The Pale Lord lowered his hands, and the rope of energy shimmered and faded away with an angry hiss, like a glowing sword taken from the anvil and plunged into a bucket of water.
“My city is ailing. There is not much time to restore it to health before irrevocable damage is done. Redouble your efforts, Master Flent. Do not disappoint me.” The Pale Lord’s lanternlike eyes bored into Flurbinger’s for a moment, and then he disappeared, teleporting away.
Flurbinger let out a deep breath as his fear receded, to be replaced with something else—hopelessness. The sense of impending failure threatened to drown him in a deep depression. There is nothing further to be done. The next time he asks and I have nothing to show, his anger will be the end of me. I fear Nexus will shatter like a rusty nut under a wrench.
He glanced over his shoulder, looking for the chamberlain, but he also was gone. The gnome was standing alone in the ruined skeleton of the foundry.
Resigned to his fate, Flurbinger scurried toward the nearest access tunnel, eager to be back underground, even though he knew it was futile.
***
“Greetings, Sister Idrimel. How goes your day thus far?”
Idrimel turned to see Andras, the High Priest of the Temple of Sol, smiling through his thick iron-gray beard. The busy priest had stopped in the hallway to greet her, always finding the time to speak with her and Athyzon. The siblings, due to their plane-blessed nature, she suspected, were revered in the temple and almost treated as if they were royalty.
She returned Andras’s smile. “I am glad that I can be of use in this time of trouble. The sick and wounded are many, and Sol provides me with his blessings that I might tend to them. In that, I am content.”
“Ah, but there is something that yet troubles you, I sense.”
She nodded, face falling slightly. “You are wise, Brother Andras. My brother and I were given this quest by a celestial, yet we seem to have lost our path with the destruction of the foundry. We located and destroyed the fiend responsible, but alas, it was too late. Since then, I fear I have not been favored to receive Sol’s holy guidance. I’m delighted to be of service in whatever way I can, but I feel as if I have not the wisdom to see where my path leads from here.”
Idrimel tried to conceal her frustration, for fear the high priest would think her more concerned with her own glory than the will of Sol. She and Athyzon had been making progress in their quest when they had tracked down and battled the fiends in the warehouse, and then the gnome had come along to aid them. After the destruction of the foundry, Yosrick had disappeared to find his uncle and “take care of some business,” in his words. The siblings, unsure of how else to put their skills to use, had returned to the temple and spent the past three days aiding the clergy in curing the ill and those wounded in the violence.
Andras stroked his beard and nodded. “This is understandable, especially after receiving a task of such great import, that when you encounter a time when your feet might falter, you’d feel confused, perhaps your faith shaken.” He placed his strong hands on her shoulders and held her captive with his words. “Take heart, Sister Idrimel, for although dark times may plague us, in time the Lord of Light will illuminate a path for us all. We must keep the faith and persevere. Just ensure that you are prepared to answer the call when you hear it.”
She was heartened by the high priest’s words. “Thank you, Brother Andras. Your words bring wisdom and comfort. I shall continue my prayers for enlightenment with renewed faith.”
The high priest nodded and bade her good day with a polite bow.
As she walked the halls of the temple, Idrimel wondered how her brother was faring. At the request of the Nexus Watch, the Temple of Sol, among others, was assisting by providing patrols to ensure safety for the citizens. Athyzon had volunteered to lead a patrol, happy to put his skills to better use, whereas Idrimel had decided to remain at the temple and use her healing talents aiding the less fortunate.
She sighed. I’m no use to anyone here, loitering deep inside the temple. Sol blessed me with these abilities to carry out his will, and for now, I must be satisfied with a brief halt along my journey. She set out to relieve some of her fellow priests aiding the common folk.
Chapter 2
Bone-chilling fog gnawed at Malek’s exposed skin, threatening to steal inside and snuff out what precious warmth remained in his body. He clenched his cloak tightly around himself as he wandered blindly in the mist. Although nothing had gone according to plan back in Nexus, he was glad he had his cloak and the meager supplies he had brought as a precaution. Without them, he would likely have been dead in no time, for no living thing could survive for long in the environment in which he found himself.
Crumbling remains loomed out of the fog around him, what looked to have once been wondrously constructed buildings and towers. For days, he had wandered the seemingly endless ruins—the desolate carcass of what he imagined had been a once-great city. His footsteps echoed hollowly as he aimlessly traversed roads paved with neatly fitted stones. A fallen spire or crumbling archway occasionally took form in the mist when he drew near.
His appearance in such a forlorn place had come as an abrupt shock. One minute, he had been engaged in battle with the Pale Lord of Nexus, and the next he found himself in this desolate expanse of ruins. For a moment, he had felt a glimmer of hope as he had gotten the upper hand over his foe, but then the tide of battle had turned swiftly when his companions had turned on him. He remembered Nera and Endira calling out warnings for him to stop, the elf’s voice sounding telepathically in his head. By that point, it was too late—the power had been consuming him, and he was on the precipice of losing control. The last thing he remembered was a sharp pain in his thigh from where Nera’s dagger had pierced him, followed by a brutal psionic assault. His consciousness had faded under the agonizing sensation of burning alive from the Pale Lord’s renewed magical assault. When he awoke, he was no longer in Nexus but in this forsaken land where nothing but ruin surrounded him.
