“Well, I wouldn’t announce myself with a fanfare, would I?” Hannock shouted.
“You seem to forget, Captain, I have already faced Karrak once. His power is far greater now that he has the Elixian Soul.”
“I don’t care, we’re not sacrificing Jared. There must be another way.”
“Take your own advice, Hannock, calm down and shut your face. Ranting and raving won’t help,” said Jared calmly.
“There is…” began Emnor, “… if you’ll allow me to continue…” he said, glancing sideways at Hannock, “… a weapon at our disposal. One that could turn the tides in our favour.”
“Well, spit it out, what weapon?” snapped Hannock.
“Jared himself…” replied Emnor, “…combined with the Heart of Ziniphar.”
Drake clapped his hands together, “I knew it. I knew you had something up your sleeve. Or should I say, inside Jared’s tunic?”
“Real wizards do not keep things up their sleeves, Maddleton, and by the way, one more interruption from you and I may feel the need to turn you into something nasty.” Drake suddenly found the floor very interesting, his eyes darting down to avoid Emnor’s gaze.
“So, this is some sort of enhancement?” asked Jared, once again brandishing the Heart, “It’s not just a protective talisman, is it?”
“Far from it…” replied Emnor, “… it’s the Elixian Soul’s twin sister.”
“Wait a minute. You mean that thing has as much power as the one that Karrak took from here?” asked Hannock.
“No, not quite. I think it actually has twice the power,” replied Emnor.
“If that’s the case, won’t it send Jared as mad as Karrak?”
Jared shot Hannock a look of disbelief. “Thanks for that,” he said.
“You know what I mean, Jared,” said Hannock, in dismissal of Jared’s feigned indignation.
“It won’t send him mad, it’s the complete opposite of the Soul. The Soul exists for its own ends, whereas the Heart looks for the good in all creatures. They were once a whole, but somehow became split. To have a pure soul, you must have a pure heart. The scroll says:
“With the Heart and Soul combined, one’s pure nature is defined
If allowed to dwell apart, war will rage ‘twixt soul and heart
Only death of bearers both, will bring about a new betroth
All shall return to endless good, once they re-join in royal blood.”
“So, it seems my fate is sealed,” laughed Jared. “I die, Karrak dies. You dip the two halves of this ancient gem into our blood and everybody lives happily ever after. It’s just like the stories we had read to us as children, Hannock.”
“The stories I used to read ended up with the villain getting his head lopped off and that’s how this one’s going to end. You said yourself that scroll’s ancient. Give me a strong blade or a crossbow and I’ll change the details for you.”
Alex, unexpectedly, walked toward Jared. Looking up at him and showing no emotion, he spoke, “The only thing that can save you is knowing how to use that…” he said, pointing at the Heart of Ziniphar, “… I think it’s time to start your lessons anew.”
CHAPTER 8
Karrak was once again walking through the grounds of Merrsdan. He paid no heed to the scores of mindless bodies that shuffled around him as they carried rubble and refuse caused by the destruction of his attack. Darooq sneered at the former citizens and soldiers of Borell. His hatred of them was almost as great as Karrak’s had been. Karrak himself no longer gave any thought to such things, hatred and anger were a thing of the past. His only focus now was on power. He had a single-minded obsession to dominate all others and was completely devoid of all emotion.
He turned quickly, his robes parting momentarily, allowing Darooq a brief glimpse of his latest apparel. A glint from the setting in the centre of a newly-forged breastplate revealed his most treasured possession, the Elixian Soul. He had had the breastplate skilfully crafted by a smith of Borell by allowing him his consciousness long enough to complete the intricate design. His task completed, Karrak had granted his freedom by slaughtering him. Now, wherever he went, the Soul was with him, a subconscious addiction over which he had no control.
“My lord…” began Darooq, “… we are running low on provisions. The people you have enslaved need no sustenance, but your beasts are becoming unruly. They are attacking and feeding on anyone who comes near.”
