Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  The goblin Luminary, Nuib, was sitting as tall as he could in his chair, trying to make himself seem more important than his small figure allowed. He wore a grandiose headdress with feathers and other decorations to further compensate for his size, a practice all of the goblin leaders engaged in. He wore equally fancy clothes to complete his ensemble, rich in color, to contrast his ashen complexion. Gaudy rings displaying rubies, sapphires, and all other precious gems, adorned each of his long bony fingers. A number of goblin appointees sat and stood nearby, in very simple brown shirts and breeches. Nuib may have been small, but he was very perceptive and shrewd. He was an individual with fingers in many pies and not one to be underestimated.

  Guag, trug Luminary, was present with both of his clan-brothers, Kirgor and Frilug. Sklan was pleased to see Guag take up the mantle after his predecessor died not too long ago. The trugs had been much more civilized since. Guag was an intelligent leader, a fact his brawny figure belied. He had the level headedness that many of his race lacked. Guag wore his ceremonial robes with pride. They were simple robes, but it was an improvement over the grungy armor his kind use to wear during Council. His skin was a darker grey-green than most of his kindred, but it suited his uniqueness. His black beard quivered as he argued heatedly with Nuib.

  Aside from Duwarr, the last Luminary was Banild, leader of the gnomes. Sklan knew the little gnome was more brilliant than any of the others there, but his brilliance came at a price. Banild had difficulties communicating with anyone as his massive mind was always going back to his machines and inventions. He always showed up to Council in the same smudged, dusty, dirty, workshop shirt, breeches, black apron, and his strange multi-lens spectacles wrapped around his head above his long, oversized, ears. The inventor’s race never really gained the upper hand in negotiations, but Sklan knew that it did not matter to Banild or his people. Sklan supposed that whatever leverage Banild missed out for his kind during Council, he made up for it with his work on the Summoning Stone. The contraptions the gnomes made fascinated Sklan and he had to admit to himself that he was jealous that the Master favored them so much because of their experiments and research on the Crystal.

  As he was making his way across the room Sklan finally turned his attention to his chair and his only appointee there, Omech. The grahk emperor had many apprentices with many different abilities and talents, all only the brightest and most brilliant. But Omech had a special affinity to the arcane arts, of which Sklan had never before seen. Omech was also the oldest son of the Krulljo family, one of the oldest families of the grahk race and furthermore the family from which came some of the most legendary magic wielders such as Sklan himself. It was because of this, the young man was chosen as appointee. Sklan watched proudly as Omech was paying very close attention to the proceedings.

  Who knows, Sklan thought, while watching Omech, one day, when Lyrridia is divided up, and I have gone my way of this place, he might just become the next Emperor.

  Unless I have achieved immortality by then.

  Sklan smiled at this.

  He had faith that Tremos did indeed have the knowledge to grant immortality, and that he was saving such a prize for only his most faithful followers. Sklan considered himself among such worthy.

  The room was filled with chatter, the loudest of the conversations being more of an argument between the trug and goblin Luminary. No one really noticed as Sklan reentered the room after his short respite on the balcony.

  Omech stood as Sklan approached.

  “It is my hope that your short intermission reinvigorated you, your eminence,” Omech said quietly to Sklan as he gave a short bow.

  Sklan returned the bow, but not as low, and motioned for the young man to return to his seat. Sklan himself did not yet sit down, as he was interested to see what they were arguing about now.

  “I told you before and I will keep telling you, I will not send you more troops if you cannot reimburse with resources and goods of equal investment!” Guag was practically shouting.

  “And I am trying to get it into your thick hard trugish skull that you will be compensated after we take control of the arid hills!”

  Sklan had heard enough.

  He slammed his fist down on the table.

  “ENOUGH!”

  Silence filled the room.

  “Nuib! You cannot begin an attack there, even if the perfect time to strike appeared at your doorstep. That is coming too close to Duwarr’s territory! And besides that, the Overlord has already given us orders we are not to begin battle yet, or anything that could lead to war. And that would include raids such as the ones you would be doing there. The secret of this valley is our greatest strength!”

  “WAS our greatest strength!” Nuib interrupted, “When I was just a fledgling, it was wisdom to stay hidden, but that is many cycles passed. We have might now to rival anything the Syrovians or Dartiao could send against us.”

  Sklan glared at the goblin Chieftain, “I will gladly watch you and your kind squabble over the mere crumbs of territories here, while I lead my people to greatness in the West Lands, as we follow The Great One’s instructions. You’re ambitions mirror your stature. Do not forget who has given you all that you have. If not for the Overlord you would all still be battling against each other, weak and vulnerable. But we have become the startings of a great empire now, because of him, because he united us! You all show your weakness when you cannot abide by his decree! The Overlord does not reward weakness, he destroys it. Luminaries! Remember that title, remember what it means to be one, remember your loyalty!”

  Duwarr and his appointee had come back to the room.

  “Who are you to preach to us?” Kalkra interrupted, “My sources say that your people discovered underwater tunnels leading as far westward as Syrova. You already have plans on conquering the capital and using its resources although the Great One has already promised the land there to us!”

