The Beasts of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 2)

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  “That wasn't overly difficult,” the sorceress observed as soon as she reached the top of the stairs. “But let's hope we don't have to do too much more of that. I fear that we're going to need both Gwendolyn's power and my own to overcome this foe. We must use it sparingly before that confrontation.”

  “I agree, my love,” the warrior said. “In order to face them, we first have to reach them – and that would have been rather difficult without you two.”

  “More like impossible!” the rogue asserted, rubbing his arms vigorously as he spoke. “I almost froze to death as it was!”

  “We need to keep moving,” the knight said, stepping forward as he spoke. “And it seems like the only way forward is down this hall.”

  The rogue leapt over and grabbed the Telian by the arm, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “You're just gonna walk down that hall?” he asked, a rising inflection in his voice.

  “I was going to, yes,” the knight replied.

  “Thank the Eilian, I'm here to help you, then!” Kilren exclaimed. “Darian, have you forgotten the part where there's this brilliant spell-caster out to kill us all or what?”

  “No,” the Telian said, shaking his head. “I just didn't think...”

  “Oh, no, I know!” the rogue interrupted. “But you’re going to have to start my friend. You have to develop a sense of situational awareness!”

  “You're right,” the knight nodded, obviously slightly embarrassed.

  “I'm know I'm right,” Kilren replied, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “I don't want to go through my wedding without a best man. Now, leave this to Ian and me.”

  The bard and the rogue carefully scanned the hallway. There seemed to be no danger either from magic or more conventional traps. This concerned Kilren. Traps you could see didn't bother him. It was the ones you didn't see that always got you. Still, there was only one way to go. So go that way, they must.

  The band made its way to the end of the hall and entered a chamber that held what, at first glance, appeared to be large mirrors. Upon closer inspection, however, the group found that the image in each glass was not a reflection. Each silver surface seemed to be a window into another chamber. Some were lit by sun or candle light, while others stood completely black. One glass in particular attracted the knight’s attention. The picture covering its surface was that of a large stone chamber in the center of which sat a glowing green stone held above the floor by a tall dark metal stand.

  “Well, that's something new,” Kilren said, staring into one of the looking glasses. “What in Areon are these things?”

  “If I had to guess,” the sorceress began, “and it seems I do, I would say they were teleportation glasses.”

  “What does that mean?” Darian asked, turning his gaze to the fair sorceress.

  “It means, noble Telian,” she replied, “that they don't just contain the image of those rooms on their surface, but act as doorways to them.”

  “How is that possible?” the knight asked.

  “Magic, lad,” the bard chuckled. “And a lot of it. I have to admit that, whoever our foe is, they're extremely impressive.”

  “There's no doubt of that,” the sorceress replied.

  “Well, how do we use them?” Darian asked.

  “I would guess like this,” the bard said, pulling a small stone from his pocket and throwing it at one of the glasses.

  The rock flew through its surface and landed on the floor in the room it seemed to hold within it.

  “Yep,” the rogue said with a nod, “that's certainly something new for me.”

  “Well, they seem to be our way forward,” the knight observed. “I suspect that the glowing green stone has something to do with those dark clouds.”

  “I agree,” the sorceress said. “We should certainly investigate it.”

  “Captain,” the young knight said, “if you would join me.”

  The Telian stepped over to the glass containing the image of the room he sought to enter. He took a deep breath and moved into the magical portal. It wasn't anything like he expected it to be. The knight felt nothing more than he would have had he passed through an ordinary doorway. He turned to find a similar glass behind him; the captain already passing through it. In mere moments, the entire party had entered the chamber.

  “I think we can safely assume this stone has something to do with those clouds,” the warrior said, his attention focused on the mysterious object.

  The glow coming from the stone filled the chamber and a beam of solid green light shot from its top through a hole in the ceiling.

  “I certainly agree,” the bard replied. “But what do we do about it?”

  “Destroy it,” the Telian said, stepping forward as he spoke.

  “Oh, I wouldn't try that,” a deep and booming voice said from another part of the room. “No, Telian, I certainly wouldn't try that.”

  The entire band turned to see a man who appeared to be around seventy, or perhaps a bit older, standing near another teleportation glass. His long gray hair hung down across his shoulders and down his back. His right eye was clear and penetrating, and as blue as the sky in the morning. Along the left side of his face a long scar ran from his forehead, across his milky white eye, down his cheek, and into his neatly trimmed beard. He wore a long robe of light blue, that seemed to shimmer as he moved. On his head was a crown of gold, around which rose five golden talons. In his hands, he held a staff of black iron, on the top of which sat a glowing blue stone.

  “Duke Saress?” Ian said.

  “Do I know you, dwarf?” the man asked, turning his attention to the bard.

  “No, sir,” Ian replied, “but I know you.”

  “I very much doubt that,” Saress replied with a dark laugh. “Who I was is dead; who I am is death. And you do not know me... Not yet.”

  “Forgive me, sir,” the bard replied diplomatically. “I merely meant that I knew who you had once been.”

