Legacy of Blood d-1

by Richard A. Knaak

  Unable to do otherwise, she followed him down into the earth, down toward a distant, yellowish light. As Kara stepped below the level of the floor, the enchantresssensed the stones shifting, the image of the Vizjerei temple returning to its prior state.

  "We'll be safe down here," the mad hermit assured her, seeming somewhat more calm now. "My brother will never find us here…"

  Brother? Had she heard right?

  "Horazon?" Kara blurted, surprised not only by her conclusion but that she could now articulate it. Evidently her captor had no concerns about anyone hearing her underneath layers of rock and earth.

  He looked right at her, the watery eyes focusing hard for the first time. "Do we know each other? I don't think we know each other…" When she did not respond immediately, he shrugged and continued on with the trek, still mumbling. "I'm sure we don't know each other, but we might know each other…"

  Kara Nightshadow still had no choice but to follow, not that she much noticed at the moment. Her thoughts reeled, her world entirely turned upside-down.

  She had come in search of the Warlord of Blood's armor and had found instead-even despite the many centuries that had passed since their time-Bartuc's living, breathing, and much hated brother.

  Incredible heat assailed Norrec as he at last came back to his senses. At first he imagined that a fire must have started in Drognan's sanctum, perhaps through the arcane powers of the sinister armor. However, gradually the veteran became aware that the heat, while harsh, did not burn and, in fact, surely had to be from the sun itself.

  Rolling over onto his back, Norrec shielded his eyes and tried to get his bearings, only to find a sea of sand in every direction. He grimaced, wondering where he had landed now. In the distance, Norrec thought he noticed darkness, as if a storm approached from that direction. Could Lut Gholein lay somewhere underneath thoseclouds? It seemed wherever he went, the storm followed. If that were the case now, then at least he knew that he had materialized somewhere west or northwest of the coastal kingdom.

  But why?

  Drognan had said something about the armor having tricked them. How true those words had been. It had played both the Vizjerei and him for fools, no doubt seeking the mage's aid in locating its goal. Could that have been Horazon's tomb, as Drognan believed? If so, why had Norrec ended up out here in the middle of nowhere?

  With great effort, the battered and worn soldier rose. Judging by the sun, he had a little more than an hour or two before nightfall. The walk back to Lut Gholein would take far longer than that, likely two days-and that providing Norrec actually survived the trek. More important, he could not even be certain that the suit would let him return. If what it sought lay out here, it would do everything it could to remain in the desert.

  Norrec took a few steps, testing the armor's resolve. When it did nothing to prevent him from heading toward the city, he increased his pace as best he could. At the very least, Norrec needed to find some shelter for the night and the only hope of that lay in a twisted hill of rock barely visible ahead. It would take him until sunset to reach the hill, if not longer, which meant that, despite the heat, he had to move even quicker.

  His legs ached horribly as Norrec pushed on. The loose sand and high dunes made it tough going and often Norrec lost sight of his goal for quite some time. He even found himself turned around at one point, the swirling dunes shifting in size and direction even as he tried to cross them.

  Yet, despite all that, the hill soon became an aspiration possible to achieve. Norrec prayed that he would find moisture of some sort there; his short time in the deserthad already parched him. If he did not find water soon, it would not matter whether he made it to the hill or-

  A large, winged shadow crossed over his own… followed immediately by a second.

  Norrec looked up, trying to see against the sun. He caught glimpses of two or three airborne forms, but could not make them out. Vultures? Quite possible in Aranoch, but these looked much larger and not quite avian in some ways. Norrec's hand slipped to where his sword would have been and once more he cursed Bartuc's armor for putting him through such horrors without a decent weapon of his own.

  Despite his flagging strength, the veteran doubled his pace. If he could reach the rock, it would provide him with some defense against the marauding birds. Vultures tended to be scavengers, but this flock looked more aggressive and, in some way he could still not define, unsettling.

