The Bane of Karrak: Ascension II of III (The Karrak Trilogy Part Two)

by Robert J Marsters

  Suddenly and without warning, Jared thrust it into the chest of the beast, taking care not to drive it too deeply. He did not want his captive dead, at least, not yet. The beast roared in pain as Jared began to draw the flame downward. The flesh and bone of the zingaard’s body was being sliced with surgical precision. With each inch the blade travelled, Jared drove it a little deeper. No emotion showed on his face as he tortured his victim. The roar had turned to a screech as the life-blood of the zingaard began to gush onto the arid ground. Having reached its stomach, Jared changed direction, cutting across and spilling the beast’s intestines.

  Hannock watched the prince in horror. Never would he have believed that his closest friend could be so sadistic but Jared was not yet finished. The zingaard, having succumbed to the pain, had passed out, but it had never been Jared’s intention to retrieve any information from this one. With a sneer, he punched his way through the offal that protruded from his captive. Rooting around, he found his target. With a loud grunt, he tore his hand from the gory scene. Clutched in his palm was the heart of the zingaard. Turning, he glared at the brown beast. “Emnor,” he said quietly, “Ask your questions.”

  Some time later, three dead zingaard lay on the ground. Emnor cremated the bodies with Yello’s help and the youngsters were instructed to bury the remains.

  “I don’t think they were talking about Karrak,” said Jared. “They referred to him as a dark-skinned sorcerer. The rumours we have heard recently have been of a shadow lord.”

  “Do you think it could be Barden?” suggested Hannock. “Maybe Karrak has realised he needs help and has raised him from the dead?”

  “We don’t know for sure that he actually killed Barden. And why would his skin be dark?” asked Yello. “He was always such a pasty-faced old git.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t care what any of you say. I think we have a new player in this game of ours,” said Hannock, adamantly.

  “I love the way you offer respect, right before telling us we’re wrong. It’s just so… you!”

  “I know, Jared, but you have to admit I’m right this time! Barden was, I don’t know, a million years old. This new fellow though, he only sounds about our age. Plus, the fact that he’s huge, apparently. Barden was a weasel of a man.”

  “In more ways than one, I can assure you,” agreed Yello.

  “How do we know if anything they told us was the truth? They could have been lying. What if they realised we were going to kill them anyway after ‘captain carve up’ here did away with that big one. Bloody good plan by the way, Your Highness.”

  Jared’s actions had not been mentioned. Yello did not feel that this was the right time to discuss them. “They were telling the truth alright, I guarantee you that.”

  “How, old friend?” asked Emnor. “How can you guarantee it?”

  “We were kind enough to give the one some water, weren’t we?” said Yello, reaching for his bag and ferreting inside, “Well. I took the liberty of adding a little…” Looking quite smug, he held up the bolinium root.

  ***

  “If I’d have asked you to come along of your own free will, you’d have refused. You were the one who craved adventure, remember? My father the adventurer, my father the discoverer, my father who has the sun shining out of his backside. It’s all you ever say. What about your expeditions, your discoveries? Surely, your old man has done enough to make him famous forever? It’s your time, Xarran. Make your mark in history and surpass everything your father, and others like him, have done before.”

  Xarran shook his head, “That still doesn’t forgive what you did to me, Alex. You should never subject anyone to mind control, however honourable your motives!” he replied sternly.

  “You’re right, Xarran, I apologise. My motives weren’t completely altruistic I have to admit. The world famous Xarran Althor and his faithful lifelong assistant, Alexander Hardman. Oh well,” he sighed. “Can’t blame a fellow for dreaming. It was the only chance I had of fame really, I’ll never manage it by myself. Come on, let’s go. We’ll have to tell them we failed when we get back of course, but don’t worry, I’ll do it to save you any embarrassment.”

  “Hang on a sec’, Alex. Let’s not be too hasty,” replied Xarran, pondering over their situation. “We’ve only just arrived, although I’m not exactly sure where. We may as well have a poke about as we’re already here. We have plenty of water to last the day, may as well make use of it. Better to die trying than not try at all, eh?”