“There is meat for them everywhere, Darooq. Can you not see it? Look,” Karrak waved his hand and seven of the mindless slaves fell dead. They let out no screams and felt no pain as their lives were extinguished as easily as if Karrak were snuffing out a candle. “Let me know if there is any other way I can waste my time for you, Darooq. I would hate for you to have to think for yourself.”
Darooq bowed to his lord. Karrak had now changed beyond recognition. His hood was as far forward as it would reach, completely obscuring his face, or what had been his face. His features had disappeared and now only a shadow that vaguely resembled a human visage existed. Even his robes appeared blacker than they had been.
Once, Darooq had an admiration of Karrak, understanding his thirst for power. That admiration had now turned to fear. To bear witness to Karrak’s slaughter of innocents was something that even he could not stomach. In any normal circumstance, an example would be made of one or a few; an example made to bring the others in line. This was no longer the way that Karrak behaved. He destroyed any he deemed inferior and Darooq knew that now, he too, was one of them. He dare not show any sign of weakness. To lower his guard would surely lead to his demise.
Darooq turned away, instructing others to drag the corpses to the pits in which Karrak had commanded his pets be kept, and as he looked on, he gave the slightest shudder. Suddenly, he was lifted from his feet and thrown headlong into a wall. He had no time to gather his thoughts before he was lifted again, spun around and slammed backwards into the wall a second time.
Karrak approached him silently. Even his walk had changed, his robes remaining vertical, as if he were gliding effortlessly. He stood before Darooq and spoke, a deep, echoing, disembodied voice that seemed to fill the entire hallway, “You’re not going soft on me, are you, Darooq? Was that compassion I saw? Do you somehow feel sorry for these pathetic beings?”
“No, master,” gasped Darooq. “I am unlike them, I feel the cold. It was nothing but a shiver, I assure you.”
Karrak tilted his head to one side, studying his only free-thinking follower, “Well, I’d better take care of that for you, hadn’t I?”
“Master,” begged Darooq. “You said that you valued my opinion, that you would not make me like… them. You called me ‘friend’.”
“I did, and you are. You are my friend still, are you not?”
“Yes, master, and a loyal one,” replied Darooq, now struggling to breathe as an immense pressure began to crush his chest.
“That’s alright then,” Karrak turned away and Darooq fell heavily to the ground. “We’ll find you some thicker robes, and maybe some undergarments. Can’t have you shivering like a half-starved stray bitch, can we?”
Darooq rose unsteadily to his feet and once again, bowed to his master, “Thank you, my lord. That is most considerate of you.”
Karrak stood with his back to Darooq as he spoke again, “Yes, it is. Remember, Darooq, give me no cause to reconsider my decision.”
***
Lodren’s knees were trembling. Strangely enough, he was unafraid. Something not everyone could honestly say when confronted with the appearance of four fully-grown dragons. His eyes were wide and his mouth open as he gazed upon them. After the initial fire-breathing, they had become completely sedate, Faylore advising that it was an action much the same as you or I clearing our throats before speaking. She now sat facing upwards at the dragons and all were deep in conversation. Grubb, being the wary soul that he always was, had backed away slightly, taking Buster with him. One of the dragons had cast an inquisitiv
e eye over his beloved pony and Grubb decided to remove the temptation of Buster becoming a dragon breakfast.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” whispered Lodren.
“Lookin’ at the teeth on ’em, probably wondering what we taste like,” replied Grubb, sarcastically.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Lodren. “It’s obvious that they know Faylore, I heard one of them call her by name. And he knows she’s a queen.”
“Well, how do I know what they’re on about?” asked Grubb. “It’s not like I bump into dragons every day.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” said Lodren. “I’ve been all over the place. Before I met you and the others, of course. I’ve been up mountains, followed coastlines and trudged through marshes and bogs that smelt so bad you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You’d have thought in all that time that I would’ve come across at least one dragon. Look at the size of them, they can’t exactly hide, can they?”
“Maybe not,” replied Grubb, “but you didn’t know these four were ’ere and they were right in front of ye. If Faylore hadn’t spoke to ’em, you’d ’ave passed ’em by and been none the wiser.”