  The shadows passed over him again, this time much larger, much more distinct. The creatures had descended for a better look.

  He barely sensed in time the feathered form dropping on him from behind. With instincts honed on the battlefield, Norrec threw himself to the ground just as talons as great as his hand scraped across his armored back and managed to briefly snag his hair. The hardened fighter grunted as he rolled over, ready to face the birds. Surely he could scare off a few vultures, especially once he let them see he would not simply lie down and die for them.

  But these were no vultures… although their ancestry had certainly come from those desert scavengers.

  Nearly as tall as a man and with the wings and head of the avian they so resembled, the four grotesque creatures fluttered just above him, talons on both their feet and their almost human hands ready to tear his head from his body. Their tails ended in whips that lashed out at Norrecas he desperately tried to back away. The demonic birds let out harsh cries as they tried to surround their wouldbe victim, cries that made Norrec's pulse pound.

  He waited for the suit to do something, but Bartuc's armor remained dormant. Swearing, Norrec braced himself. If he had to die here, he would not die like a lamb because he had come to depend on the armor for so much. Nearly all his life, he had served in one war or another. This battle represented little different.

  One of the monstrous vultures came within his grasp. Moving with more speed than he thought himself capable of at this point, Norrec seized it by one of its legs and threw it to the ground. Despite their size, the desert terrors were astoundingly light, no doubt because, like their ancestors, their bones were designed for flight. He took advantage of that, using his own considerable mass to pin the shrieking creature down, then twisting the head as hard as he could.

  The three survivors harried him even harder as he rose from the limp form, but a different Norrec faced them now, one who had, for the first time in many days, fought a battle of his own and won. As the second dove at him, he grabbed a handful of sand and threw it in the vulpine horror's eyes. The demonic bird blindly whipped its tail at him, giving the veteran soldier the chance to seize the deadly appendage in both hands.

  Squawking, the creature tried to fly free. However, Norrec spun the massive avian around again and again, driving back the other pair at the same time. The talons of his captured foe scraped futilely on his gauntleted hands, Bartuc's armor well protecting its host.

  Norrec's blood surged. His attackers had come to represent to him more than simply the dangers of the desert. In many ways, they now became the brunt of all his frustration and fury. He had suffered through too many terrible events, suffered too many horrors, and not once hadbeen able to do anything about them. Powerful enchantments saturated the warlord's armor and yet none of it obeyed him. Had it been his to command, he would have used the sorcery of the suit to roast the demonic beast he now held, turn it and its dire companions into fireballs.

  His gloves suddenly glowed bright red.

  Eagerly, Norrec eyed them, then stared at the vulture demon. Yes, a blazing inferno…

  He grabbed the furious avian by the neck. The savage beak tried to tear out his face, only increasing his determination to end this battle as quickly and decisively as possible.

  Norrec glared at the monster. "Burn!"

  With a garbled shriek, the winged terror burst into flames, perishing in an instant.

  Wasting not a second, the fighter threw the fiery carcass into the nearest of the two survivors, setting that one aflame, too. The last of the
avians quickly turned about, flying away as if the hounds of Hell pursued. Norrec paid its retreat no mind, content to finishing off the third.

  Its feathers seared away, it tried to emulate its sole surviving comrade, but it had already suffered too much injury. Unable to do more than rise a foot or two above the ground, it could not escape the vengeful fighter. Norrec seized it by one wing, letting the now-pathetic monster claw at his breast plate while he took it by the head.

  With one quick jerk, Norrec snapped its neck.

  In truth, the battle had taken only a minute or two, but in that short span the veteran soldier had transformed. As he dropped the feathered corpse to the sand, Norrec felt a thrill such as he had never experienced in any war. Not only had he triumphed against the odds, but for once the cursed armor had obeyed him. Norrec flexed the fingers, truly admiring the workmanship of the gloves for the first time. Perhaps the encounter with Drognan had changed everything; perhaps now that which had driventhe armor to such lengths had finally given in, had even accepted its host as its master…

  Perhaps he could test it. Surely after all he had seen it do, the armor could perform one basic task at his command.