Malek’s whole body still ached: a severe headache threatened to split his skull while his thigh still throbbed where Nera’s dagger had pierced it. Fortunately, he remained unburned, likely as a result of instinctively siphoning the Pale Lord’s magic before it could do real damage. He had crudely cauterized the stab wound with his magic, but without any vitality available to draw on, it couldn’t heal properly. He was starting to doubt that might ever happen.
The sting of his companions’ betrayal was a different type of wound—one that could not be magically sealed, and it troubled him more than his physical pains. The nagging thought that perhaps their actions had been done for his own good tried to surface, but he thrust that thought to the back of his mind to explore at a later time. At the moment, he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. What he needed was rest.
He didn’t know if time flowed differently here, but he acknowledged the likelihood. He felt as though he had been wandering for days until he would nearly collapse from exhaustion, sleeping when the need took him, yet no matter how much rest he got, he still felt tired. Besides physically, he was also mentally taxed, finding it difficult to focus.
Knowing his strength was near its limits, he sought shelter. He limped into the small courtyard of what had likely been an estate, now partially covered by a collapsed tower. Some tumbled blocks formed a small cave, into which he crawled. He slumped against the wall, leaning his head back against the cold stone and massaging his aching thigh. Exhaustion immediately threatened to slam his eyes shut despite his demands to keep them open.
Malek extended his senses outward to the limits of his perception once again in the hopes of finding some sign of life. His second sight reached perhaps a mile or two, but he could sense nothing at all. He realized his second sight was worthless here, revealing a barren place little different from what his eyes could see. He could detect no bloom of life in the bleak gray of his surroundings from which he could draw vitality, nor was there any resid
ual magic in the land itself. Not even dead plant life, a potential source of fuel for a fire, could be found anywhere. With dawning horror, he realized he was truly alone in a dead land.
“This must be the Gray Lands, as the Seer spoke of.” His voice seemed a feeble thing, choked off by the oppressive fog.
Naught but dust and decay. Fitting punishment that the Pale Lord sent me here, where my long-lost ancestors died, consumed by their lust for power.
Malek sighed. He still held a substantial reserve of power within him from the massive amounts of energy he had drawn in Nexus. Knowing he had to conserve as much as he could, he poured a small amount of magic into a stone upended from the floor. The stone glowed red hot, generating sufficient warmth in the enclosed space. He lay down, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible on the hard stone floor. He succeeded and, within moments, was fast asleep.
***
“I think she fancies you, lad.” Magellan grinned and waggled his brows as soon as the pretty serving girl walked away.
Malek blushed. He was surprised when Ilyena had seemed to notice him for the first time about a week past and had actually greeted him with a warm smile. Since then, he’d been back to the inn to see her on every occasion he could manage although he’d not admit that to anyone. Magellan had taken note, of course, and made it a point of venturing down to the inn for dinner that evening, a rarity for the solitary mage, who preferred to stay out of the nearby village. He usually sent Malek on the short trip into town to pick up any supplies they needed.
The locals occasionally glanced in their direction curiously, obviously surprised the mage had seen fit to venture into town for dinner, with his apprentice in tow.
Embarrassed, Malek focused on his food. The pot roast and vegetables had been taken fresh off the hearth. He nearly burned his mouth as he devoured them, so delicious was the meal. Maisy was an exceptional cook, as evidenced by the packed common room. The cider was fresh and crisp and complemented his food nicely.
The folk in the inn chatted of day-to-day events, such as the price of hay or how the Miller’s sow had birthed a dozen piglets. Malek thought he might be happy growing up and staying in a quiet village like Northbrook. Magellan had raised and taught him for several years, and he was on the verge of reaching manhood. Although he hadn’t made much progress in learning about and controlling his own power, he was knowledgeable in herbalism, history, magical theory, alchemy, and other disciplines Magellan had instructed him in. He could speak and understand Elvish and Dwarven to a fair degree. The thought of using his magic to help the locals sounded appealing; however, from what he’d experienced so far, his powers seemed useless other than for destroying things.
Perhaps I can use my magic to defend the village from any bandits or raiders that might try to attack us. His mood darkened as his thoughts involuntarily turned to the attack on his home when he was a boy, before Magellan had arrived and taken him in.
Magellan lit up his pipe with a snap of his fingers. The old man inhaled deeply and blew a contented smoke ring.
Malek tilted back his mug of cider but was disappointed to find only a drop remained.
“Was everything to your liking, Master Magellan?” Ilyena appeared at Malek’s elbow. She gave him a cute smile and placed another mug of cider in front of him, swiftly banishing his dark thoughts. Then she began clearing their dishes.
“Excellent, young lady,” Magellan replied. “Please give my compliments to Maisy.”
“I’ll do so, sir. And what about you, Malek?” Her brown eyes twinkled with amusement.
Malek cleared his throat. “Um yes, everything tasted great. The service too.” He grinned—like a fool, he thought later.