  Sklan was furious at the affront.

  “You fool,” he replied angrily, “Your sources are corrupt, there are no such tunnels and if there were, they would be kept secret enough to remove the capital’s entire stock of resources before you found out.”

  Sklan turned, completely fed up.

  “Omech, we are finished with Council for today.”

  “The Council is not over!” Duwarr retorted.

  “By all means, continue in my absence!”

  The two grahks left. Sklan slammed the doors behind them.

  The loud noise brought Banild out of his stupor.

  “Oh good, Council is over then? I do have so much to do before day’s end.”

  The old gnome hopped from his chair and waddled out of the room.

  No one said anything as he left.

  ***

  Sklan spoke with Omech as they walked through the halls back to the Emperor's personal chambers.

  “I want you to find out who discovered our tunnel system and report back to me. I place my suspicions on Nuib. He is most likely trying to find favor with Kalkra by feeding him crucial information that he has gathered about us in return for favors. Guag refuses to supply him with more troops so he is probably trying to get military support from Kalkra. I assume he has not tried to do the same with us because he wishes to attack the Dartiao border and he knows our troops would be utterly useless in the hot sands heat. So start with that information, and report back to me as soon as you come up with something.”

  Omech nodded without saying a word and turned down a different hall.

  The black staff in Sklan’s hand tapped the floor quickly, matching the emperor’s long strides. He did not walk the halls alone. All different sorts of the masses were busy going about their own duties. There were goblin tribe leaders dressed in their fancy clothes accompanied by goblin advisors and slaves, trug warlords suited in their shiny armor followed by clan-brothers, gnome alchemists and inventors carrying their strange creations and potions, macji officials and guards, with their many different varieties of fur c
olors. Grahk fighters and workmen also appeared amongst the crowds. There were sorcerers, mages, wizards, shamans, druids, soothsayers, necromancers, and all sorts of users of the dark arts, arrayed in their matching robes, hoods, beads, cloaks, mantles and other vestments. Sklan passed open feasting halls, dueling rooms, meditation chambers, training courts, and countless other rooms all filled with occupants engrossed in various activities.

  Finally, after passing some corridors of sleeping quarters he reached his personal chambers. Sklan slowly unlocked the inlaid gold double doors to his chambers and stepped in. It was an expensive suite taking up a whole wing of the building, overlooking luxurious gardens, baths, and in the distance, battle training grounds, and beyond that the large outer court wall of the fortress, and yet even after that, the dark looming cliffs of the Black Peaks on the far western horizon. His fancy and rich abundance of collectible rare artifacts that arrayed the decorated shelves and walls of the room, shined down at him.

  He went to his table and prepared a poultice for the ache he had in his head from the long day. He added just the right sweet mixture to take the bitterness down a notch from its usual potency without losing its effects. He knew Omech would not have anything to report for at least a day or so. After a long time of sipping and staring out his giant study windows he decided that he could do with a visit to the gnome’s workshop and to see the Crystal. It was always a source of strength whenever he spent time near it. He closed his chambers, locked them up and headed towards the giant dome at the center of the stronghold.

  A large courtyard separated the dome from the main stronghold. Statues of The Great One stood in increments around the dome. Two massive stone doors stood open, showing the Crystal in all its glory. The doors were only shut when the Overlord wished to be alone with the Summoning Stone.

  Sklan made his way through the courtyard, up the carefully pebbled pathway to the entrance of the dome.

  The Crystal was large, the size of four or five men tall and half as wide around. It stood upon a gargantuan pedestal constructed to hold the weight of the precious stone. Hundreds of hanging walkways, ladders, and all sorts of decorated metal scaffolding arrayed the crystal on all sides. Its surface was black as night, but still shined and glittered with its own aura, reflecting its surroundings very clearly. It had hundreds of thousands of facets, each about as long and wide as an open hand.

  The greatest of the Overlord's gnome alchemists had their elaborate laboratories, gadgets and contraptions set up around the vicinity of the pedestal and Crystal. Unless ordered otherwise, they were at all times working on understanding the powers of the Crystal. More than a dozen gnomes, all in workshop and laborer uniforms, were engrossed in their various tasks.

  Sklan saw Banild up by the pedestal with an instrument in his hands. The device was whirring and clicking, gently massaging the surface of the Crystal. Sklan watched, fascinated, and approached the gnome.

  Suddenly the device in the gnome’s hand gave a high pitched sound and exploded, small gears flying everywhere. Banild fell back from the force, landing with a solid thud on the stone floor.

  The Grahk Emperor moved his arms from where he had been shielding his face and looked down at the gnome.

  “It is quite an amazing thing, is it not, Sklan?”

  Sklan reached his hand down and Banild took it and stood.

  “Your life just nearly ended, and you can only express your awe at the power of the Crystal?”

  Banild nodded, “Who cannot be awed by such a thing?”