  "All right," he growled. "Listen to me! I need water! I need it now!"

  His left hand tingled, twitched slightly, as if the armor wanted to take control-but sought permission.

  "Do it. I order you!"

  The glove pointed to the ground. Norrec knelt, allowed his index finger to draw a circle in the sand. It then drew a looping pattern around that circle, with small crosses in each loop.

  Words of power erupted from his lips, but this time Norrec welcomed them.

  The entire pattern suddenly crackled, miniature arcs of lightning playing between one end of the design and the other. A tiny fissure opened in the center…

  Clear, sparkling water bubbled to the surface.

  Norrec eagerly bent down, sipping his fill. The water felt cool, sweet, almost as if instead he drank wine. The thirsty fighter savored each swallow until at last he could sip no more.

  Leaning back, he took a handful and spilled it on his face. The soothing moisture trickled down his chin, his neck, and into his hot garments.

  "That'll be enough," he finally said.

  His hand waved over the tiny spring. Immediately the ground healed itself, sealing the fissure and cutting off the flow of water. What remained on the sand quickly sank out of sight.

  A feeling of jubilation washed over Norrec, causing him to laugh loud. Twice now, the armor had served him. Twice now, he had been the master, not the slave.

  Spirits lifted, he headed again for the hill. Now Norrecno longer worried about whether he would survive the desert. What could he not survive, if the enchantments obeyed him? For that matter, what could he not accomplish? No one had seen such might as the armor wielded since the days of Bartuc! With it, Norrec could make of himself a commander instead of a foot soldier, a leader instead of a follower…

  A king instead of a peasant?

  The image enticed him. King Norrec, ruler of all he surveyed. Knights would bow before him; ladies of the court would seek his favor. Lands would come under his control. Riches beyond belief would be his to spend…

  "King Norrec…," he whispered. A smile once again spread across his face, a smile not at all like any Norrec Vizharan had evinced before in his life. In fact, although he could not know it, Norrec's smile resembled almost exactly the smile of another man, one who had lived long, long before the former mercenary.

  A man named Bartuc.

  Fifteen

  Night enshrouded Aranoch and with its coming also returned the demon Xazax to Augustus Malevolyn. The general had been waiting most anxiously for the past hour, pacing back and forth inside his tent. He had dismissed all his officers and ordered that even his guards depart from the vicinity of his quarters. As an added precaution, he had also not permitted any tents within hearing distance. What transpired between Malevolyn and the mantis would be for their ears alone.

  Even Galeona had been forbidden to set up her abode nearby, but she had protested little when he had told her. The general had not given that lack of protest much thought, more concerned with the offer made by his new ally. As far as he was concerned, the witch could now pack her things back up and ride off. If she did not, he would likely have to have her slain. Some sort of animosity existed between Xazax and her and, at the moment, Malevolyn needed the demon far more than he needed a very mortal sorceress, whatever her other charms.

  Women could be easily replaced; moments of immortality generally could not be.

  By Malevolyn's choice, only a single lamp lit the tent. He did not know if the demon cast shadows, but, if so, the less chance of one of his men noticing, the better for the general. Had they known what he and themantis wished to discuss, they would have all likely fled into the dark desert heedless of the dangers lurking out there.

  A flickering movement caught his attention. Augustus Malevolyn turned, noticing that one shadow moved in defiance of the lamp's flame.

  "You are here, aren't you?" he murmured.

  "This one has come as promised, oh great one…"

  The shadow deepened, grew substantial. In moments, the hideous form of the hellish mantis loomed over the human. Yet despite the presence of a creature who looked capable of ripping him apart limb by limb, General Malevolyn felt only anticipation. In Xazax, he saw the first of many such monsters who would eventually serve him in every way.

  "Lut Gholein lies little more than a day from you now, warlord. Have you changed your mind?"

