by Dean Cadman
“Tell me, how is it that you know so much about my ‘current shortages’?” Lord Zelroth asked, in a menacing voice.
Cleric Zayin instantly paled at his tone. “Forgive me, My Lord,” he replied, bowing deeply, “I meant no disrespect. I am but a humble cleric, My Lord, and only know what I have heard or observed with my own eyes.”
“Oh… such as?”
Cleric Zayin shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. Just by his body language, Lord Zelroth could tell that he knew he was now negotiating for his own life as well.
“My Lord, I’m sure you’re already well aware that the existence of your Aznavor in no secret amongst the people of Bruecia, or indeed, Thule as a whole,” cleric Zayin said, pausing to gauge his reaction.
Lord Zelroth nodded, prompting him to continue.
“My Lord, as a cleric, one of my many duties is to… quietly dispose of or bury the bodies which come out of Azmarin. Over the years I have dealt with many of those bodies, and I think it would be fair to say that it’s not difficult to tell which ones died in the jaws of the Aznavor—especially the ones that don’t arrive whole.”
Lord Zelroth stifled a grin and waited patiently for him to continue.
Cleric Zayin was well aware of Lord Zelroth’s vicious and merciless nature, and he also knew that by trying to help his wife’s worthless brother, he had now almost certainly condemned himself to death too. He took a deep breath and sighed it out, knowing that whatever he said now would make little difference to his own fate. After a brief pause, he decided that he would simply say what he had come to say, and be damned with the consequences. After all, if he was going to die anyway, what difference would it make?
“My Lord, as I have already said, I am a simple man, therefore I will speak just as plainly. I do not know why you sacrifice your prisoners to the Aznavor, nor do I wish to know. What I do know is that over the past several weeks, the number of bodies that I and the other clerics in Bruecia have received has increased dramatically. At first, it was obvious that they were the bodies of dead prisoners, due to their nationalities and clothing. But later, when the army started gathering up all the known criminals and their associates from around town, and a few days later their bodies began arriving at the temple, I started to suspect that something unusual was going on. Then when I started to hear people talking about the group of soldiers that had failed to return from The Badlands, as well as the others who had been sent to find them… well, it was quite obvious to me that you needed more people to sacrifice to the Aznavor for some reason.
“Then only yesterday, I began hearing rumours about several houses at the edge of town that had been raided by soldiers, and their inhabitants taken away in the dead of night. I guess what I’m trying to say is this. No one in the general population ever finds out about the bodies we receive from Azmarin, and few will care about the criminals you gathered up recently. In fact, I have heard a great deal of praise for you, My Lord, with regards to that matter. But people will start to notice if innocent families are taken without apparent cause.”
“And your point is?” Lord Zelroth asked, sneering at him.
“My point is that I believe there is another way to provide you with the sacrifices that you need, My Lord. At least in the short term, until your forces return from The Badlands with more.”
“Oh… and how’s that?” Lord Zelroth replied.
Cleric Zayin swallowed hard. “My Lord, I believe that you can simply ask for volunteers…”
Lord Zelroth’s laughter suddenly echoed through the giant chamber, cutting the cleric off mid-sentence. There was no joy in his laughter, only mocking and ridicule.
“That was how you intended to bargain for your brother-in-law’s life? To tell me to ask for volunteers?” Lord Zelroth scoffed. “Oh, no… wait. You may be right after all. I see my first two volunteers already…”
“No… wait! Please, My Lord, let me explain,” cleric Zayin pleaded desperately, as two Darkseed Elite guards stepped forward to take him away. Lord Zelroth raised a single finger and the two guards halted their advance. Cleric Zayin tried to control the rising panic that he felt under the glare of Lord Zelroth.
“My Lord, it’s no secret amongst our people that you strive to free our God, Aamon, from his bondage within the Netherworld,” he said, indicating towards the partially completed mural depicting Aamon’s escape. “And there have been various rumours regarding your captured Aznavor for many years now. None more prevalent than the belief that you somehow use the creature to communicate with Aamon directly. But whether that’s true or not, is irrelevant, because it’s what the vast majority of the people already believe. And I think you could use that to your advantage.
