Kingdoms in Chaos

by Michael James Ploof

  “Kill me now,” said Aurora. “Free me from this mortal coil.”

  A firm hand took hold of her chin and forced her head up. Gretzen stared down at her, turning her face from side to side. Her eyes fell across her body and settled upon her chest, and narrowed.

  “Who are you?”

  “She is the one who claimed herself Chieftain of the Seven and took all the warriors with her to war,” said one of the elder women.

  “Where are they?” cried another.

  “She’s a demon like the rest of them.”

  “Silence.” Gretzen said it low, but everyone complied. “Answer me, child.”

  “I am Aurora Snowfell. It is true what they say about me. I am a coward, I am cursed, I am death.” She looked to the villagers. “Your warriors are dead. I am sorry…our armies were defeated by—”

  “Demon! Witch! To the hells with you!” one of the women screamed.

  “Enough of this!” Gretzen yelled. “Go and tell the others to prepare. There may be another attack. Go, do as I say.”

  Slowly, the group dissipated, yet many turned back to offer Aurora a murderous glare.

  “Do you wish to die?” Gretzen asked.

  “I do.”

  “You think you deserve to?”

  “I do. Please, I cannot bear it any longer.”

  “You know what awaits you?”

  Tears streamed down Aurora’s face. She remembered all too well what awaited her. “I have seen it. I have stood in judgment of the gods. Now I will return to the hells where I belong.”

  “And if there is a way to save your soul, will you do it?”

  “I have no hope left for such things. My soul is black. It is tarnished. I deserve nothing. I am nothing.”

  Gretzen nodded and produced a gem-studded blade from beneath her robes. She tilted Aurora’s head and cut her armor free. She then tore her shirt at the neck, leaving her chest bare. The long cut down the center of her bosom where the gem had been embedded glowed faintly.

  The dagger was raised into the air. Aurora closed her eyes…

  Gretzen stabbed Aurora in the chest below the breast bone and reached her hand into the wound. She took hold of the green, glowing gem and tore it free. Aurora gasped and her dying eyes fell upon Gretzen. There was a faint smile upon her face.

  Gretzen lowered her to the ground and produced a different type of gem, this one light blue and cut into a long shard. With it, she captured Aurora’s fleeing spirit.

  She put it away and regarded the green one.

  Azzeal and other elves had taught Gretzen about the dark-elf practice of necromancy, and she recognized the gem for what it was. Carefully, she searched the precious stone with her mind.

  A gasp escaped her. The power of the gem was linked to a consciousness of vast power. She felt the necromancer’s attention shift, and focused his malice upon her. Gretzen called upon the power of her ancestors and focused her will, pushing back hard against the necromancer’s probing mind. He attacked her mind and spirit but she held firm and lashed out with an attack of her own. For a moment his power and concentration waned, and she felt the connections to his entire army.

  Her mind touched upon a familiar one, and she let out a gasp. “Azzeal?”

  The necromancer pounced, forcing his will upon her, pushing her back and spreading dark shadows across her mind. With a cry she lashed out against his awesome power. His laughter echoed through her mind and she bent at the waist, feeling as though her guts would be torn out. Then she saw them…the spirits had returned. They surged across the meadow and dove into her, and with their collective power she lashed out at the dark elf necromancer with everything she had.

  Chapter 27

  Fates Collide

  Raene followed Chief and the elf down to the room below. The elf listened at the door for a moment and then, satisfied, closed it slowly.

  “Chief tells me that you are now the bearer of the figurine.”

  She stepped back from him until she was comfortable. “He tells ye this, eh? Who the hells is ye, eh?”

  “I am Azzeal, Ralliad of Elladrindell—”

  “Yer a godsdamned lich like the rest o’ ‘em!” She said, cocking back her mace.

  Azzeal held up defensive hands. “This is true, but very much against my wishes.”

  “How d’ye know Chief?”

  The wolf gave a bark and wagged his shimmering tail.

  “Quiet now, Chief. We don’t want to alert the others,” said Azzeal. He regarded Raene with a feline smile. “I was there when his spirit was melded with the figurine. I witnessed much of his mortal life, his death, and his rebirth.”

  Raene was speechless, and slowly lowered her weapon.

  Azzeal moved past her to the window and peeked out. “You are in great danger.”

  “I’ll worry about meself.”

  “Honorable, but unnecessary banter. We have little time for what your people would call…dragonshyte.”

  She stammered, flabbergasted by his words.

  “By my knowledge, that figurine last belonged to one Dirk Blackthorn. Am I correct?”

  “Ye be right on that account, but how ye be knowin’ Dirk?”

  He ignored the question. “Now the trinket is in your possession. Why?”

  “He died, I picked it up. Now it’s mine.”

  “Tears of the gods…” Azzeal paused in thought. His shoulders sagged and all levity left his face.

  “He ain’t really dead,” said Raene.

  “What do you mean he isn’t really dead?” He stepped forward.

  She raised the mace higher this time, and gave him her best big-eyes.

  “Ye answer me first damn ye. What the hells ye want with me and the figurine? Either give me a reason to keep wasting my time with ye, or get out o’ me damned way.”

