by Nikolas Rex
“I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS!!!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, pounding his fist against the ground, letting the hot stinging tears pour down his cheeks. He did not care if his pursuers, if there were any, heard him. He did not care if they found him and killed him. He did not care at all, he just wanted to be done, he wanted whatever was wrong with him to be gone.
His sobs of exhaustion and anger eventually turned into quiet whimpers of sorrow, and at long last, as the final tear trickled down his cheek, he finally fell asleep.
***
In his dream he remembered the face of that young man. He felt an urge that he should seek the young man out. Somehow, he knew, he felt, that if he found this boy, he would be able to help him. There was hope again.
With the dawn of the new morning, came new life and new hope, as birds chirped and the green, beautiful, forest, was cast in the brilliant rays of early sunshine, making everything sparkle and glitter.
Drake opened his eyes and looked around, nothing had happened while he was asleep, that was a good sign. No blackout.
He sat up, remembering his dream. With the image of the boy’s face in his mind there came a new resolve. Drake promised himself that no matter what happened he would find this boy, and hope that he could find out what thing was going wrong with him, and that he would fix it.
Chapter Thirteen
Return of The Destroyer
Sklan stood on a large balcony overlooking the progress of the robed figures below and the dark hex that was being created by them.
Although he should have been paying more attention than he was, Sklan had more important things on his mind and trusted in the capabilities of the mages inferior to him who were also below, watching the black magic in the making, to take care of things if they got out of control.
It was in the middle of such deep though that Sklan was suddenly interrupted. He straightened from where he had been leaning, and moved his free hand to clutch the center of his chest. A throbbing, pulsing, magical force poured over Sklan, starting from the middle of his torso outward until it reached his furthermost extremities, The Master’s Call. Tremos had returned. Sklan knew the other Luminaries were also experiencing the same thing.
Next Sklan moved his hand from his chest to his forehead, covering his eyes, as Tremos’s deep booming voice filled the grahk emperor’s thoughts. Sklan could sense the mental presences of the other Luminaries in the communication as well, listening to Tremos. “The nearest one of you come to my private transportation chamber. Bring with you your most powerful apprentice, able to maintain a blind power channel. Come immediately! I have arrived.”
“Master,” Sklan replied through the mind bond which Tremos had activated with all of the Luminaries, including Sklan, the same familiar bond he always activated when he spoke with his servant, “I am nearest, I shall be swift.”
As soon as the magic had come it was gone and the reptilian Luminary had already left the balcony, hurrying down the nearby corridor to heed his master’s call.
Finally, the hour has come when He has returned. He thought as he hurried down the hallways, through doors and up stairways in the direction of the Great One’s private transportation chamber.
But why has He arrived so differently this time?
Usually the Master heralded his return in great displays of power and glory, showing off his most recent prizes of victory. There were feasts and celebrations, sacrifices and rituals, all according to the different races and species, but it was always a spectacular display accompanied by an elaborate speech from the Master himself transmitted as per usual through the orb system in the great city, never so discreetly like now.
The reptilian sorcerer knew that Tremos used his private transportation chamber frequently, which was not something unusual. What was unusual was that Tremos hadn’t gone from there to the public arrival hall, summoning all of the Luminaries to his presence to prepare the announcement of his coming. This time the Great One had simply called for one, and the nearest at that, and for that one to bring an apprentice powerful enough to maintain a blind power channel. What did it all mean?
Sklan shook his head, he didn’t need to think about it. All he had to focus on at that moment was getting to his master’s side as quickly as possible with all of the things the Great One asked for.
Suddenly Sklan felt the usual magic flow through him again as Tremos opened another mind bond. This time, however, it was a personal one between only himself and the Overlord, as his voice echoed through the Luminary’s mind, “Bring with you my Chalta robes, hood and mantel as well as what I asked for previously. Come using Ritual Glory Masks. Send a parchment to the Master Forgers notifying them to prepare the Forge of Old, and to begin construction on a new greater and more powerful set of armor for my personal use, and that I will come to oversee their progress soon.”
Before Sklan could even respond, Tremos severed the bond. The Luminary sensed that Tremos wanted to be attended to immediately. The grahk emperor quickened his already rapid pace, practically running now. The black staff in his hand tapped the floor quickly, matching the emperor’s long strides. He changed his course then, with the new commands he had been given and headed in the direction of his personal quarters to write out a message to give to the Master Forgers.
The Luminary did not waste any time unlocking the inlaid gold double doors to his study, or to look at his wall full of fine relics. He pulled out a scroll of parchment, and wrote out the message for the Master forgers. He rolled it up when he finished, melted some blood red wax and sealed the message with one of his royal signet rings, of which only the Luminaries possessed. Aside from his signature at the bottom of the page it was undeniable proof that the order was written by his hand.
Tucking the message into his robes he hurried out of his personal study, locking the door behind him and quickened his pace towards his next destination nearby, the Armory of Rites.