“As I’m sure you are already aware, My Lord, over the last ten or twenty years there has been a small, but growing number, of fundamentalists making their presence known amongst our people. The Camusch, as they like to be known, are nothing more than a drain on our society. They quietly subvert our citizens in the name of Aamon, into believing their own twisted version of history. They promise the people a glorious life by Aamon’s side once he is released from his Netherworld prison, as well as countless other rewards in the afterlife. And all they have to do to receive this divine gift is give over their worldly possessions to them, or at least a significant portion of them, and submit entirely to their twisted system of beliefs.
“For a long time, the Camusch have been little more than a religious splinter group, with few followers and little influence over the people of Thule. But recently, we in the clergy have seen their numbers grow significantly, and now they have begun to impose their twisted values on people through force and coercion. I have believed for quite some time that we cannot allow this perversion to continue. And I believe right now is a perfect opportunity to put an end to them once and for all, whilst at the same time, remedying your current shortfall of sacrifices for the Aznavor.
“You see, for all of their shortcomings, the extremists amongst the Camusch have two unshakable beliefs. The first is that one day their deeds will be judged by Aamon, and if they are found worthy, they will spend eternity by his side and receive all of the divine gifts available in the afterlife. The second is that you, My Lord, are the ‘Key’ to his eventual release from the Netherworld. They believe that it will ultimately be by your hand, and yours alone, that Aamon will regain his freedom one day.
“The rumours already exist amongst the population regarding the Aznavor and Aamon. So if you were to ask for volunteers to sacrifice themselves to the creature, in order to further the cause, I believe two things would happen. The first would be the solution to your current problem, as I’m certain many of them would willingly sacrifice themselves to gain favour with Aamon. They would simply see it as ensuring their place by his side in the afterlife.
“And secondly, as an added bonus, I believe it would spell the end of the Camusch altogether. Or at least it would in its current extreme form. After all, no one could possibly call themselves a devout Camusch if they didn’t answer the call of their God. The people who had been previously coerced into joining their ranks, as well as the ones of… shall we say, a more shakeable faith, would soon fall by the wayside and rejoin a more… conventional means of worship. And that in turn, of course, would mean more gold flowing into the temples, and ultimately to you, My Lord,” he said, bowing his head deeply and holding his breath.
Lord Zelroth couldn’t decide if he was more impressed by the callous nature of the cleric or the fact that he might actually have solved his immediate problem. At least in the short term, anyway. He wasn’t sure how many, or if any of the Camusch would willingly sacrifice themselves, but he suddenly found himself needing to know—if only to satisfy his own morbid curiosity.
Lord Zelroth had been aware of the Camusch for quite some time now, and had already gathered detailed information regarding their leadership and members with the intention of eliminating them at some point in the future. At least this way
—if the cleric was right—they wouldn’t even put up a fight.
“How many of these Camusch do you expect to heed the call?” Lord Zelroth asked, after a long period of silence. Cleric Zayin’s heart thundered in his chest as he looked up towards an expectant Lord Zelroth. He knew whatever number he said would never satisfy him, and that he would be held to account for any shortfalls. That was, of course, if he didn’t just execute him anyway, regardless.
“My Lord, I’m not certain how many would heed the call, but they will come, of that I’m sure.” he replied, trying to be as non-committal as possible.
“Tell me, cleric Zayin, are you a gambling man?” Lord Zelroth asked, a moment later from within the shadows of his hooded robe.
“I didn’t think so before today, My Lord,” he replied, keeping his head bowed.
Lord Zelroth chuckled. “I like to see that in a man. Humour, even in the face of adversity. I’ve come to the conclusion that I quite like you, cleric Zayin. Therefore, I have decided not to kill you. Well… at least not today.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” cleric Zayin replied breathlessly.
