by Corey Soreff
Kuldric stood over the unconscious warrior in triumph. He took his two thin hammers and placed them aside one another, then pulled tight a latch on each side of the head meant to hold them together. “Always be prepared,” he laughed, as he turned and started back down the trail.
Chapter Three
The Liche King
Sargath smirked as his subject screamed in indescribable pain, as blades repeatedly tore through his body….no….corpse, drawing the essence of life from his very bones. The trials of a liche were not pleasurable ones. A liche was a creature that had died and then returned to life, and thus was able to command the dead. This particular liche had already died twenty times this morning. Each time the blades from the hanging platform dropped and plunged into his body, there would be horrible pain until the lifeforce faded away, at which point Sargath would draw it back to the body and start again. Without the assistance of a God, anyone seeking to become a liche usually ends up a dead fool. One must master the planes of existence, and learn to live in between them, neither dead nor alive. Without one's lifeforce being drawn back to this plane, one would likely die on the first attempt of mastering the planes. For several hours each and every day in the past years, this has been a normal practice. Sargath could take no chances when preparing a liche, for if his subject does not completely master the technique, then he will slip from his place in between planes during a lapse in concentration, which leaves two possibilities: Death, or the return to his normal living form, which would also likely result in death during a tough battle. The first portion of Seth’nerak’s life had been spent training in combat techniques and dark magic. Such is necessary before one would even dare attempt to cross the border between life and death.
Seth’nerak choked in pain as sweat poured down his face. He knew he would attain great power, but what power is worth this torment? “I have already mastered the transition, why do you continue this?” He said in fury, and then spit out some more blood. “I tire of this endless…” He began to say as the platform above him dropped once again from the ceiling, and he felt the burn of steel throughout his body. Searing pain shot up his spine as one thought consumed his mind. “The Crimson Blade is responsible for this pain. I will destroy everyone Eucibous holds dear!”
Sargath looked down at his champion as the lifeforce returned, forcing him to choke up the blood that had been stuck in his throat from the procedure. “We must be certain you can maintain the balance in hard times. Do not worry; soon you will feel no pain, and fear no death,” Sargath said, with a menacing grin. “Soon…it will all be over.”
“Thief! Stop him!” Cried a shopkeeper in the streets of Nelthak.
The man sprinted through the crowded street, crashing through any that stood in his way. He ducked into an alley to cut across to another street, and as he burst into the populace on the other side, he pushed everyone out of his way….except for one who would not budge. “Move it asshole!” He yelled as he balled up his fists and looked down at the short figure that stood before him. The bystander was cloaked in black, and it seemed as if all that lay beneath his hood was shadow. Immediately the man regretted his choice of words as he felt the bloodlust of the man before him. The cloaked figure removed his hood and looked him into the eyes, and the thief prayed to Sargath for forgiveness and got on his knees. No man stood before him, only a drow. Not just any drow, either, but the Liche King himself.
Seth’nerak looked the man in the eyes with a cold impassive stare as he removed his hood, and his long charcoal hair fell across his shoulders. After being tortured all morning, he was in no mood to be insulted by peasant trash. “Fear not, child of Sargath. I forgive your crime.”
The brigand’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as he stammered trying to utter a reply. “Th…th…thank you, my Lord! I would never have…if I knew it was you…I wouldn’t…” before he could stutter the rest of his apology, however, he burst into flame.
The Liche King watched his subject writhe in agony as the flames consumed his flesh, until there was nothing left but bone. Then, slipping out of the material plane, he grasped hold of the peasant’s soul and held it in thrall. Laughing, he brought the soul back to the body, which was now a mere heap of bones. Although he had not yet completely mastered the travel between planes, he was very close. He could wield almost all skills available to a Liche, the only risk lay in using them in the heat of battle, where concentration could be lost. That was where the daily torture came in.
Onlookers cheered on their King, and gossiped about how the fool had it coming. Just as many were about to turn away and go on with their day, they saw the skeleton that had been a man a minute ago rise up from the ground and stand on its feet.
Seth’nerak’s laughter bellowed throughout the streets. “Your crimes are forgiven, and you have been rewarded with eternal servitude! Go to the mines, trash!”
The undead monstrosity bowed its head and began walking in the direction of the mines, where those unfortunate enough to be sent there toiled day and night until their death…which made the undead such a valuable commodity, for they never died.
“Sargath piss you off again?” Asked a familiar voice with a bit of chuckle. “Well if the knowledge of your punishments isn’t a deterrent to crime, who knows what is!” Marcovius was the General of the Dark Legions, and the only man that the King trusted.
Seth’nerak smirked at his old friend. “If only it was the God himself I had just sent to his torment. So you have just returned? How did it go?”
Marcovius held up a thumb and smiled. “Very well, my Lord. Better than expected. An entire army of drow marches as we speak, they will aid us. The King of the drow himself leads them.
The eyes of the Liche King narrowed at this news. “Kol’thakal means to help us? I sent the offer to the drow expecting the rebels to branch off and join us; I did not expect the support of their military.”