  “That makes little difference,” the wizard replied. “My past life has long been lost. And your future soon will be. You understand, of course, that I have to kill you.”

  As he said this, Darian took another step toward the stone, his sword drawn back for a strike.

  “Honestly, Telian,” the old man said. “I wouldn't do that. You can't break it and, even if you somehow managed to, you would merely kill us all.”

  “Why should I believe you?” the knight replied.

  “I believe him!” the rogue exclaimed.

  “Very well,” Saress said with a smile. “Why don't you try it?”

  The knight drew back again, but hesitated.

  “Afraid?” the wizard chuckled. “Fear was a foolish thing to bring with you here, boy.”

  In reply, the Telian let his blade fly, striking the stone in its very center. The green shard shot from the metal frame that held it as it was knocked to the floor. The old wizard instantly raised his arm, catching the flying gem in his outstretched hand. With a flick of his staff, he caused the stand to rise upright. He then threw the stone in the direction of its support. It seemed drawn to the frame and settled itself back in its original position.

  “To be perfectly honest, Telian,” the old man said, “I wasn't certain you couldn't shatter it. It would have killed us all, of course, but it was in interesting experiment, I think you'll agree.”

  “How did you know I'm a Telian?” the young man asked.

  “I recognized the stench,” the wizard replied through clenched teeth.

  “I see,” the knight replied, looking thoughtfully at the old man before him. “I’ve been told that you were once a good man, sir. What drove you to do these terrible things?”

  “Revenge!” Saress screamed, fury burning in his eyes. “Revenge for a kingdom forgotten and betrayed! Revenge for a family slaughtered by animals in human form!”

  “Innalas never wronged you,” Darian asserted.

  “You know nothing, boy!” the wizard raged. “You've been ta
ught a history written by those who murdered their betters! By those false friends who stood by and watched us die! By the elves of Innalas and the Telian dogs that served them!”

  “That's not true, Duke Saress,” Ian said firmly. “The king of Innalas opened his arms to the refugees of Solarin, and Lord Andor...”

  “Lies!” the old man screamed. “What would one of your people know of it? You who hadn't even crawled out of your miserable holes until the war was over and done!”

  “I was in Innalas at the time, sir,” the dwarf replied.

  “Ah...” the wizard said. “Then, it is fitting that you should die by my hand, elf friend. It is good that you have come.”

  “They did what they could for Solarin,” Darian said, raising his own voice. “And Lord Andor serves Solarin still! Look at the emblem I bear on my breastplate.”

  The old man stared at the young knight.

  “So,” he said with a sigh. “The usurpers have stolen our name, and our honor, as well as our lands, and our people. No matter... My vengeance will be steeped in the blood of Innalas and it will feed on the very marrow within the bones of Mikral.”

  “No, sir,” the knight replied, fury burning in his own eyes. “That, it will not. We've come to stop you.”

  “Stop me?” the old man asked, a rising inflection in his voice. “You're a fool!”

  The wizard lifted his staff and slammed its point into the floor. The dwarf was instantly struck by an invisible force that knocked him into the ceiling across the room. His unconscious body fell to the ground, broken and bleeding. In response, the knight and the warrior charged the old man. Blades seemed to surround him as he blocked one rapid attack after another with his staff.

  “I can see you've fought in many battles, warrior,” the wizard said to the captain, as the trio stood panting for a moment from the strain of their exertions. “Now, you will fight them again.”

  As he said this, he threw his left hand out toward Tealor. The warrior screamed out in pain, closing his eyes in agony. When he reopened them, he seemed as if he had been blinded. The captain fought the air before him, lashing out at non-existent enemies and blocking attacks that were not there.

  “Tealor!” the knight yelled.

  “Save your breath, Telian,” the old man laughed. “His mind is in a different place, in a different time, fighting enemies long since dead.”

  The young knight resumed his attacks with a cry of true rage, but one blow after another was blocked by his surprisingly skilled enemy.

  “I can't seem to get a shot in,” Erana said, her voice filled with frustration. “I'm not about to risk shooting Darian.”

  “No,” Kilren replied. “You certainly can't do that. Just wait for an opportunity. One will come up.”

  The wizard blocked another of the Telian's blows before returning it with one of his own. His staff struck the young knight in the head, knocking him to the ground. Instantly, both archers released their deadly shafts. The old man spun his staff before him, knocking the arrow to one side and the bolt to the other.

  “Wow!” the rogue exclaimed.

  “Agreed!” his betrothed replied.

  “Get back, Darian,” Sarena cried as the knight climbed to his feet.

  The Telian immediately obeyed and moved back to give the sorceress room to strike. Instantly, she threw out her arms, throwing jets of fire at her enemy. Saress merely dropped the head of his staff, filling the chamber with wind from the very heart of a winter storm. The flames of the sorceress died as she was wrapped in frost.

  “You're no match for me, witch,” he yelled. “Flee and I'll let you live. My quarrel is not with you.”

  Once again, the arrow and the bolt were hurled against the old wizard. He raised his hand in defiance and they stopped midair before dropping to the floor. The knight had restrained himself as long as he could. He flew at the wizard with all his strength. Sparks flew from his blade as the old man stopped his deadly blows one after the other. Finally, the knight stepped forward and kicked the wizard in the gut with his metal clad foot.

