Garna clears her drying throat and stops spinning her dagger. “The chaos elves are the stealthiest warriors in the world. We thrive in the shadows while improving our . . . unique survival techniques. We can bravely go where other races refuse to venture. There are no better spies in all of Windemere and we are the best assassins in the Post Cataclysm era. Does that answer your question, sir?” She looks at him defiantly as if daring him to contradict her at his own peril.
“Full of pride and arrogance as I expected,” the Lich declares with an echoing laugh. “Chaos elves always see themselves as the greatest race in all of Windemere. Personally, I do not believe that you are as talented as you think. Do you agree?”
“I swear that I will do better next time. I promi-” Garna begins. Her voice is cut off by a quick spell from the Lich who rises to his feet. His crimson eyes stare at her and she can see a vague, skeletal grin beneath his hood. Garna feels an eerie chill creep up her spine, taking root in the back of her head.
A raspy laugh passes through the air as the Lich circles the room. “You have had your chance to prove yourself, young one. Trinity told me that you could do this simple job and you have failed me. Now, I must bring in something more powerful and dangerous. I need an assassin who can finish this job and continue serving me without failure until all my goals have been achieved.” The Lich stops walking and faces Garna. “To be honest, I agree with you that chaos elves are some of the best mortal assassins, but I need something of the demon variety. You are dismissed.”
Garna turns to leave, but thick chains lance out of the shadows to wrap around her legs and drag her across the floor. Several of the arcane symbols on the floor light up as she is dragged toward the middle of what she now realizes is a demon-summoning circle. She starts struggling against the chains, but small bursts of electricity rip through her body with every pull and twist. All she can do is panic, feeling her strength get rapidly sapped by the chains. Out of desperation, Garna tries to dig her fingernails into the stone floor. The chains violently yank her with enough force to break off a few nails and hurl her into the center of the circle. Once in the center, the chains wrap around her entire body, leaving only her left eye uncovered. Terror fills the single orb as its pupil frantically moves in every direction in hopes of seeing a way out.
“As you know, a sacrifice is always necessary when calling forth something from the Chaos Void,” the Lich says, running his hand over a faded symbol on the wall. “You may have failed me as an assassin, but you will make a perfect offering for my new servant. Wouldn’t you agree, vermin?” The chaos elf begins to cry as the Lich begins the incantation and the bleeding symbols pulsate.
Garna's scream echoes throughout the chamber as a spiral of blood-like magic curls up from the floor beneath her. The Lich cackles as the magic flows out of the floor. The chains around Garna begin to transform into a suit of gothic platemail as she grows taller and her body becomes more muscular. The sickening snap of bursting skin fills the air when her body becomes too big for her cobalt flesh. Garna’s ears gain sharper points and red streaks form in her ebony hair. A final blast of magic ends her pain, leaving a green-skinned, elf-like figure standing in her place. The monster looks around the room with sinister eyes of living flame. All that is left of Garna are bloody shreds of cobalt skin strewn around the demon’s feet.
“Excellent,” hisses the grinning Lich.
“What are your commands, master?” the demonic assassin asks in a low, predatory voice.
The Lich goes back to his chair and sits down before conjuring a goblet of vile smelling liquid. “I require the destruction of a Paladin who is going to get in my way if he is allowed to live. There is also a messenger of Duke Solomon who you can ignore. Without the Paladin, he is nothing but a scared child in the woods.” He pauses for a moment and reconsiders his second order. “On second thought, you can put the fool out of his misery since he has already caused me some trouble. Take some of my zombies to help you, but they do not have to return. Just make sure that the Paladin and the messenger die. Then, we can capture Duke Solomon’s heir, but that is a mission that we can discuss after your first success. Return as soon as the Paladin and the messenger are dead. Any questions?”
The demon draws a curved sword made out of ebony metal. “The Hellfire Elves have been the most feared assassins for centuries. I will not return until I have destroyed this Paladin. Do you wish for me to be seen by my target?”