Marcovius shrugged. “Apparently the isle of drow has become a land of boredom. He seemed to jump at the opportunity for a fight. It looks like he has exterminated everyone else on their island, and seeks more blood in Adanantus.”
“Keep an eye on him,” Seth’nerak said. “He is powerful and the drow can never be trusted. But they should remain allies as long as we provide humans for them to kill.”
“Drow can never be trusted, eh?” Marcovius laughed as he nudged the King with his elbow. “I don’t know if I can follow you anymore! I might end up with a dagger in my back!”
Seth’nerak sneered. “You’re lucky I tolerate you.” The King then took his leave, reapplying his hood and shuffling down the street towards the fortress, Marcovius trotting along behind him with a smile on his face. Marcovius was always such a high-spirited man, and many were surprised upon learning of his position. But any who crossed him saw an entirely different side of him indeed.
“Let him go,” Kol’thakal said with a wide grin on his face.
The drow soldiers removed the binds that held the human’s hands together, and pushed the man towards their King. When the man stood before Kol’thakal, the drow behind him kicked out the back of his right leg to bring him to his knees. “You will kneel before the King, human scum.”
The King of drow stared the human before him in the eyes. “I understand you were spying on us.”
The man looked as if he had seen a ghost. Drow did not live on Adanantus, why were they here? “I…I was merely passing by, my lord. I happened to catch a glimpse of your magnificent army and was only admiring it.”
The King looked around him in acknowledgement. “Magnificent indeed. You must be accustomed to seeing the pathetic armies of your own race.”
Although anger rose up inside the man like a blaze being fanned, he kept his mouth shut and nodded at the drow. He was proud of his race, but he would not die for it. “Yes sir. This was just my first time seeing drow. I will say nothing, I swear.”
Kol’thakal put his hand upon the man’s shoulder. “I know you won’t, human. I kno
w you won’t.” The moment he had finished speaking, the King had already drawn his two sheathed blades, and a flurry of swings could just barely be seen as the blades reduced the human to a pile of limbs. Any onlookers did not even notice their King resheathing his blades, for his speed was legendary. Kol’thakal glanced over at another drow to his right, a frail drow outfitted in black robes balancing on a staff. The staff had a crow at the top with its claws wrapped around a black orb. This dark elf may look fragile, but he did not need strength, for magic was his weapon. “Lithak, good work. Continue to maintain your detection spell, nobody must know of our army until we are burning their doorstep down.”
Lithak bowed his hooded head. “Of course, my lord.”
Ginin the rogue crouched nearby behind a bush, observing the drow army, particularly the unusually large drow that had just cut a man into pieces. A detection spell was able to pick up on any traces of life or movement within a radius of the caster, the distance depended on the caster’s skill in magic. Anyone nearby would be immediately noticed by the drow mage…any average person anyway. Ginin was an expert of stealth, and a stealth detection spell would be necessary to discover him. He did not gain acceptance to the Crimson Blade merely by throwing daggers. A seasoned rogue could not only evade the eyes of others, but they could avoid basic detection spells. This made Ginin a very valuable asset For they didn’t just hide, they faded into the scenery. Such abilities took years and years of dedication and practice, and very few humans mastered the craft. Of course, the drow had many among their numbers who could use such skills, but Ginin assumed they would not bother with any stealth detection for the only drow on this continent were on their side. They did not expect to have the Crimson Blade watching them.
“He’s fast, very fast. It doesn’t look like any speed enhancement was cast on him…is that possible? He’s faster than me…with no magic. Interesting. I should go tell Euc.”
A few minutes later, Kol’thakal summoned Lithak to his side and the two of them walked over to some bushes and trees to the left of the army. Sniffing the air around him, the King smiled. “You were right, Lith. I smell the vermin. Are you sure it’s one of them?”
Lithak nodded. “According to our information, only a handful of humans can meld into the shadows. The others are brigands and common thieves. Only one would have reason to watch us.” Lithak folded his hands together and began chanting some words in the drow language, then he pointed at the spot on the ground where Ginin had stood. A faint image of Ginin appeared, crouching behind the bush, and then the image sped off in the other direction at a great speed. This spell showed the caster the recent past, grabbing hold of the threads of time. “It seems as if Sargath was not just being paranoid. This Eucibous really does seek out anyone with strength, which leaves an army of drow as a prime candidate of interest.”
A large smile formed on Kol’thakal’s face, and he cracked his neck on each side. “We were told to kill any of their group we came across, but I would rather have this little rogue report back to his friend. I want to meet this man they say is the strongest.” The King turned around and began walking back to the camp, laughing the entire way.
Sargath gazed into the small pool of water in his chambers, watching the effects of the spell he had cast upon it to grant him vision of current events occurring elsewhere across the world. At the moment, the pool showed Eucibous Dan’anti, The Crimson Blade himself. Grunting in frustration, Sargath smashed his fist into the pillar next to him. “Something is not right. He is healthy, no doubt, but this man looks no older than when we met. I suspected it long ago, but it has been too long, there is no other answer. It seems one of us has claimed him without telling the council.” His chamber shook from the energy released by his anger, and pieces of rock fell to the ground from above. “My subordinates wouldn’t dare…it must be the light.”