  Alex continued with his praise of his cohort, “That’s the Xarran I know. Brave and noble, putting others’ needs before his own. You’re going to be so famous when you’re older that you won’t be able to go anywhere without people nudging each other and saying things like, that’s Xarran Althor, he saved the world and, is that who I think it is? How blessed we are that someone as famous as him should grace our village with his presence.”

  Xarran blushed, “Oh, do shut up, Alex.”

  “Are you forgetting the mission we’re on? We may only be searching for water, but without it, we could all die. If we fail so will the mission to stop Karrak. To impede upon on his progress, above all, is our goal,” Alex laughed, striking a heroic pose.

  “I think you may be putting a little too much importance on our role in this affair, Alex. We’re water carriers, for goodness sake! It’s a job that was given to the worst pupils in Reiggan. Can’t do magic but want to be involved with wizards? Be a water carrier or a…”

  “An apprentice?” interrupted Alex. Xarran gave him a confused look, “You know what I’m saying, Xarran, don’t pretend that you don’t. You’re ten times the wizard that Harley could ever be. But who does Emnor choose? Harley! Nice, polite, ‘I’ll do anything you say master’ Harley. His face fits and yours doesn’t. The masters knew your potential and were afraid to allow you to investigate the extent of your powers. Harley was always weak, Emnor felt sorry for him and gave him a leg-up by making him his apprentice.”

  “How can you say such things?” asked Xarran. “Harley’s always been one of our closest friends.”

  “I’m not saying he’s a bad person, Xarran. He’s just not that good a wizard. It’s fine having hangers-on as children, there’s always a weak one in the group, but we’re men now and we have to show the elders that we can stand on our own. They’ve taught us all they can and I am deeply grateful to them for that. They’re old, Xarran, ancient, and they won’t live forever. We must learn to defend ourselves. What happens if they face Karrak and he destroys them? We’ll be next, if we’re lucky. If not, who knows what he could turn us into?”

  “You sound as if you’ve been thinking about this for some time, Alex. Have you a plan in mind perchance?”

  “Of course I have, you plum! I’m going to follow your lead. You’re the one who has grown up with tales of death-defying adventures and the like. All I had was beatings from the big kids in the village. How would I even start to plan an adventure?”

  Xarran pursed his lips, suddenly looking far more mature than his years. “Right, first things first. If we come across anything dangerous, I’ll take the lead and you copy what I do. If, however, what I do proves unsuccessful…” he squinted his eyes at Alex, “… we scarper.”

  “What are your orders, Master Althor?” Alex laughed.

  “Well,” said Xarran. “Water always flows downhill, right? So, we go downhill.” He made the first move and Alex followed, willingly.

  ***

  “Four days!” exclaimed Lodren, “Four days we’ve been in here and we haven’t even had a sniff of him.”

  “I know. Great, isn’t it? All dark and gloomy. Apparently, the deeper you go, the damper it gets. Ooh, I can’t wait for that lovely, musty smell to fill my ’ead.”

  “If you don’t shut your face, Grubb, my hammer’s going to fill your head! Honestly, the longer we stay in here, the more you act like a kid in a sweet shop.”

  Grubb looked confused as he stared at Lodren, “What’s
a sweet shop?” he asked.

  “Oh my days!” muttered Lodren, mopping his brow, “I despair, I really do.”

  “Come on, Lodren, it’s not that bad,” said Faylore. “We’ve not found Father yet, but we’ve not seen anything else either.”

  “Why did you have to say that!” exclaimed Lodren. “I’d forgotten there might be ghosts and things down here, and now you’ve gone and reminded me!”

  “There are no ghosts in the hall of history, Lodren,” Faylore said, trying to calm the panicking Nibby. “They’re simply tales to keep out any trespassers.”

  “You know that’s not true, Faylore. You’ve seen them yourself, many times in fact.” Faylore nudged Jendilomin sharply in the ribs to silence her. “What was that for?” she exclaimed.

  “Will you please be quiet?” hissed Faylore, “You’re only making it worse for the poor fellow.”

  “Right! That’s it, I’ve had enough. I’m going. I need to feel the sun on my back. We Nibby are not meant to be underground, I’m not a famper.”