“No,” the Lich snaps before calmly telling the demon more about its prey. “Make sure that nobody sees you. I do not know how strong this Paladin is. He might be able to banish you if you give him time to react. Also, the messenger is under the Goddess of Luck’s protection. He has managed to evade my traps and minions thanks to her blessing. It will be easier to dispatch him if he does not know you are there. You can let my zombies be the visible threat.”
The Hellfire Elf bows low and vanishes in a puff of brimstone. The Lich is calmly sitting in his chair as the sound of heavy footsteps pass through an illusionary wall. A shadow separates from the gloom, silently slipping through a crack in the floor. The Lich lets out an ear-rending laugh that becomes a hideous cackle. His cackle is joined by another laugh that is deeper and emanates raw, terrifying power. The deeper laugh vanishes as subtly as it appeared and the Lich sips at the foul liquid in his goblet.
The decaying caster lifts his drink to the ceiling. “It looks like someone has been eavesdropping. I propose a toast to Gabriel the Destiny Weaver. May he be entertained by what is about to happen to his pawns this time.”
*****
“Unnatural beast,” growls a silky voice that passes over the oceans and returns to the throat of its patient mistress.
A gorgeous elven woman with chocolate brown hair stands on the pristine shores of Ambervale. The goddess turns away from the open ocean, forcing her mind to focus on the sound of nearby music. She takes a deep breath to calm herself while her regal companion lets his mood sink into darkness. A storm brewing on the horizon becomes stronger with every snarl that escapes the god’s lips. An earth-shaking rumble stops the music for a few seconds, but the other gods quickly go back to their blissful celebrations. Only a few lesser gods venture to the high cliffs and look down on their serious brethren. The elf-woman quickly waves them away before her companion decides to take his anger out on them.
The goddess turns back to the man who is staring at her with a wild glimmer in his green eyes. He grins wide enough for his ivory teeth to shimmer in the sunlight. She returns his grin with a feral growl that causes his grin to transform into a smirk. The goddess knows what the raven-haired man is about to ask of her without him uttering a word. It is the same argument they had been having for the last month and it was finally time for her to lose the debate. If she were stronger then she would deny his request, but nobody could stand up to this god and walk away in one piece. Even the other gods fear the power of Gabriel, the tri-fold god who rules Hell, the Chaos Void, and forges the destiny of mortals.
“Speak your mind, Uli,” the man requests.
“I do not like this course of action, Gabriel,” Uli declares, her golden eyes narrowing to slits. “He is not ready for this. We are not even sure that he is the right one. Send one of the others that we have already determined as champions and give the boy more time.”
Gabriel turns his back with a flourish of his cape and pats the hilt of his crystalline longsword. A simple whistle from his lips causes a painful tremor to pass through Uli’s well-toned body. The male deity turns to look at her as his eyes change from emerald to a pale green.
“Excuse me, my dear, but I am the God of Destiny,” Gabriel calmly reminds her. “We have been lucky for too long. It is time to put an end to this and we need our most powerful tools to overcome the coming trials. Even the effect of free will cannot stop these events from reaching their climax. The boy is the heir to a great legacy, which I have spent centuries forging. He will be ready by the time his power and cour
age is needed. If he fails then he should be able to give us a few more years to prepare a stronger set of champions.”
She clenches her fist and swears in an archaic form of elven. “This does not mean that I have to approve of it. He is one of my devoted and I feel that he is not ready. The boy has not done anything of great heroism and his skills are barely above average. His potential is great, but you cannot guarantee that he will mature in time to meet the timeline of his destiny.”
“I do not care whose devoted he is,” Gabriel snaps, waving his hand to silence her. “That boy has an important role to play in the coming storm. Most of the other gods are turning a blind eye toward the danger on the horizon. We are two of the few who have bothered to get as involved as we can without breaking the law of influence. We both agree that this boy is important to our plans, so we will use him. I have already sent someone to point him in the right direction. She will be acting as my emissary, so the law of influence will not be broken. He is going in the proper direction as we speak, but he still needs a little . . . inspiration. Everything will work out in the end. If your predictions of failure become truth then maybe the other gods will see the importance of our work and help us. My point, wild queen, is that something good will come from the boy even if he fails.”
