by R. E. Fisher
“Daena, your hands are not level with Blaquewynn’s. If you make that mistake once we begin this, it will become very painful for each of us.”
Daena shifted her right hand upward an almost minuscule amount and looked at Lavalor, excited. “Can’t have that happening!” she offered apologetically.
“No. We can’t,” Lavalor replied. His tone made it clear that there could be no mistakes with this attempt, chastising her.
He looked up at the moons as they reached their parity and saw that the smallest and brightest of them, Phalen, sat directly in front of the next. The moon of red, Maron, was almost centered in front of the largest of the three moons, Kalios—which was known as the moon of shadows because it was eternally black in color.
Once they had aligned with one another, Lavalor thrust his arms upward at the moons. His long fingers began giving off a bluish-tinged light in the near darkness, casting it up toward the circular disks of the moons above. Tetra watched as the light first engulfed his fingers, then his hands. It then expanded down his tall frame until his whole body glowed brightly with the pale blue light. Even his black clothing now appeared light blue within the blinding glow of the magic he was creating.
She watched, fascinated, as Maleaux and those forming the circle around Lavalor began concentrating, and they too began glowing with a light of white. The Elfaheen in the middle square began their magic once those holding hands started to glow from head to foot. As they began, and as the circle of hands had finished their magic, a quick, powerful pulse of white light erupted from Lavalor’s outstretched hands. It shot upward toward the moons, disappearing into the distant night sky. The four Elfaheen that made up the middle square began their magic while Lavalor and the circle continued their intricate ritual. These four glowed red as their magic increased, and Tetra watched in awe as Lavalor’s glow became tinged in red also. Another burst of magic erupted from his hands to shoot skyward, this one the color of the blood-red moon.
Tetra watched as her friend and those on the outer square began their magic; they seemed to disappear into shadow, but she realized they were engulfed in black. The color of the final moon. Again, once completed, Lavalor reflected this new magic and threw a globe of black light upward, toward the moons.
Tetra, now excited by seeing a magic she had never seen before, waited impatiently for the results. It was then that she heard thunder forming above, and she looked upward. What she saw she would never be able to tell, as she would forget it within moments. She watched as the energy that these Elfaheen had cast upward only moments earlier was now returning.
The first of them to return was the white magic, and it struck Lavalor. The magic burst outward through the Elfaheen, each of them becoming one and glowing briefly in white magic. The red magic returned next, tainting them from white to red as their magic light became almost blinding to Tetra. Yet she could not do anything but look upon the final shadow of magic that swept down, returning to its caster. As it struck Lavalor, each of the participating Elfaheen were immediately turned into ashen black and ember figures as they screamed out in agony. A burst of angry black energy erupted from Lavalor, engulfing them. They continued to wail, yet they held on, trying to control this magic.
It was then that the world became sundered by this magic.
It tossed Tetra to the ground as a wave of sound ripped through her body, as well as through every other living thing within the Rohrlands. This newly created absence did several things—and it took something from each of them.
It created within each a need to know. They would now want to know what happened in the dark crevices of time and space, of the horrors that lurked in the dark corners of their minds. Always, from that point forward. At some level, they knew that there was something more. Something more than what they had known so far, something deeper that was hidden from them. Something that lived within their minds and was to be feared, something they knew nothing of, other than that it existed and it was dark.
Just before her friend and the others disappeared, Tetra began hearing voices. She thought that they were echoes of her now-absent friends. That was what Tetra believed she was hearing.
It wasn’t.
Chapter 2
“I place those with only the darkest of hearts nearest my feet. For it is they who will rule as my champions!”
(F.As., 2.5 - Book of Fire, Tenets of Asmodei, Chapter 2, Verse 5)
Immortality was the gift the gods had graced him with; it was not something he was allowed to keep. Betrayals and lies from those who had created him were now only cause for him to hate and despise them.