  “Oh, I love those little things!” exclaimed Jendilomin. “Their little wiggly blue noses and their pink fur. They’re adorable.”

  “And they tunnel underground, something you’ll never see a Nibby do! We’re made to be outside in the fresh air and that’s where I’m going.”

  Grubb started to chuckle, “Good luck with that Loddy. Remember the way out, do ye?”

  “Don’t you worry about me…” he realised what Grubb had said, “… and my name is Lodren, not Loddy.”

  Faylore placed her hand on his back to reassure him, “Lodren, you can’t go by yourself. What say we give it two more days and if we don’t find my father by then, we’ll all leave together?”

  “But that’s another two days, Your Majesty,” protested Lodren, rocking from side to side.

  “I know that, Lodren. I just said it, two days,” repeated Faylore.

  Lodren shuffled his feet. He hated being put in a predicament, but being underground was totally uncharacteristic of a Nibby, “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I can’t. If I stay down here another two days, I’ll go mad.”

  “What? Madder than ye already are?” chortled Grubb.

  Lodren grabbed his backpack and, slinging it over his shoulder, marched off into the darkness. He hadn’t gone far before he looked over his shoulder to see the glimmer of light given off by the lanterns being carried by his friends. “Suppose that’s that friendship over,” he mumbled, “Grubb won’t care but I bet Faylore will never forgive me. Suppose I’ll just go back to being on my own.”

  “You don’t have to be alone,” came a sighing voice. “You can stay with us. We shall be your true friends, forever.”

  Lodren gulped. Turning toward the sound of the voice, he was greeted with something he had not expected. Facing him, an ethereal light shining from their transparent bodies, were three ghosts. Lodren’s mouth fell open as he gazed at their grisly forms. They had, in life, been Thedarian. By the look of the ragged remnants of their robes, they had been of noble houses, but now only appeared as ghoulish. Small pieces of rotting flesh partly covered their skeletal faces as they stood before him, their teeth bared due to decades of decay.

  Lodren began to babble. “That’s, m-m-m-most k-kind, b-b-b-but I. Well… you see…” Turning as fast as he could, he sprinted back in the direction from which he had come only moments before, “WAIT FOR ME! FAYLORE, GRUBB… WAIT FOR ME!” he bellowed.

  Faylore, Jendilomin and Grubb paused and turned to see the panic-stricken Nibby hurtling toward them. He slid to a halt on the dry floor, placing his hands on his knees whilst trying to catch his breath. “I can’t do it, Your Majesty. I can’t abandon you in this place, it wouldn’t be right. I’ll stick with you no matter what,” he said quickly, holding Faylore’s arm and glancing over his shoulder repeatedly. “I think we should move on, don’t you? We’ll never find your father at this rate. Come on, Grubb, hurry up. Do you want me to carry that for you? There we go, we can travel a bit faster now. Lady Jendilomin, would you care to lead? Me? What’s wrong with me? Nothing at all, just keen to help find Koloss. The sooner we find him, the sooner we can get out of here. Grubb! Will you please hurry up!”

  It was obvious to them all that Lodren had seen or heard something that he was most uncomfortable with. “We’ll go in front, Lodren. You bring up the rear,” suggested Grubb.

  “N-no, you bring up the rear, Grubb. I’ll stay with Faylore. I can’t protect her properly if I’m back there, can I? I’ll stay in the middle and keep her safe. Can we go a bit faster, please?”

  ***

  As luck would have it, the following day, as they descended into yet another level of the hall of history, they heard voices. Approaching cautiously, they saw a robed figure with his elbows resting on the edge of a desk, pondering over numerous scrolls set out before him. Faylore raised her bow silently. She crept ever closer, as she had distinctly heard, as had the others, more than one voice. Where were the stranger’s allies? Lodren nervously took a step back and accidentally bumped a small bookcase with his backpack. Having not even felt the bump, it toppled over and crashed to the ground, spilling its contents across the floor. Faylore drew her bowstring tighter as the alarmed stranger spun around. At the sight of Faylore, he gasped with relief, “My word, you scared me half to death! What are you creeping around in the dark for? Could you lower the bow please? It is a little disconcerting.”