Sick of the conversation, Gabriel starts walking away while whistling an angry tune. A ripple of magic flows from his lips and changes a passing robin into a fearsome tiger that crashes into the water. The confused beast scrambles to jump out of the water in an attempt to fly while the strong currents drag it out to sea. Uli extends a calloused hand toward the tiger and uses her magic to bring it to shore. The large cat rubs against her leg while chirping and singing like a bird.
“Send him to what may be his death, but I will be watching him,” Uli defiantly claims. “Unlike you, Hell Lord, I actually care about my devoted.” She marches away, leaving Gabriel to wander the coastline alone.
“Your devoted?” Gabriel says, chuckling in amusement. “Last time I checked, dear Uli, his destiny was in my hands.” Gabriel creates a golden orb that hovers in front of his face. Deep inside the orb is the image of a young half-elf running through a distant forest.
1
Visindor Forest remains at peace as it has every morning for centuries. Birds sing and shimmering pixies play tag in the warm sunlight. Glistening droplets of dew cover the leaves and grass as animals quietly venture out of their homes. A low grunt echoes throughout the wilderness causing all other sounds to stop for a few seconds. The grunt returns minutes later, but it is too far away to worry the timid forest creatures. It is a landscape of serenity that painters only dream of capturing.
No place is more peaceful than where a tumbling brook cascades into a deep lake where slender naiads bathe and a herd of red-hide deer drink. The only sound that does not fit with the rest of the morning stirrings emanates from the lakeshore. It is this constant, steady grinding noise that catches the attention of several pixies. They cautiously approach the lone figure before they realize that they have no reason to fear the swordsman. The youth smells like the forest and has an air of raw nature about him. Instinctually, they know he is trained in the ways of the wild. It is the adult noble shepherd that is curled up by the smoking remains of a fire that makes the tiny creatures nervous. The pixies tiptoe through the air, trying to get a closer look at the youth without disturbing the dog. They are within a few feet of the swordsman when the dog wakes up and barks at the curious pixies.
“You sleep through the call of a dread boar, but sneaking pixies wake you?” the young warrior asks with a friendly smile. In response, the stubborn dog continues barking at the pixies. “Calm down already, Stiletto. They don’t mean any harm. Grandpa said that pixies never attack unless their soul tree is threatened. So be careful where you try to relieve yourself.”
The young warrior’s face and body show very few signs of battle or harsh traveling. The pieces of leather armor on his forearms and torso are as smooth and pristine as the day they were bought. His dirty face is very handsome with no scars or stress lines that one would expect to find on a wandering warrior. Even his dark blond hair looks to be well groomed, which is incredibly rare among adventurers. At first glance, most people would think that he was new to the road until they notice his boots. Once high-grade leather with silver embroidery, they are a beaten shadow of their former glory. Caked on mud covers much of the leather and only faint flecks of silver remain of what must have been an intricate pattern. To say that these boots were well-used would be an understatement.
The young man eventually puts down his twin sabers and tosses a piece of dried meat to the dog. A blue pixie lands on one of the youth’s pointy ears and begins inspecting his face. It gently wipes at a smudge of dirt on his cheek. With a smile, the tiny creature flies back to its two friends who are hiding behind a wide leaf in the low branches. They rejoin the larger group of pixies that continue playing a game of tag through the trees.
“Now, this is the freedom that we were meant to have,” the young warrior happily declares. “Sure beats being stuck at home and not seeing anything beyond the town borders. Right, Stiletto?” He goes back to sharpening his blades and taking some time to buff the smooth ruby embedded in the pommel of each weapon. He stops abruptly and sheathes the sabers with a frustrated mutter.
“Who the hell am I kidding? This isn’t what I want at all!” he explodes in sudden frustration. “We left home six months ago and I haven’t done anything heroic yet. All of my ancestors were great heroes of Windemere, so why should I be any different? I should be able to gain the same respect and prestige that they had. The bards make wandering for adventures seem so glamorous and easy, but there is so much competition for jobs. All these mercenaries and established heroes keep beating me to the big jobs. They get to fight demons, Weapon Dragons, and trolls while I’m left with scraps. All I want to do is go down in history as a great hero who saved some part of Windemere. Not the greatest hero, but just one of the greatest. Not some pathetic slayer of nuisances like skeletons and rabid goblins. Is it so wrong to want to be as great as your ancestors?”