Lavalor was also blessed with the power of creation. He held a magic that fewer and fewer wielded, as millennia turned into eons and the uninformed used their magic up, becoming mortal. His first instinct was to corrupt the will of the gods, so he embraced that in everything he did.
His vision was an apocalyptic scenario where all the realms that he had inadvertently created while creating Asmordia would merge with one another. The event would kill most, but that was not what troubled him. What troubled him was having seen within this vision that The Realm of Light, the hated Rohrland, was to be reborn. He foresaw a greater and kinder version of its current self. Asmordia, his realm and his home, would die.
At first it troubled him little and he thought of dismissing it as the vestiges of a rotted meal, but now it instilled within him an annoying kernel of dread. Lord Cyris Vaylor had sent an emissary to let him know that he had experienced the vision as well. Cyris, too, realized their ways were in jeopardy from this foretold disaster. A plan to prevent that from occurring must be formulated—of that there was no question. Lavalor had trusted nothing to the gods ever since their betrayal of the Elfaheen. The betrayal had come eons before, yet Lavalor still remembered telling others of his kind that it was coming. They had not listened, and many of them had perished for that failure.
Lavalor needed Cyris not because of his power, but for his magic. Because Cyris wasn’t powerful enough, Fort Perish was always at risk of attack in his ongoing war with Ellowence. The conflict made little sense to Lavalor, but it kept both Cyris and Ellowence busy—which was to Lavalor’s advantage. If Cyris and Ellowence ever figured out how powerful their combined magic could be, Lavalor’s own rule would be in jeopardy.
It was the magic Cyris wielded that Lavalor needed now. Cyris’s divination magic was requisite for this. Lavalor needed to know what was coming and when to form a plan to prevent that destruction. It would not be easy to fend off an apocalypse.
The massive black stone gates were covered with rusted chains along with some oversized skulls of the demons and necro-dragons that flourished in Asmordia. The gates swung open with a grinding sound, like bones in a gristmill. The rusted steel chains that were attached deep in the stone would now be used by the slaves to pull them closed again once instructed. Lavalor casually strolled in unaccompanied, while Cyris waited for him within.
Lavalor smirked as Cyris bowed, seeing that his black leather armor glistened with the blood and ichor of the mangled dead outside the massive gates of his fortress. The battle raged on—a battle that Lavalor had simply strolled through untouched. As Cyris bowed, his long, crimson-stained white hair fell forward over his shoulders, a few strands catching on the sticky gore spackling his shoulder. His ever-present broad, two-handed sword didn’t budge from its scabbard even as he bowed.
Cyris rose. “This way. We have much to discuss, your highness.”
He indicated with his hand which direction they would be walking, nodding to the guards to close the gate. Without looking behind to ensure that Lavalor followed, Cyris walked toward the depths of the keep.
As they walked, Lavalor heard the heavy grinding noise of the massive gates closing. Each step took them further away from the thunderous din of the eternal battle outside. The clashing of steel on steel and the screams of anguish and pain were indistinguishable from the screams of attack and victory.
Pre
tending not to notice the huge stone blocks that had been carved to build the keep or the crimson-black mortice used to hold them in place, Lavalor followed, in awe of his host’s ability to incorporate those he despised into his keep’s design. Cyris led his guest deeper into the keep, following so many turns that Lavalor had become disoriented. He kept a mental image of his own throne room so that he could use his mystical travel magic to escape in case Cyris had planned something unsavory for him.
Cyris and Lavalor soon entered a grand throne room that overflowed with the corrupt treasures of a realm long past redemption. Art filled with the decadent images of death, torture, and lasciviousness. Furniture that could facilitate any manner of physical act born from pain, pleasure, or both. Sands of black were scattered throughout the floor of the room. They were not there to quiet or soften footsteps; they absorbed the blood of both friends and enemies, so that the blood could be swept away as easily as the memory of the deed. The throne was adorned with gems that could survive the heat of Asmordia and decorated with the bones of dead enemies. The room was vacant of all but two vassals and four demons. The vassals dropped to their knees while the four succubi, demons of dark, feminine beauty, continued to dance seductively to music that only they could discern within their ever-lustful minds.