After another few halls and stairways Sklan reached two enormous black metal doors with large gargoyle heads as handles and without hesitation grabbed one and pushed the door open. On the other side was a gigantic room filled with countless shelves and on each shelf arrayed on fancy dark maroon velvet, thousands of different types of ritual clothing and armor, elaborate headpieces, staves, beads, armbands, and robes, each piece for different ceremonies and uses. Short and stubby dark-blue robed keeper gnomes walked from item to item, polishing and cleaning, keeping every piece upon the shelves shiny and ready for use. An older looking gnome sat at a large counter near the entrance Sklan had just come in. Upon the dark mahogany counter was a gigantic, old, leather bound archive book, a large feather pen and several bottles of different colored inks. The small gnome looked up as Sklan entered, his long, pointy, oversized ears wobbled with the movement of his head.
The Luminary approached the counter without hesitation, “Two Ritual Glory masks.” he stated simply.
“Two Ritual Glory masks,” The old gnome repeated loudly to the other gnomes in his small but gravelly voice.
With quick and experienced efficiency he opened the gigantic book in front of him, picked up the large quill pen, dipping it quickly in green ink, and with furious scribbles wrote out the order. Shutting the book again and turning it to face Sklan the gnome said, “Please place your palm here to confirm the order.”
The Grahk emperor put his four fingered hand upon the cover of the book and it glowed red in response for a moment, accepting all of Sklan’s power and authority as Luminary for the request. Not but seconds later two of the other blue robed gnomes arrived at the counter each with a Mask, of which Sklan had asked for, in hand. They placed the items on the empty space of the large counter and scurried away, returning to their duties. The masks were metal, skull shaped in design, except the only strange thing about them were there were no eyeholes of any kind, rendering the user blind while he or she wore it, Ritual Glory Masks. These masks Tremos commanded to be used when his glory and power were so great it would
be death to look upon him.
It had been an extremely long time since Sklan, being with such a rank as Luminary, had been required to use one but he pushed away his thoughts and grabbed the two masks from the desk, placing them beneath his robes. Without anything further to detain him he rushed out of the Armory, shut the large doors behind him, and continued onward. He would have to interrupt a possible spell in progress to do it, but he needed his most powerful apprentice to assist him.
The Luminary knew his way around well and quickly navigated himself through shortcuts to his next destination. Upon reaching a certain dark hallway he turned, and showed no hesitation upon barging in. It was a fairly large hall filled with lit candles and on the stone floor, drawn in blood, were lengthy, complicated, symmetrical symbols, making up part of a complex spell. Ten black robed and hooded figures sat in a circle around the symbols and had been chanting rhythmically before Sklan had interrupted. The Grahk wizards all turned as the door swung open to stare at the Grahk emperor, the long black staff with the gleaming red jewel in hand.
“Omech,” Sklan pointed to the tallest in the circle, “Come with me.”
The cloaked Grahk which Sklan had called Omech stood up without a moment’s hesitation and crossed the room.
“Continue the lesson without him. We will not return for a time,” Sklan instructed the others before shutting the door.
Without question, without even a single word Omech followed the Grahk emperor. The two of them began to climb higher and higher up the building-city and as they did so the halls became less populated. In one of the corridors they encountered a slew of goblin slaves and servants. The Grahk emperor stopped one of them and said, “Go to the Master Forgers and give them this,” Sklan pulled the rolled up parchment from his robes containing Tremos’s order, signed and sealed by his own hand, to the goblin slave, “report to my throne room immediately after you have finished your duty. Now go!”
All races and classes recognized the immense power and authority held by the Luminaries. Their title and status being just one step down from the Great One, was quite substantial, and to deny or refute a Luminary was to do the same to the Overlord himself. Thus, whatever task the goblin had been doing before became insignificant in comparison to the mission the grahk Luminary had just ordered of the creature and the slave left for the Master Forgers, parchment in hand, as quickly as his little green legs could carry him.
Though the younger sorcerer, Omech, was keeping quiet, and would not speak until asked to do so, his mind had been working furiously since the Grahk emperor had interrupted the apprentice’s lesson with the order to come with his master. First Omech wondered where they were going, why he had been commanded to come, and now, why the emperor had just given a goblin slave a piece of rolled up parchment to give to the Master Forgers. The Master Forgers had not been awoken for a long time and the Forge of Old which they used had been cold for even longer. To wake them now could only mean that something big was going to happen soon, that they had been commanded to create some sort of weapon or something of which only their great and ancient magic could construct. What was going on?
At least one of the apprentice’s questions were answered when Sklan, Omech at his heels, climbed a few more staircases, turned down a certain hallway, and stopped in front of the flying chamber.
The flying chamber was designed by Tremos for his servants, and currently was the only way to reach the Great Dark Lord’s personal chambers. Sklan placed his scaly hand on the symbol unlocking the flying chamber’s door. Acknowledging Sklan’s superiority as a Luminary, the door slid open. The Emperor and his apprentice walked into the somewhat small circular room, and the doors shut behind them. Omech sat down on the dark green velvet covered bench that poked out of the circular wall and he looked out the window to stare at the city below. Sklan placed his hand upon a sphere mounted upon a pedestal in the middle of the room. The sphere and symbols aligning the room lit up, activating the room, and it started to move swiftly along the metal cable to which it was attached, leading to Tremos’s chambers. Sklan did not sit down, instead leaning against the circular wall, but he too looked out the window.