  “I was raised from death by the dark elf Eadon, forced to serve one called Zander after the fall. I need you to do something for me, something that might very well determine the fate of all of Agora….the mountain kingdoms as well.”

  “Well, then, out with it!”

  “I need you to seek out one Gretzen Spiritbone in Volno—”

  “WHAT?”

  “Please, keep your voice down,” Azzeal urged, eyes darting to the window.

  “Did Dirk and Krentz put ye up to this through some weird elf magic?”

  Azzeal looked at her with sorrow in his eyes. “The Taking left us without Orna Catorna.”

  Raene threw up her arms. “To the hells with this.” She pushed past him and headed for the door.

  “Please,” said Azzeal. “You must seek out this woman. I believe that she may be the only one who can defeat Zander.”

  She paused at the door with her hand on the half-twisted knob and slowly regarded him over her shoulder. “Yer lying tongue ain’t goin’ to fool me.”

  “Let the wolf be the judge. Surely you have grown to trust him.”

  Her grip loosened, but none of the suspicion left her eyes. “Ye want to defeat Zander—yer master—yet ye be controlled by him.”

  “His legions grow, and so his power is stretched. I have been able to find myself once again.”

  She released the door and turned back to him. “What would ye have me say to this woman?”

  Azzeal paced for a moment and then rushed toward her. “Tell her that Zander’s power does not lie in the scepter, but rather in Eadon’s—”

  The door smashed open, sending Raene crashing into the wall.

  “I see that you’ve found something for me,” said Zander.

  Azzeal rushed to get between Raene and his master, but Raene wanted no protecting. She saw her chance and gladly took it. With a force of will she pulled loose bricks from the tower walls and shot them toward the necromancer.

  Zander moved with inhuman speed, only the wispy blur of his long black cloak could be seen. Raene instinctively brought up her shield as the necromancer appeared to her left and unleashed a green blast of energy. She brought the s
hield up in time, but the spell took her off her feet and slammed her into the wall.

  Azzeal fought against his master’s will, knowing that he had to keep the necromancer from discovering the trinket. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He lashed out against Zander’s control with all the willpower he possessed.

  Chief was already leaping across the room. Zander raised a hand, and from it a green fog emerged and stopped the wolf in midair. He howled and thrashed, shifting from mist to solid form erratically.

  With great effort Azzeal finally broke free. He unsheathed his elven blade and rushed across the room. Zander met his attack with a blade of his own, and together they clashed at the center of the room. Azzeal fought furiously, knowing that he only had moments before he was overcome by Zander’s power once more. As they exchanged sparking blows he felt his control slowly slipping.

  Zander struck hard, with both mind and body, knocking Azzeal’s sword away and stabbing him through the chest. Even as the blade sank, Azzeal thrust forward with a hidden dagger, sinking it deep into Zanders gut.

  The two remained, eyes locked, both twisting their blades and fighting furiously in their minds. Azzeal struggled, but was soon overcome. He felt Zander closing in on his mind. The gem embedded in his chest suddenly flared, and Azzeal lost all control over his body and floated up into the air, pulled from the gem by an unseen power.

  Zander cackled, and pulled the dagger from his gut slowly. The wound flared green and quickly closed.

  Raene pulled herself to her feet and faced her brother’s murderer with her shield raised to her chin. Behind it, she fumbled in her pocket for the figurine.

  Zander offered her a smirk. “You will make a fierce lich. Perhaps you shall be my general and head the invasion of the Dwarven Mountains.” He turned his gaze to the door as two hulking undead barbarians shouldered into the room. “Take her,” he commanded.

  “Dirk, Krentz, come to me!” she bellowed.

  There was a blinding flash of light and the two spirits shot out of the figurine and floated before their master. Krentz looked from Zander to Raene with horror. “What have you done?”

  A green orb exploded from Zander’s palm and hit the figurine, knocking it out of Raene’s hand to clatter to the floor in two pieces. Chief gave a howl and disappeared, along with Dirk and Krentz.

  “NO!” cried Raene.

  Zander hit her with a powerful beam that lifted her into the air and pinned her to the wall. The pain was unbearable, as if her very soul were being torn from her body.

  Azzeal, who was pinned to the ceiling by the power of the gem, looked from the broken figurine to Raene, and growled against the power of the necromancer.

  Zander intensified his attack on her as he strode across the room to stand before her. He lifted the bloody dagger to her throat, but then his face went slack, and he lurched.

  A strange sensation washed over Azzeal then, and he felt the presence of an old friend.

  Zander cried out against the mental intrusion and was forced to release them both. The two undead who had been coming for Raene froze and began to convulse. Their chests glowed brightly as they began to vibrate, and a thrumming of power shook the tower.

  Azzeal felt as though he might explode, but then suddenly he was released from Zander’s power. He fell to the floor, and a soft warmth issued from the gem in his chest. Amidst the chaos he rolled onto his side, and stared in amazement at the blue glow now coming from the stone.

  There was an explosion of blue light. All went silent.