The dog rolls its eyes as if it has heard this rant many times before.
“Don’t start! All I’ve done so far is stop goblin raids and minor undead from destroying nearby towns. Look at me! I haven’t even been touched in these battles. People don’t believe I’ve even been in a fight. I know that I’m helping people, but I need something bigger than these small jobs. The dangers around here are far too easy to defeat,” the half-elf complains while pacing between two maple trees. “Look, Stiletto, we both know that I am highly skilled in the arts of tracking, fighting, and hunting. I have proven that nothing frightens me. At least, nothing that I’ve seen so far since I have yet to run across demons, dragons, and the more unique monsters that this area has to offer. Still, I didn’t run when I faced my first zombie or my first orc, which has to count for something. When do I get a chance to prove to all of Windemere that I have what it takes to be a great hero?” He stops pacing and looks at the morning sky. “I’m fed up doing all these small jobs. Today, I am going to find an actual adventure and start on my path to being a hero. Are you with me, Stiletto?”
The young man bends down to pat the dog on the head while Stiletto continues chewing on the piece of dried meat. “Lots of help you are. The least you could have done was stop eating while I talked. It was a good rant too.”
The snap of a twig catches the young man’s attention and he whirls around with both sabers drawn. Standing next to a tree is a short, slender woman in an elegant gown of silver satin that contrasts with her long, fiery hair. The youth is slightly taken aback by her ethereal beauty, finally managing to look directly into her deep, sapphire eyes. Something about her seems familiar, but he can’t concentrate long enough to remember where he’s seen her before. He feels like he is compelled to break eye contact by something deep within his bones.
“You have strong reflexes, you
ng warrior. I heard that forest trackers have some of the fastest reactions in the mortal world, but I never had the pleasure of speaking with one before today,” the woman says before looking a little worried. “You are Luke Callindor, right? I would feel very foolish if I approached the wrong half-elf. There is so many more of your kind in Windemere since the last time I left Ambervale.”
Luke stares in awe for a few seconds before he finds his voice. “Yes, I am. This is just incredible. I never met a goddess before. I’ve heard of people meeting with gods and goddesses, but I never thought that I would, especially with Zaria. The goddess of purity is one of the patron deities of my hometown. I mean, you are one of our patron deities.”
Zaria smiles warmly and makes a small bow. “I am impressed that you recognize me so quickly. Most people do not recognize me within the first few minutes of meeting me. I normally have to give them a hint or introduce myself. It is all because those silly artists insist on giving me blonde hair instead of red.”
“I saw a gemstone statue of you when I was five,” Luke says with growing pride. “It looked just like you, but with blonde hair. I never forgot what it looked like. You probably already know this, but I have bard’s memory. So, I remember every detail that I ever see. It may take a few minutes of concentration for me to recall the information, but it’s in my brain somewhere. I don’t forget anything unless I want to. It comes in handy when wandering in the wild.” Luke pauses when he realizes that he is rambling to the goddess. He clears his throat and decides to get straight to the point. “So, why are you looking for me? I’m just a forest tracker who wants an adventure. You don’t happen to have one for me, do you?”
Luke’s bright, green eyes give away his joy at the possibility of receiving a mission from the gods. Zaria can’t help but smile at the excited look on his face. Her smile covers the misgivings that she has about what she must do to the boy. Like Uli, she is unconvinced that Luke is ready for what Gabriel wants to pit him against. Unlike Uli, Zaria knows that there is no stopping this from happening. She would rather start Luke off with hope and excitement instead of whatever horrible method Gabriel would use. Her smile fades as she dwells on how much she loathes the god of destiny and how she has to work with him to solve their mutual problem. Zaria snaps out of her trance with a gentle shake of her head.
Beginning of a Hero (Legends of Windemere) Page 2