Towers and building passed by far below as the flying chamber sped along. Beyond the gigantic walls of the enormous dome lay the cities and dwellings of all the different races all aligned according to their rank in class. Grahks, and macji, the most intelligent species, lived nearest to the great dome. Orcs, goblins, gnomes, and all of the lesser races stretched out farther into the distant surrounding Wildlands. The sophisticated, elaborate structures making up the city of macji were built all the way up to the domes walls. Near the dome, as well, was a vast and deep lake of dark choppy waters with buildings constructed of coral and black seaweed poking just above the top of the water, the grahk’s watery abode. Further from the building-city was the dark and swampy forest and far into the distance, the jagged heights of the Black Peaks could be seen poking out of the misty clouds.
Sklan absentmindedly stroked the black staff in his right hand while looking out the window. After a moment he turned from the view and spoke, “A half-kongra-underworld-hex,” he said, referring to the spell Omech had been participating in before the Grahk Emperor had interrupted, “That is quite impressive, reasonably dangerous as well, you have my congratulations, apprentice.”
“Your praise is accepted,” Omech replied, turning from the window and bowing his head slightly.
“You have grown much since your first day of Maruk-tuk-ja,” Sklan was of course referring to a ceremony practiced in the grahk culture to both test and welcome grahk wizards into the learning of the dark arts, “How is your blind power channel?”
“The best as always Master, you know me better than all of the other students.” Omech was not overly boasting of his abilities, but rather stating the truth.
“I know,” Sklan replied, “That is why I chose you to come with me. You will have to cast one soon so prepare yourself.”
They did not have much else to discuss. Omech had already gathered intel and reported back to Sklan regarding the other’s knowledge of the grahk’s underwater tunnels. Sklan had been correct in his suspicions, Nuib had been the one to uncover the information, and had gained quite the leverage in revealing it to a select few.
But that did not matter now, the Master had returned.
As the floating room was nearing the large tower of Tremos’s chambers, near the gigantic dome, Omech saw his Emperor flinch slightly and the young apprentice perceived the magical mind bond that had suddenly come upon Sklan. Omech would have pushed his ability to sense and read types of magic and thus discover with whom Sklan was talking to and about what, but the younger grahk sorcerer felt the presence of a great and unimaginable power, something far beyond his capacities and knew immediately with whom Sklan was receiving a mind bond, Tremos, the Great Dark Lord himself. Omech quickly withdrew his sensing powers, afraid to somehow with his probing, offend the Overlord. The young apprentice sat absolutely silent, watching Sklan.
After another moment Sklan returned to normal, the magical connection having ended, and looked at his apprentice.
“Will I have to see the Great On—” Omech began but Sklan cut him off.
“No,” Sklan responded.
The hovering compartment stopped suddenly in front of their destination and the doors slid open, revealing a set of large black metal doors engraved with grotesque figures and symbols, and a small landing. A tiny ramp slid out, connecting the small suspended room with the landing.
“You are about to be a direct power channel between the Great One and the Crystal inside the great dome. You are to conduct it and maintain it blindly, wearing this,”
Sklan pulled out the two Ritual Glory Masks from beneath his robes, and handed one to his apprentice.
“Maintenance of the channel will be taxing on your energy, maybe even to your death unless you prove yourself strong enough. Do not fail, but show that you are worthy of the Krulljo family
name. Adorn your mask.”
Omech complied with his master’s command, placing the cold metal over his face and his world was suddenly shrouded in complete darkness. Omech had worn Ritual Glory Masks before and was used to the temporary blindness. After a couple of seconds the magic in the mask began to work and Omech began to see indefinable shapes and figures come into view in front of him. It was as if Omech was seeing through a foggy looking glass or a sheet of rippling water. This of course, however, was the function of the mask, so when Omech entered the presence of the Overlord he would not be suddenly and instantly incinerated by looking directly upon the Great Dark Lord.
“Follow me,” Sklan commanded Omech, the Luminary appeared as but a floating dark shape through the mask, “And begin the first end of the channel with the Crystal. You will feel when we enter the presence of the Overlord. When we do so, connect the channel from the crystal to him and simply endure the pain. Now begin!”
With only the smallest part of his attention focused on Sklan and following his dark shape through the doors into the Overlord’s Chambers, down strange indefinable hallways and in the direction of Tremos in general, Omech began the spell he had been commanded to perform and sent his magic forth, seeking the Crystal.
Unable to be stopped by walls or other tangible objects, Omech’s magic flew through the air, passing through the walls of the corridor to exit to the other side, soaring high above the city below. It was like an extension of the Grahk apprentice. He could sense, feel, hear and see the things his magic could. He was stretching away from himself, past towers and bridges, in search of the crystal.