“Oh… don’t thank me just yet,” Lord Zelroth replied, with a smirk. “I’m still wondering how confident you are in your own predictions regarding the Camusch. Therefore I’m going to leave both your own, and the fate of your brother-in-law in your hands. So, here’s what I propose. I will give you two choices. One to save only yourself, and a second to save both yourself and your brother-in-law’s life. And here’s how it will work. I will set a number for each of you, and that number will represent how many Camusch lives are needed to buy back each of your own lives. If you choose to gamble only for your own life, then the number of Camusch who willingly come to sacrifice themselves must be at least the number that I have deemed your life to be worth. If, however, you choose to gamble for both your own life and that of your wife’s brother, then the number of Camusch sacrifices must equal or exceed the combined figure I put on your lives. In either case, if the number of sacrifices is not reached, both you and your brother-in-law will be fed to my Aznavor. Do you understand the rules of my game?”
Cleric Zayin nodded nervously.
“Good. There’s nothing worse than playing a game that you don’t fully understand. It often leads to losing, and trust me, this isn’t a game that you want to lose. So, for your life, I think I would require… let’s say, twenty Camusch lives. Does that sound fair to you?”
Cleric Zayin nodded again, and breathed a sigh of relief. He was fairly confident that at least twenty Camusch would heed the call. He knew their current number was in excess of a hundred, but of those, he wasn’t sure how many of them would actually sacrifice themselves when faced with the reality of it.
“Excellent! Now for your brother-in-law. Let me see… it would be the second time that he had received clemency, so of course, I must take that into consideration when deciding on a value for him. Also, he did just commit a crime, so I must also take that into account, too. So, why don’t we agree on a nice round number… let’s say sixty. That’s twenty for each of his transgressions and a further twenty for his actual life, making a total of eighty Camusch sacrifices if you wish to save your brother-in-law’s life too. Or of course, you could choose to save only yourself, and that would only require twenty Camusch sacrifices. So, I’ll ask you again, cleric Zayin. Are you a gambling man? What do you think?”
Cleric Zayin paused a moment before replying, then simply said, “I think I should buy my wife a bunch of flowers on the way home, My Lord.”
Lord Zelroth’s manic laugher suddenly rang out inside the vast chamber, and the man waiting outside in the hallway was dragged away towards the Aznavor chamber, screaming in terror.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“My father! … How could that even be possible?” Lusam gasped, looking up at the man standing over him.
A familiar smile spread across the man’s face. “Well, I was hoping to get to know you a little better before we had our father-son discussion,” he said, still holding his hand out to help Lusam up.
“What? … No… no, that’s not what I meant,” Lusam stuttered, his face flushing slightly. “I mean, how could you have possibly even known my mother, when you’ve been inside this realm for the past two millennia?” Lusam knew that he couldn’t have possibly left the hidden realm, or Aysha, and quite possibly even Driden would have become aware of his existence. And if Aysha had been aware of a living Guardian, there was no doubt in his mind that she would have sent him long ago to seek him out.
“It’s a long and complicated story, and one that I’m more than willing to share with you over a drink and a bite to eat inside. But I can assure you that I did know your mother, and I loved her very much. It saddens me greatly to hear of Samara’s passing, but I saw through you that she died protecting what she loved the most. There was no regret in her face or voice that day, only love and pride for you, her son,” he said, smiling down at him.
The raw memories of his mother’s final moments flashed before Lusam’s eyes once more, and a single tear traced its way down his cheek. He quickly brushed it away with the back of his hand, not wishing to seem weak in the present company, then reached out to take the man’s hand. A moment later he was on his feet and staring into the eyes of his own father—something he had never even dreamed possible. It was like looking into an enchanted mirror and seeing his own aged reflection staring back at him. There was no denying that he had his father’s eyes, as well as his father’s smile. But even his hair was of the same colour, and just as unruly.