“My word!” exclaimed Lodren. “You’re right. Perhaps I’ve passed within inches of dragons many times and not even realised it!”
During their discussion, their eyes never left the dragons. One seemed to be speaking with Faylore far more than the rest, he was clearly their leader. Bright gold in colour and slightly larger than the others, he was a most impressive beast. As they watched, Faylore rose and bowed slightly to the dragons before heading toward them. She smiled as Lodren plumped up his half-empty backpack and offered it to her to use as a temporary seat.
“That all seemed very pleasant,” he said.
“Yes, and no, I’m afraid,” she replied.
“Why? What’s the problem?” asked Grubb.
“Not a problem as such, Grubb. I was hoping that they might help us with our predicament concerning Karrak but they have refused to get involved.”
“But, why should they?” asked Lodren. “It’s none of their business, after all.”
“It is more of their business than they realise,” replied Faylore. “But they are stubborn. Unless they believe something to be their idea, they can seldom be swayed, once they have made a decision.”
“So they won’t ’elp us at all?” chuntered Grubb. “Nice friends you’ve got there.”
“I said they won’t help us against Karrak, I did not say they would not help us at all. They are allowing us to use the Fenn Immar, which also means we are allowed to enter their home.”
“Oh wow! Shall we all clap and ’ave a party? One cave’s the same as the next, or ’aven’t you noticed?” snorted Grubb.
“You’re never grateful, are you, Grubb? If you don’t want to go in, you can stay out here in the cold. Queen Faylore and I will see you when we get back,” said Lodren, linking his arm through Faylore’s.
“Oh no, you don’t. If I let you two go off by yourselves and somethin’ ’appens to ye, Jared and the others’ll blame me. I’d never ’ear the last of it. Where you go, I go… and Buster o’ course.”
Faylore smiled again as she turned to face the dragons, “Lord Thelwynn, we are ready. Please, lead on.”
Grubb frowned as he nudged Lodren and gripped Buster’s reins a little tighter. “Lead on to where?” he whispered. “There’s just loads more ice bumps, not a cave in sight.”
Lodren shrugged his shoulders. “No idea,” he replied, lifting Grubb onto Buster’s back.
“Be patient,” suggested Faylore, overhearing their conversation.
“You said ‘lead on’, Your Majesty. Lead on to where? There’s nothing here.”
“Of course there is, Lodren. If it were not hidden, however, it would make the sentinel’s duty far more difficult.”
The four dragons stood side by side as they faced one of the ice mounds. Together they breathed, the flames they emitted joining as one and turning illuminous purple. The scene before them shimmered momentarily as the landscape began to change. Incredibly, there was a mountain directly in front of them with a cavernous opening leading deep underground.
Grubb began to laugh. “I’m getting used to all this magic malarkey now. It’s good fun,” he said, and headed toward the entrance to the cave without waiting for an invitation.
***
Yello lowered himself gently onto the grass verge, panting heavily. Looking across at the comatose Tamor, he shook his head. “This would be much easier if you were well enough to walk without screaming every time something scares you, you know,” he said. “What made you think a bramble bush was going to attack you, for pity’s sake?”
They had been on the road for three days now. Yello was weary. His leg was aching and the added burden of the confused king was not helping matters. Yello had tried to lighten his load by rousing Tamor. Within seconds, panic took hold of the king. He began to shout and scream as his hallucinations returned once more. Reluctantly, Yello had rendered him unconscious with the use of magic.
Their progress was slow but steady, Yello levitating the king’s body behind him as he walked. He would rest briefly at the end of each day and use the last of his energy to perform a relocation spell in order to further their progress.
It must have been one of the most unusual sights to witness. An old man limping along a dirt road with a body hovering behind him, especially as he was prone to talking to it. “Five minutes. If you could just walk for five minutes, that would be enough. Oh no, not you, you’re a king. A king who thinks a bush is going to attack you or that a rock somehow may want to eat you. I’ll tell you now, if it wasn’t for Jared, I’d have left you behind.” Opening his flask, Yello shuffled across to Tamor and allowed a trickle of water to pass between the king’s lips, “Can’t have you dying on me now. Well, not of thirst anyway.”