  Changed his mind about gaining the armor? Changed his mind about his destiny? "You waste my time on useless prattle, Xazax. I am firm in my choice."

  The bulbous, yellow orbs flared. The mantis's head twisted slightly, as if the demon tried to peer through the closed tent flap. "We spoke briefly of the witch, great warlord. This one has considered that matter much since then and believes still that she must not be part of this… or perhaps anything else."

  Augustus Malevolyn pretended to brood over this. "She's been of value to me for some time. I would hate to lose her assets."

  "She would not agree with what this one has proposed to you, warlord. You may trust this one on that…"

  The general had not missed Xazax's continual use of the new title and while it pleased Malevolyn to hear it, the demon in no way succeeded in playing to his ego. Malevolyn still considered each detail by its own worth, even Galeona. "What lies between you and her?"

  "An agreement made foolishly-and one this one wishes to break."

  Not the most clear of answers, but enough to give the general what he needed. He had a possible bargaining chip. "You will give me all I demand? All we discussed?"

  "All-and gladly, warlord."

  "Then you may have her now, if you wish. I will wait here while you do what you must."

  If the demon could possibly ever looked disconcerted, then he did so now. "This one most graciously declines your kind offer, warlord… and suggests that perhaps you take the honor yourself at some point soon."

  The mantis would not or could not touch Galeona, just as Malevolyn had expected. Still, to him the matter seemed moot. It would not change his other decision, not in the least. "I will send a detachment to her tent to see that she remains under control. That will at least prevent her from causing any disturbance during our efforts. Perhaps after, I will decide what to do about her. In the meantime, unless there is something else you need to tell me-I would like to begin."

  The eyes of the demon flashed again, this time in what seemed immense satisfaction. In that voice that reminded the general of a dying swarm of flies, Xazax replied, "Then… you will need this, warlord…"

  In the two skeletal hands, the hellish mantis held a large, twin-bladed dagger made of a black metal, a dagger with runes etched not only in the handle but along the flat sides of the blades. Also in the handle had been embedded two stones, the larger as red as blood, the othe
r as pale as bone. Both stones had a slight gleam to them that came from no outside source.

  "Take it…" urged the demon.

  Augustus Malevolyn did so with eagerness, hefting the massive knife and noting its fine balance.

  "What must I do with it?"

  "Prick the skin. Let a few drops of blood flow." The mantis cocked his head. "A simple matter…"

  Dagger in hand, the general hurried to the flap of the tent. He shouted for one of his officers, then glanced over his shoulder at Xazax. "You'd better fade back into—"

  But the demon had already anticipated his request, Xazax melting once more into shadow.

  Athin, mustached soldier with silver tabs on his shoulders appeared out of the darkness. He rushed up to the tent, then saluted his commander. "Yes, general?"

  "Zako." One of his more competent aides. Malevolyn would miss him, but the potential glories outweighed any concern for a single person. "The witch is to be placed under protective arrest. She is not to be allowed to touch any of her belongings nor is she to even so much as raise a finger until I say so."

  Agrim smile crossed the other soldier's face. Like most of Malevolyn's officers, Zako had no love for this sorceress who had, up until now, influenced their leader so much. "Aye, general! I'll do that, all right!"

  Something occurred to the commander. "But first… but first bring the guards chosen for this task here. Be quick about it!"

  With a swift salute, Zako vanished into the dark, only to return a short time later with four sturdy-looking warriors. Zako ushered them into Malevolyn's tent, then took up his place at the forefront.

  "All present, general!" he called out, snapping to attention.

  "Very good." Malevolyn gave the small troop a brief inspection, then faced them. "You have all served me loyally time and time again." His fingers stroked the hilt of the dagger, to which none of the five had so far paid much attention. "You have sworn your lives to me more than once… and for that I thank you. However,with a prize such as the one awaiting us, I must ask of you one last show of your willingness to serve me unto death…"