Sargath waved his hand over the pool and the image changed to that of his champion, and he spoke into the water. “My child. I suspect Darnillus has betrayed us. Move ahead with the plans I proposed.”
Chapter Four
Memories of Darnath
“This is it,” Eucibous whispered to himself. “The true test of a warrior, the Combat Tournament.” Held once a decade, great fighters from across the continent traveled to Darnath to test their might before the King. The winner won enough gold to last a lifetime. The losers…well the losers were lucky if they left alive, and only one could win.
Eucibous stood at the gates to the city, gazing into the distance at the castle that stood beyond. “I’ve been waiting so long, finally I’m old enough,” he said with a smile on his face. He squeezed the handle of his father’s blade as it rested sheathed at his hip. At sixteen years old he was now eligible to enter, though men as young as himself very rarely made the attempt. But this was not your average sixteen year old. Ever since the brutal murder of his adopted parents at the age of eight, Eucibous was forced to provide for himself, by whatever means necessary. Taking any odd jobs that came his way, he went from clearing basements of rats to clearing caves of goblins at a young age. Many scoffed at him when he asked for work, that is, until he gave a demonstration. All the money he made went to food and training in swordsmanship and magic. Training soon became obsolete as it became harder to find teachers that were more skilled than himself. At this point, he started hunting down valuable spellbooks and fighting at every opportunity to harden his skills.
Eucibous knew he was good. He knew he was very good. He had never lost a fair fight. But he fought thieves, thugs, and common street fighters. He was nervous. This is not a fight with some drunken sailor; he will be fighting seasoned warriors from across Adanantus. Knights, rogues, mages, archers…all types of fighters gathered here for an attempt at glory and riches. As he started to second guess his decision and was lost in thought, a nobleman shoved him aside in passing.
The man did not even apologize, or even stop to glance at Eucibous.
Eucibous fumed. “What am I thinking? I will be the world’s best fighter, and I’ll never make it if I hesitate.” He rose to his feet and brushed the dirt off of his studded leather armor. He looked ahead with determination, and strode forward with such confidence that one would have thought him nobility…if he wasn’t wearing ragged leather armor.
“Are you sure about this, kid? This is no game.” The knight stood at a booth registering all the fighters for the tournament.
“I don’t play games,” Eucibous replied calmly.
The knight raised an eyebrow and shrugged, handing a quill pen to the boy and asking him to print his name. “I hope you have better gear, you do realize what you’re up against?” The man looked disgustingly at the torn leather armor the teenager was wearing.
Eucibous grabbed the pen and wrote his name. “I’ll buy better armor when I win the tournament.” He dropped the pen in front of the registrar and walked past the man without another word, right into the coliseum.
A packed audience filled the coliseum, shouting with bloodlust as they awaited the first matches. Bookies gathered bets as people made guesses at which men were the next stars of the tournament. Wives sighed in boredom as they waited for the day to end, while their husbands gripped their seats in anticipation. One such husband had just placed his life savings on a knight named Brianth, a talented young knight who would not win the tournament, but would definitely cruise through the first few rounds with ease.
“Honey, look, here he comes.” He watched as the young knight walked into the arena from the preparation area. Light reflected off his valuable set of silver plate mail, and a longsword with glistening blue rubies could be seen dangling from his waist. The knight smiled and waved to the audience as men screamed in support and women screamed in admiration.
“I can’t believe our luck! Even with the odds heavily in his favor, with the amount of money we wagered, we’ll still make a killing! I hear his first opponent is a child!” He laughed and put his arm around his wife, kissing her on the cheek.
Eucibous was overwhelmed with relief when his name was called by the announcer. He was sick of waiting in these preparation rooms that reeked of sweat and blood. He had heard his first opponent was a knight. As he made his way up the stairs that led into the arena, he whispered words of magic that would defend against physical harm for a designated amount of damage. A knight of Darnillus could likely break the spell, but it should take a few hits. He entered the arena, stepping into the sunlight and coming to a stop in front of the gate as it closed behind him. Laughter erupted within the coliseum, and anger flowed throughout his body as his heart began to race. They were laughing at him.
The announcer gave the order to begin the fight, and Brianth the knight casually walked across the arena to meet the boy that was his opponent in the middle. Unsheathing his sword and stopping in front of the young teenager, he shook his head. “There is no honor in fighting a child. Please, when your defeat is before you, just surrender. I do not want young blood on my hands.”
Eucibous stared up into the man’s eyes and held his gaze. “I say the same to you, for I don’t want an old man’s on mine.”
The knight’s lip curled in anger and he sank into a fighting stance. “Wrong answer.” He was only twenty six, how dare this peasant trash call him an old man?
Eucibous drew his father’s sword and held it at his side, not even bringing it up before him in defense. He tried not to use the blade too often, but this was a special day, and he hoped his parents were watching from the heavens. Expecting the knight to underestimate him, he was surprised as the knight made the first move and lunged at him with his longsword.