He had decided that although potentially dangerous, the quickest way back to Reiggan would be to travel through Cheadleford. The forest nymphs would pay them no mind, of that he was sure. But there was the possible risk of the hissthaar. Would they still be in the area? Surely, now that they had been scattered by the nymphs, they would not remain close by? He had not been present when Emnor and the others had been attacked by the hissthaar, the tale of their misadventures having been explained to him. Subsequently, he had never thought to ask for a description of them. He was, however, a powerful wizard. If he could reach Cheadleford undetected, he was confident that he would have enough strength left to produce a good enough warding spell to protect them overnight. He placed his hand on Tamor’s shoulder, and they both vanished.
Now at the edge of the village, Yello rolled Tamor’s limp body beneath a small hedge, scooted in beside him and began to study the remains of the buildings. The birds were chirping, a good sign that there was no imminent danger nearby. After a few minutes, he crawled from his hiding place, twisting the lower branches of the hedge to camouflage Tamor, and stealthily neared The Hangman’s Noose.
Passing the gravesite and still wary of his surroundings, he approached the tavern doorway. Stepping inside he breathed a sigh of relief, it was still deserted. All that remained for him to do was to bring Tamor inside and then he could take a well-deserved rest. He paused in the doorway, the pain in his leg was worsening and he reached into his robes for the Abigail’s Mercy. He sipped at it gently, but as he lowered the vial, caught a glimpse of something moving swiftly in the trees ahead. Something orange. He replaced the vial in his robes and tightened his grip on his staff, pointing it forwards, prepared for any sudden attack.
“Look, Lawton, another old fellow with a stick. If you throw it, you’ll be fetching it back yourself, I’m not a dog, you know.”
“Poom, behave yourself. Look at him. He’s that old he wouldn’t have the strength to throw it.”
“Lawton, Poom, is that you? Step out so that I can see you, lads,” called Yello.
“Oh yes, of course, we’re going to co
me out into the open,” called Poom, slightly taken aback at their being recognised, “so that you can turn us to ash.”
“We know who you are,” shouted Lawton. “So, why don’t you turn around and bugger off? There’s nothing left here for you. You’ve already murdered all the villagers.”
“I have murdered no one. I think you are mistaking me for someone else,” replied Yello.
“Are we really? An old man who travels alone and dresses like a beggar in order to fool everyone into believing he’s vulnerable. Then drops the disguise and tortures them or turns them into beasts,” roared Poom. “We know who you are, BE ON YOUR WAY, KARRAK!”
Yello, at first, was astounded by the accusation, the indignation showing on his face. “How dare you! I am not Karrak,” he exclaimed, “I am Yellodius Tarrock, second mage of Reiggan. And another thing. What do you mean… dresses like a beggar?”
“Of course, you’re not Karrak. My mistake,” yelled Poom.
There was a sudden thrashing sound amongst the branches. Yello threw up his hands and roared. The air became very still, there was no longer any noise to be heard. He blinked and stroked his beard. “I say…” he said slowly, “… that was a close one.” In his youth, Yello had studied the manipulation of time at length, despite having never referred to it as ‘dilation’. He had never needed it in the past, it was simply something he had found interesting and far removed from the mundane elemental magic. He stepped to the side, reaching up to feel the tip of the spear that was perched in mid-air six inches from where his face had been. “I don’t know which one of them threw it,” he muttered, “but he’s a damned fine shot with a spear,” he added, clearing his throat nervously.
Limping down the steps, Yello approached Lawton and Poom who, the same as the spear, were now suspended like stringless puppets. He studied them for a moment, “Gerrowliens,” he chuntered. “If only they’d believe someone occasionally, without having to point their spears all the time.”
The Bane of Karrak: Ascension II of III (The Karrak Trilogy Part Two) Page 11