“I apologise for my rather dishevelled appearance, I wasn’t expecting any guests, and certainly not one of such significance,” he said, grinning. “But I suppose we better introduce ourselves. My name is Arlo, and you’ve already met my bad-tempered dragon, Ryuu.”
“Lusam,” he replied, holding out his hand.
“Lusam, eh?” Arlo said, smiling and shaking his hand. “That was my father’s name, too. Your grandfather. He was a great man you know. Maybe one day I’ll tell you all about him, but for now, let’s go inside where it’s a bit cooler. I never did like the heat and humidity here.” Lusam nodded and fell into step behind him, and they both headed towards the enormous stone staircase of the building.
“It’s strange to think that I was named after someone else,” Lusam mused.
“Actually, I don’t think you were. Or at least not after your grandfather, anyway. I can’t say as I ever remember speaking about my father to Samara… er… I mean your mother. It must just be a strange coincidence, that’s all. Either that or divine intervention,” he replied, with a wink. Lusam smiled to be polite, but he doubted very much that Aysha would have had anything to do with it. How could she when she didn’t even know his father was still alive? But he thought it best to avoid mentioning that, and decided to change the subject entirely.
“I’m sorry about injuring your dragon,” he said, scanning the sky for any signs of it.
“Oh, don’t worry about Ryuu, he’ll be just fine. But his pride might take a while to recover,” Arlo said, chuckling to himself. Lusam heard the distant roar of the dragon, and Arlo chuckled even louder.
“Can he hear you from such a distance?” Lusam asked, in amazement.
“No, but he can hear my thoughts, just as I hear his. Unless, of course, he chooses to block me out, like he did during your little battle back there. His stubborn pride almost got him killed. Although, he would never admit to it.” Another distant roar echoed through the sky and Arlo shook his head like a disapproving parent.
“Did he say something to you?” Lusam asked, curiously.
“Yes. But I don’t wish to repeat it. Dragons seem to have a unique and innate ability to use the most benign words as weapons sometimes,” Arlo replied, then after a moment’s thought, he added, “Or maybe it’s just Ryuu.”
As they approached the massive building, Lusam couldn’t help but marvel at its incredible architecture. Even in it
s dilapidated state, Coldmont had been a mightily impressive sight to behold. But this structure was in perfect condition and went way beyond anything he had ever seen before. Even the High Temple in Lamuria looked dowdy by comparison. Perfectly carved stone figures adorned the length of the building, each one with a different face, and each one so life-like that he wouldn’t have been surprised to see them blink at any moment. If similar figures had also once adorned Coldmont’s facade they must have long since succumbed to the violent tremors of the mountain, as no evidence of them still remained.
The only thing which marred the perfect condition of the building was a series of deep gouges in each of the enormous stone steps leading up to the entrance. He had also seen similar marks on the stone steps at Coldmont, and even then he’d surmised that they had been made by the talons of a long-dead dragon. And having just witnessed those massive talons for himself—at a range he never hoped to repeat—he was now certain that his earlier assumption had been correct.
When they reached the base of the stone stairs, Arlo spoke a few words of power and levitated himself into the air. Lusam had expected him to simply walk up the slope at the side of the enormous stairs, just as he and the others had done at Coldmont. He could almost see Neala roll her eyes and hear her accusations of being a show-off, as he levitated himself into the air after him. Arlo turned just in time to see him leave the ground and frowned slightly.
“How did you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Levitate without speaking the incantation.”
“Oh… that. Yeah, I don’t need to speak to use my magic. I just think about what I want to do and it happens. And before you say it, I already know it’s strange. People keep telling me that all the time,’” Lusam replied with a grin.
“Strange! … It’s impossible!”
“Yeah, people keep telling me that, too,” Lusam replied, grinning even more.
Arlo’s eyes went wide as if he’d suddenly remembered something very important. “That’s how you were able to attack me even after I had silenced you,” he said, with a look of astonishment on his face. “I’d almost forgotten about that until now. At the time I thought I’d just misspoken the incantation, or that you had some kind of enchantment on you which prevented my spell from taking hold.”