  Sklan said nothing at first, but agreed. The aura permeating from the crystal was greater than that of any other thing or creature animate or inanimate as far as his magic could sense. The crystal was ancient. It was said to have existed even before the beginning of all things. Legend described the crystal as the heart and source of all magic.

  And their Master possessed it, and was willing to share the fruits of it with them.

  “Indeed,” Sklan finally stated.

  If only Tremos would return soon so that he could guide them further.

  Chapter Four

  Lyrridia

  Creak.

  Thump.

  Creak.

  Marc became aware of his surroundings in layers. He was lying down on something hard and uncomfortable. His muscles ached and his body felt heavier than normal. Before he even opened his eyes he could smell an overwhelming aroma of spices so thick he could taste it on his lips.

  Is that cinnamon? He thought.

  As his eyelids fluttered open he could make out open sky. The light above him suggested early dusk. The air felt warm and reminded him of summer. Lying on his back, his view was dominated mostly by a large wooden crate just at his right, and a tall stack of heavy burlap sacks to his left. Something was bothering him.

  After a moment he realized what it was. Besides the light of the afternoon sun there were two other planets he could see in the sky, one larger than the other. The large planet was white the other smaller one was a pale blue.

  There should’ve been only one planet there above him, and it should’ve been the moon.

  He turned his attention away from the sky. Over the top of the corner of the crate, he could make out the head and shoulders of a boy. The boy he saw was staring at something in the distance, his shoulders pointed towards Marc but his head faced away, giving Marc a perfect profile view of the stranger. The boy looked to be in his late teens, with rugged black hair that came down past his ears and bangs that obscured much of his face.

  What stood out as strange was his attire, which seemed to be something right out of a Renaissance exposition. Am I dreaming?

  Without moving or getting up, Marc quickly scanned his surroundings again, taking everything in with the hope that by doing so the strange things would disappear and he would wake up.

  But they did not.

  He realized something heavy was around his waist, and he looked down. The light caught the metal of the sword at his side and he stared at it curiously. It was sheathed and attached to the belt around him.

  The sword from the grove.

  It all came rushing back to him; his flight from Victor, the cat, which had led him to the sword, and then there was the fire, and the light that had entered into him, and now he was here. Marc blinked dazedly.

  But where is here? He thought.

  After a few moments of creaking and jostling around had passed, he shook his head, he couldn’t just lay there. He needed to do something.

  He decided to try and sit up. Immediately his head swam and he flopped back down.

  At Marc’s movements the boy with black hair turned to face him quickly, eyes slightly wide, body somewhat tense, but he quickly recovered and spoke to someone Marc couldn’t see.

  Marc didn’t know if he was still in a daze, but what the boy said, seemed distorted. It was indistinct and incomprehensible, certainly not the English language.

  There was another voice, deeper, responding to the boy, but it too, was unclear.

  The boy looked over at Marc and extended a hand.

  After a moment’s hesitation Marc took it. The boy helped him up.

  Sitting up greatly expanded Marc’s previously limited view and it took him a couple more seconds to take in his new surroundings.

  He was in a fair sized wagon made of wood with four very large wooden wheels filled with supplies. Besides him and the black haired boy, another boy sat at the rear of the cart and a man sat at the front. The man in front was facing away from the interior of the wagon, a set of leather reins in his hands was guiding a pair of large animals which were neither horses nor oxen, but more like a strange mix of small bison and oversized lizards, which in turn were pulling the cart.

  The man said something that sounded like gibberish to Marc.

  “What?” Marc asked, not understanding.

  A funny feeling passed through his mind, almost like lukewarm water being poured over his head.

  The man repeated what he said.


  “Do you speak the common tongue?” He asked.

  “Where am I?” Marc voiced his previous thought aloud. Both answering the man’s question and asking one of his own.

  The man nodded with a look that said good, he speaks the common tongue at least.

  “Road of Amber Elms,” the man replied.

  Marc did not say anything, he didn’t know what to say.

  The man must have understood the confusion on his face, so he tried, “Lyrridia, Itherin to be exact.”

  “Luth—what?

  “They were right, you know nothing of this place,” He said mostly to himself.

  The man continued to look him up and down for a few long moments.

  Then he nodded.

  “Zildjin, give him a seat.”

  The boy with black hair rolled over a barrel and set it down next to Marc.

  “There is something about you, boy. Ancient magic has led you here. And you have appeared in Sesuadra’s dreams,” The man gestured to the other boy.

  Marc didn’t know how he should respond.

  “I am Soren, Morest of Briv,” the man said.

  He extended his arm to Marc, his fingers open.

  Marc took the man’s hand in a handshake. Soren pulled his hand back quickly, looking at Marc strangely. Then he gripped Marc’s forearm and placed his other hand firmly on Marc’s shoulder for only a brief moment, then released both grips.

  “Marcus,” Marc replied, “or Marc.” He shrugged.

  “This is Zildjin and Sesuadra,” Soren introduced the other two.

  They each extended their hands separately and Marc followed Soren’s example, rather than just shaking their hand.