Ilyena held his eyes a moment, her own smile widening. “Well, that’s what we like to hear. Will ya be back by the inn tomorrow, then?”
Malek glanced at Magellan, but his master was busy studying a smoke ring as it drifted toward the ceiling. Magellan squinted, and the smoke formed a winged horse that beat its wings and sailed gracefully around Ilyena’s head before fading away as it neared the ceiling.
The girl laughed brightly, and Malek’s heart raced at the sound.
“Sure. I’ll, uh, see you on the morrow then, Ilyena?”
A farmer across the room called for Ilyena to bring him a refill, and she waved in acknowledgment.
“Right. See ya on the morrow, Malek.” She gave him another small grin and, with her arms full of dishes, brushed against his shoulder as she headed for the kitchen.
Magellan smiled at Malek, clearly amused by his discomfort.
He looked away in embarrassment, and when he chanced to look over again, his master’s face had twisted in distress as if something hadn’t agreed with him. He leaned over as if in pain.
“Master, does something ail you?”
The mage didn’t speak, but his face went slack, and drool dripped from his lip. His eyes rolled back in his head.
Malek rose to his feet in alarm and went around the table. Magellan looked very unwell. As Malek touched his arm, the old man suddenly imploded, caving in on himself with a ripe bursting sound. He was suddenly gone. Only ash remained, floating gently down from where he had once sat.
“I’d say Maisy’s special didn’t agree with the old man!” shouted a villager.
Laughter chortled around the whole inn. Malek felt shock and rage in equal measures. His mouth opened in a scream of horror.
***
Malek shuddered awake with a strangled cry. He sat up and looked around, on the verge of panic, not knowing where he was. Power thrummed through his body, and he realized he was barely containing it, like a pot about to boil over suddenly.
For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming. His surroundings were colorless—all he could see were shades of gray. He was sitting in an alcove of gray stone. The air was musty and damp, his vision obscured by a lighter gray fog a short distance outside his small cave. Even his blue robes seemed to have had the color leached from them, leaving barely a hint of the hue they had been.
Then it all came back—Nexus, Magellan’s death, the battle with the Pale Lord. And now the Gray Lands.
He cursed silently. The dream had felt incredibly real. He had hoped for a moment that he had passed on to the afterlife and the gods had returned him to that happy time in his life. But that was not to be.
After a moment of concentration, he calmed his mind and allowed the power to subside within him again. The stone he had heated earlier had grown cold. Not knowing how much time had passed, Malek clambered out of the small cave and stretched, trying to get his aching muscles functioning again.
“I had better continue on… Where, I know not. Perhaps there is knowledge to be gained from studying these Gray Lands.”
Malek took a sip of his water and kept his thoughts limited to finding some clue as to what had happened there. The Seer had told of a cataclysm brought about by the corruptors’ abuse of their power.
Perhaps I can learn from their failures. That is where I shall start. He focused on those thoughts. Anything more than that, and his mind would go astray, sinking his mood into either depression or fright. Neither would be helpful, and both could get him killed.
He couldn’t sense any living menace around him, but something had destroyed this civilization, and he couldn’t help but fear whatever had done so was still out there, waiting for some tasty living morsel to wander into its trap.
Chapter 3
Nera slipped through the shadows, cutting through the boundary of the slums, in search of the dwarf. Endira had been able to narrow down his location to the edge of the slums, inside an inn that Nera was familiar with. She hoped to sneak up on him after he retired to his room in order to avoid making a scene. She was counting on getting the drop on him. If not, the confrontation would be risky and possibly dangerous.
Since the Machine had fallen silent, the slums had taken a turn for the worse. A fragile peace was normally in force, with different gan
gs and guilds controlling separate territories. Frequent skirmishes were normal, but there had always been a sense of stability in the past. Not any longer.
Screams and the sounds of fighting were common now. Smoke billowed from a block that had been set afire several streets over.
She froze when a pair of rogues jumped from a second-floor window a dagger’s toss ahead of her. One of them, a slight female, rolled and regained her feet smoothly. Her male companion wasn’t so fortunate, landing heavily and crumpling to the street with a cry, ankle either badly sprained or broken.
A middle-aged man, apparently the homeowner, appeared in the window, shouting curses. He leaned out and twirled a sling in his hand.
The female rogue shouted encouragement to her companion, eyes darting to the whirling sling and back as she pulled her partner to his feet. The man winced and limped along. He suddenly yelped as a stone thudded into his shoulder blade. A second shot from the sling hit the woman on the arm, making her screech. They wisely took cover by pressing themselves up against the building front, where the homeowner’s stones couldn’t reach them.
After the excitement died down, Nera proceeded, hand on the pommel of her enchanted dagger, Lightslicer. The fire burning nearby seemed to be growing, from the glow given off and the stench of smoke, stronger than when she had entered the slums. She wondered if her hovel would still be standing when the unrest was over.
Nera glanced down Silverlark Lane, which wended through the heart of the slums and eventually ended near her guildhall. She reminded herself to pay them a visit very soon.
Doors of the Dark Page 2