  “Not bad, boy,” the old man said, taking a few steps back. “You feel an anger I admire. But you're too young to burn with the rage that I do. And you won't live long enough to nurse your hatred into true power.”

  This time, Saress pressed the attack. He flew at the knight with the fury of the hells; striking out at him with one end of his staff or the other. The Telian was hit in the chest, driving him back. The aged wizard then blocked the knight's counter attack, spinning around to knock his legs out from under him. Darian stumbled and fell. Before he hit the floor, the end of the old man's staff struck him in the face.

  Again, the archers fired. This time, however, the old man threw his hand in the direction of his attackers. Their projectiles turned back on them ripping through the air with unimaginable force. They struck the far wall with such power that they were imbedded in the stone.

  “I don't think we should try that again,” the rogue speculated.

  “No,” his bride-to-be agreed.

  This momentary delay had given the knight the time he needed to get to his feet. Blood flowed from his face as fury poured from his soul. The Eilian had filled him with their strength, the sword in his hand would be the tool of their vengeance. He renewed his attacks with more patience and more caution. The old man would make a mistake and, when he did, the Telian would strike.

  “Gwendolyn,” Sarena cried, “we have to combine our powers! It's the only way to overcome him!”

  The aged wizard glanced up at the sorceress with a wicked grin in his face. He slammed the point of his staff into the stone floor and quickly drew a circle. Instantly, a wall of ice began to form around her.

  “You should never tell a foe how you plan to attack, witch,” the old man yelled. “They may use that knowledge against you.”

  The sorceress and her apprentice attacked the frozen wall with all their power, but ice proved greater than fire.

  “This is getting serious,” Kilren said, drawing his sword. “We've got to help Darian!”

  “Agreed,” Erana replied, dropping her bow and unsheathing her scimitar.

  The old man turned his attention to the couple as they charged across the floor at him. He threw out his right hand causing darts of ice to shoot in their direction. The elvish maiden leapt deftly out of the way, dodging all the deadly projectiles. The young man, however, was not so fortunate. Three of the frozen shafts ripped through his armor and his chest. He collapsed to the floor, his life's blood pouring onto the stones beneath him.

  “Darian!” the elvish maiden screamed.

  He heard her. There was nothing he could do. To turn his back on this foe would get them all killed. All he could hope was that he could finish this before his friend was dead.

  “Gwendolyn!” Erana yelled.

  Immediately, the young sorceress flew to the side of her friend. The arcane power was already burning her alive, but she had to do what she could.

  “Heal him!” the ranger said as soon as her friend reached her.

  “You know,” the rogue said, gazing into the eyes of his love. “I really did want you to have my children... I was just a little nervous, that's all.”

  “Don't worry,” the elf replied, a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. “She’ll save you.”

  “Oh,” he said, before pausing a moment to cough. “I know.”

  As soon as he said this, his head fell back; he was completely unconscious.

  Gwendolyn knew she had to focus. She had failed before, she couldn't fail again. All her thoughts were focused on joy and love, blocking out the scene of disaster that surrounded her. Nothing happened. She took a deep breath. She had to succeed. How had she healed Callin? In truth, she barely knew him. Kilren was one of her best friends. He was the betrothed of one of her best friends. He was the best friend of the man she loved. She had to save him!

  Tears filled her eyes as she begged the Eilian to show her what she had done
before. In silent prayers, she begged them to help her. Almost immediately, power began to flow down her arms and into her hands. The warmth that filled her closed the wounds of the young man that lay before her. In moments, he opened his eyes. He was pale and weak, but he would live.

  “Why don't you just use magic to kill me, too?” the knight asked, stepping carefully around his foe in a circle.

  “Didn't you know, boy?” the old man grinned. “I want to kill you with my own two hands.”

  The power of the Eilian burned like fire in the young knight's veins. They had offered him their strength, their might, and yet this foe was still able to resist him. The gods had given him all they could, he would have to do the rest.

  Darian threw his shield to the floor and grabbed his sword with both hands. He lashed out at his enemy filled with divine power and the fury of his own soul. The aged wizard blocked one blow and another. The young knight lifted his sword above his head, dropping it on his foe like a thunderbolt from the heavens.

  The old man raised his staff to deflect the blow. The blade of the knight cut through the weapon of the wizard, however. It exploded with a force that threw both opponents across the room. The Telian climbed to his feet and stumbled toward his foe with blood pouring from his hands, his neck, and his face. There, on the floor before him, lay the unconscious body of his adversary.

  The Telian drew his blade back for a death blow before slowly lowering his arm. As he stood glaring at the old man at his feet, he considered his current position. The young knight would be well within his rights to slay this man, even as he lay helpless on the floor. The Telian could act as judge, jury, and executioner in situations like this. However, the duke had once been a good man, whatever he was now. Darian wasn't sure where justice should end and mercy begin. Under the circumstances, he came to the decision to leave judgment to older and wiser heads.