  Faylore instantly lowered her bow, “Father, what are you doing down here? Mother is worried to the point of distraction. What were you thinking? More importantly, how have you survived? Did you bring provisions with you? How did you manage to avoid being detected by the guards?”

  Koloss raised his hands in an attempt to halt Faylore’s string of questions, “Shush, shush, young lady. I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, have we met before?”

  “Of course we have, I’m your daughter, as is Jendilomin,” replied Faylore, gesturing toward her sister. “You have been missing for almost a week, you must be half-starved,” she continued.

  “Miss, if I had a daughter, or daughters, do you not think that I would remember? My mind hasn’t completely gone. I mean, there has been the occasional comment about my forgetfulness but I can live with those. Peneriphus, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached or Peneriphus, put some breeches on, you’ll catch your death of cold.”

  Jendilomin stepped forward and took her sister by the arm. Nodding at her, she addressed Koloss, “Please forgive me, sir. Did you say your name was Peneriphus?”

  “That is correct,” he replied. “Is there something I can do for you, miss?”

  “Peneriphus? As in King Peneriphus of Thedar?”

  “But of course, do you know of another? Ladies, I have important tasks that I simply must attend to. Please, if you would be so kind, take your leave. One of the maids will escort you from the palace once you have concluded your business, good-day.”

  “’e’s as mad as a bag o’ nuts,” chortled Grubb.

  Lodren always tried his best not to encourage Grubb, but even he had to stifle a snigger.

  “This is no laughing matter. Our father believes himself to be a king who lived over a thousand years ago. I fail to see exactly what it is that you find so amusing about that?”

  “Not ’im… you. You should’ve seen the look on your face.”

  Faylore scowled at them before returning her attention to her father, “Erm, excuse me, King Peneriphus,” she said with an enquiring tone.

  “He’s probably around here somewhere, but you won’t get any sense out of him.”

  The words had been spoken by Koloss, but his tone of voice was now completely different. The first voice was gentle and had a pleasant, kindly tone, whereas this one sounded harsh and impatient.

  “I beg your pardon, sir. Could you kindly repeat that?” asked Jendilomin as politely as she could.

  “I am King Kallambar and I am not in the habit of repeating myself!” he roared
suddenly, “Guards, guards! Take these impudent interlopers away. Perhaps a couple of weeks chained in the dungeons will teach them some manners!”

  The smiles had gone from the faces of Lodren and Grubb. The first voice, calm as it was, had amused them. The second had done the complete opposite and both seemed slightly nervous. Lodren clutched his hammer and watched as the skin on Grubb’s arms began to bubble, a sure-fire sign that he could morph into Wilf at any moment.

  The Thedarian sisters crouched down with their friends and tried to explain, which was difficult as they didn’t really understand what was going on themselves. “There is a legend,” began Faylore, “a legend that all Thedarian kings when in advanced old age, see flashbacks. Actual memories of those who have ruled before them. It seems that our father has reached that time in his life.”

  “Ooh, you must be really happy then? You can ask all the questions you wanted to know about your family history. Who was nice, who was nasty, those kind of things,” said Lodren.

  “Yes. Unfortunately, there is also a major problem, once this happens,” said Jendilomin, solemnly, “It also means that our father is close to death.”

  “What!” exclaimed Lodren, “How close? Months… weeks?”

  Faylore leaned her head sideways as a tear rolled down her sparkling white cheek, “Hours,” she replied. “Perhaps only minutes. But at least we shall be with him, my sister and I.”

  Each minute that passed seemed an eternity. To be facing the inevitable loss of a loved one was the worst torture that anyone could possibly endure. All that Faylore and Jendilomin could do was wait. Over the next few hours, Koloss’ conditioned worsened as the voices that spewed from his lips became too innumerable to count. Some were morose, some fearful, others completely manic. Koloss’ body twitched and jerked as each memory, or possession, changed. Voice after voice would beg or plead for life, others would scream profanities and threats toward any who would not come to their aid by saving their lives. The sisters sat either side of their father, each holding a hand, when suddenly he seemed very peaceful. Opening his eyes, he smiled at his daughters.