“What have you found out?” Lavalor asked.
“We have plenty of time. There is no Harbinger of Souls yet, so it cannot be close.”
“Did you say we have plenty of time, you idiot? Each spell we cast, each time we create a being of life, each time we use our magic, we are sacrificing more of our time!”
“Forgive me. I only meant to say that we have time to plan,” Cyris offered as he wiped the drying blood from his face, covering his embarrassment with his now-bloody palm.
“Tell me what a Harbinger of Souls is.”
“A warning, in essence. Voices of the coming damned will all cry out for salvation.”
“Crying is much too timid a term!” Lavalor said, raising his arms toward the ceiling of the throne room. He clenched both of his fists and replied gleefully, “That is the behavior of the weak. The broken should wail and gnash their teeth in fear. Don’t you agree, my friend?” With a cruel smile, he turned and quietly asked Cyris, “To whom will they whine?”
“I don’t know; I couldn’t tell. My magic is weakening, and I have no desire to sacrifice myself for you, Lavalor.”
“Oh, dear friend, I would not dream of asking that of you. Yet,” Lavalor said.
“Magic of this sort is rarely specific, my lord. Once you determine who the Harbinger is, I don’t think you should kill them.”
“Why not?” Lavalor growled through clenched teeth. “It would stop them from starting the apocalypse, wouldn’t it?”
“The Harbinger won’t be the cause of it. Others will be the cause; of that I’m sure.”
“What others?”
“I don’t know.”
Lavalor’s glare showed Cyris his growing impatience.
“But the Harbinger will. That’s his role in this. Besides, unless we’re very careful, we won’t be around anyway. I saw none of us in the future. Either here or in the Realm of Light,” Cyris said, hoping to placate Lavalor.
Lavalor thought about that comment. What would it matter if there weren’t any Elfaheen left to rule Asmordia?
“One more thing, my lord,” said Cyris, interrupting Lavalor’s thought, “I saw the coming of a war in the Realm of Light. The Shadow Elves and the humans have formed a pact. Out of this pact, a schism will form, giving us the opportunity to take over the Realm of Light. If we succeed, the vision of the Im’Shallene will not matter. The form of the first realm at that time will determine what the new world will be. All the other dimensions you accidentally created when you created our home will also cease to exist.”
Lavalor began walking toward Cyris and said, “So if I understand you, we will need to seek out the Harbinger of Souls—but we can’t kill him, we can only follow him. He will find those who will bring about the apocalypse. Is that right?” Lavalor finished as he stopped in front of Cyris, staring at him with a hand on the hilt of his rapier.
“Yes,” Cyris replied, noticing the rapier that Lavalor carried on his hip as well the hand he had set close to it.
“Can we at least kill these others? Whoever they are.”
“I don’t know, your highness. That knowledge was not disclosed. But I would guess not.”
“Why not?” Lavalor asked Cyris.
“Because of what happened when you created Asmordia. What if we tear open that curtain by killing them? What if in doing that, we are starting the Im’Shallene? The gods are fickle and full of deception. It would be like them to do that.”
“So, you believe the answer is for us to set a course to overwhelm the Realm of Light so that no matter when it occurs, the new world will be one in our image?”
“I do.”
“How would we do that? Use this war you saw?”
“That is what I would suggest.”
“Very well, but we must keep this to ourselves.”
Lavalor had never been concerned with the deaths of others, only his own. And if others could be convinced to die for him, it was so much the better for his own causes.
“Why? The others have a right to know,” Cyris asked, questioning Lavalor’s need for secrecy from those who had helped him create Asmordia.
“The others don’t understand the magic we used to create our home; they only gave me some of their own to do so. But now they have become too obsessed with their own kingdoms here. They were useful once, but no longer. What purpose could they serve in this?”