  Raene was blind and deaf. She fumbled around, feeling for the wall. Hands took her by the shoulders and she lashed out at the unseen foe. They overpowered her easily and she screamed and kicked, unable to hear her own voice. Someone held her firm and pinned her to the floor. Her sight began to come back to her. Someone was calling her name. She blinked and found Azzeal staring down at her. He looked concerned and glanced to the door repeatedly.

  “…can you hear me?”

  Raene shook her head slowly, wishing she hadn’t. The pain in her throbbing temples was almost unbearable.

  “Come,” he said. “We must be swift.”

  He helped her to her feet and she searched the room for Zander. He was gone. The undead lay on the floor, each with a smoldering hole in their chest.

  “What happened?” Raene groaned.

  “A miracle. Come.”

  “Wait!” Raene frantically searched the room. “The figurine!” She found it lying on the floor and gathered up the two pieces. “Oh, no.” She tried to fit the pieces together. “What have I done?”

  Azzeal pulled her toward the door and peered into the stairwell. She allowed herself to be led down the stairs. Outside, the fog had cleared. Undead littered the ground, their chests smoldering like those in the tower. Azzeal searched the road warily, his gaze lingering on the south.

  “Follow me.”

  “Where’s the dark elf? What happened to them all?”

  “Now is not the time for talk. Save your strength until we are safely away.”

  Raene had no strength to argue. She clutched the broken figurine and followed the elf to the northern road, worrying for her friends.

  Chapter 28

  The Birth of Hope

  “I’m sorry about what happened the other day.” Avriel stood at the rail of the tall tower overlooking the thousand falls. She had sent one of her women-in-waiting for him, and Whill had rushed to the call.

  He now stood behind her, trying to steady his breath and not give away that he had run up every flight of stairs. “It was not your fault.”

  She turned to face him. “No, but the actions of those elves shame us all. After everything that you have done for my people…you deserve better.”

  There was so much that he wanted to say to her, but he feared that he would scare her away if he told her what was in his heart. He knew that she saw through him. There was an unspoken acknowledgement in her gaze.

  “Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say. Seeing her standing against the backdrop of the falls and the setting sun, he was enchanted by her beauty.

  “When they attacked, why did you push me aside and stand at my defense?” she asked.

  “You are my friend. I know that you do not remember, and I do not expect you to reciprocate, but…I love you.”

  She stared into his eyes, looking from one to the other, searching, then abruptly turned from him. “I have something to tell you.”

  His heart fluttered. “What is it?” He dared hope that she had finally found her memories.

  “I have prayed to Kellallea to restore my lost memories of you. My brother told me that I once loved you like I have never loved another. And now I know that his words are true.”

  Whill was overjoyed. “Has she appeared to you?” he asked.

  “No,” said Avriel. “She remains silent to me.”

  “Then you still do not remember us?”

  “No, but I know that I loved you. It is the only explanation.” She let out a pensive breath and turned to face him.

  “Explanation for what?” he asked.

  Her eyes fell to the stone floor. “I…” She looked up at him shyly, eyes welling with tears. “I am with child.”

  Whill was speechless.

  She searched his eyes for a reaction. Her hand had gone to her belly.

  “You’re pregnant? But…your stomach…you aren’t showing.”

  “Elves carry for a year. I will not begin to show for some time.”

  He let out a laugh that startled her. “I’m going to be a father?” Whill was overjoyed. He took her in a big hug and kissed her on the mouth. She flinched at first, but then slowly melted into him. When they parted, Whill struggled to find his voice. “I…I’m sorry. It’s just, this is the best news I have ever heard.”

  Tears streamed down Avriel’s face in stark contrast to her smile. “Do you mean that?”

  “Of course I mean it.”

  “But there is so
much working against us, against this child. What kind of life will they have, half-elf, half-human, their father a king of men, and their mother a princess of the elves? There has never lived such a creation. They will be shunned, they will be—”

  “They will be loved,” said Whill. He offered her a reassuring smile. “You said that this was proof to you…that you loved me once. Why?”

  She wiped her eyes and took a calming breath. “Elven women cannot become pregnant without love. It is one of the reasons that there are so few births among my long-lived people.”

  “What does Zerafin have to say about it?”

  “I haven’t told him yet, only mother knows.”

  “What does she think?”

  She gave a laugh and sniffled. “She is a hopeless romantic. She said that it was meant to be.”

  “I believe that,” said Whill.

  She regarded him with all seriousness. “I do not remember what we had. I don’t know if I ever will.”

  “Memories or not, did you feel something when we kissed?”

  She considered the question for a moment and searched his eyes. “Yes,” she said at length, almost reluctantly.

  Whill took her hands in his. “Then perhaps we can find it once more.”

  Chapter 29

  Confessions of a Killer

  Zerafin walked into the room and set a hard gaze on the captive. The elf was the only assassin taken alive. He had been pacing the room with clenched fists, but now stopped to regard the king. Two guards hurried in and strapped shackles on him before sitting him roughly in a chair.

  “Greetings, King,” he said with a sneer.

  Zerafin walked around him slowly, purposefully. The elf was tall and black of hair, with proud ears that pointed out through his hair farther than most. His eyes were dark and unreadable.