” She turned around, attempting to storm off, but Darshun grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Let me go! Let me go! Heathen! Heathen!”
Prophecy Of The Guardian (Guardian Series Book 1) Page 21