“They could be your fodder,” Cyris suggested. “Promise them their own principalities in the Realm of Light and they will flock to you, yearning to expand their own powers.”
Lavalor looked about the throne room and began admiring the lithesome, buxom forms of the succubi and their lascivious manner of dance as he contemplated Cyris’s suggestion. “And what of your support? Your watchful ways of these future events would cost me what?” Lavalor asked after a few moments.
“I rule this realm in your stead. But only while you establish your rule in the vanquished Realm of Light.”
“You wish to rule this realm I created?” Lavalor asked as his eyes narrowed in anger.
“In your stead only, your highness. As your regent, of course.”
Cyris looked at Lavalor, realizing how much the self-proclaimed king wanted to rule everything and everyone. That made him a dangerous enemy, but an even more dangerous ally— one Cyris must have if he was to defeat Ellowence. However, Cyris knew betrayal would follow Lavalor’s actions and words at some point.
“I will think on it, Cyris.”
“As you wish, sire…” Cyris said, bowing. “…I will have someone show you out.”
Lavalor gave Cyris a brief but insincere hug of reassurance while telling him, “Thank you. A friend, as always.”
Lavalor left and began evaluating the potential of his success, but the growing din of the eternal battle outside the walls of Fort Perish brought him out of his thoughts. As he left the keep through its massive gates, he paused to take in the soothing sights and sounds of the battle.
The odor of blood and fear filled the air around him as he walked from the keep. The warriors that fought for both Ellowence and Vaylor paused, parting as they recognized him. His height, distinct hair, and fiery yellow eyes made it clear that he was important.
He watched as one of the warriors dropped his sword and leaned over the un-risen corpse of another, grabbing him by the ankles. Another warrior, one with skin so black that he almost appeared as a shade in armor to Lavalor, dropped his spear and grabbed the corpse under its shoulders. They carried the bloody, war-torn corpse out of his way to ensure that Lavalor wouldn’t have to step over it. It was a respectful gesture, one that did not go unnoticed by the ancient Elfaheen.
Stepping toward the warriors, he saw that one of
them was human, with a muscular build and eyes of steel blue. He was a barbarian who wore no armor, only a loincloth, though his body was adorned with hundreds of tattoos. Tattoos of almost every type of dangerous creature ever created. His long, black hair was braided and hung far past his shoulders.
“What is your name?” Lavalor asked.
“Jerrous, sire,” he said, kneeling in front of Lavalor.
“And you?” Lavalor asked, turning his attention to the black-skinned warrior.
“Vastia, my lord.”
“Why did you do that?” Lavalor asked Jerrous.
“Kings and Emperors should not move for the world. Those who serve, my lord, should ensure that the world moves for their king,” Jerrous answered, still kneeling.
“And what of you?” Lavalor asked Vastia.
“I only live to serve, my lord,” Vastia replied respectfully, refusing to kneel to the Elfaheen. His own pride forced him to risk the king’s fury.
“I have need of servants who believe as you do. Leave this field and make your way to Ash Keep. My servants will prepare you,” Lavalor said, pointing in the direction of his home.
Saying nothing more, he turned and made his way from the gates of Fort Perish. Jerrous took up his sword while Vastia grabbed his spear. Both began their hurried trek to Ash Keep as commanded by their king. Lavalor followed in their direction, needing no escort and watching them as they willingly rushed headlong to the dark future he had just planned for them.
The tall, elegant Elfaheen walked past a wall of black obsidian glass, which reflected the dark red glow of Asmordia, and he marveled in its reflection. His height, along with his refined gait and long, flowing white hair and regal clothing, contrasted sharply against his environment. His casual steps took him past the natural stone mirror, and he sighed as he lost sight of his own image. Inhaling deeply afterward, he smiled to himself as the odor of rotten eggs and burning sulfur filled his nostrils, relishing the slight choking sensation as it tickled his throat. He climbed to the top of a hillock and looked back at Fort Perish, realizing that Cyris had no intention of keeping the plans a secret between the two of them.
