The Ascension of Karrak (Karrak Trilogy Part One)

by Robert J Marsters

  “I’m not sure. Why don’t you test your mettle? How about now? Against me.” The tension in the air was palpable. In his mind Hannock was willing Karrak to accept the challenge and all that Jared could picture was George’s face, beaten to a pulp by this sadistic, privileged bully.

  But what happened next shocked them all…

  “Oh, alright then,” replied Karrak. “Why not? But we aren’t going to use crops are we? I mean, we can use swords? We are adults after all, and we shan’t bother with the armour. I mean, who’d actually stab his own brother?”

  The last comment sent a shiver down Hannock’s spine. Did Karrak actually think he had a chance of beating Jared? To his knowledge Karrak had never even picked up a sword, let alone practised using one. This was a little perturbing.

  Jared had stepped over the rope in order to face his brother, and now re-entered the arena, beckoning Karrak to do the same.

  “My word, not a lot of room is there? Here’s an idea,” and grabbing a sword, Karrak slashed through the rope with one strike. “That’s better, gives one a bit more breathing room, don’t you think?”

  Jared said nothing and, reaching across, picked up a sword of his own.

  “Now, what do we do? What are the rules?”

  “Firstly…” replied Jared, “… we face each other in the…”

  But he never got to the end of his sentence. Karrak lunged forward, thrusting his sword at Jared, a wild strike full of venom, but no grace. Catching Jared off guard did not work however, and he managed to parry the blow. Jared, being off balance, allowed Karrak to strike again, this time from above and with full force. He did not care about stance or form, he was just slashing wildly, but the brute strength that he had was quite formidable. This went on for a few minutes, but now Jared had his footing and was coping quite easily with the onslaught, but his brother’s strength, My God where was he getting it from? Karrak again lunged forward, but this time Jared was ready for him, and with an upward stroke, swept the sword cleanly from his hand. Relaxing slightly, Jared stepped back, away from his brother, but as he did so Karrak let out a roar. He thrust his hands out in front of him and sparks flew from them, Jared did his best to dodge them, turning this way and that as his shirt began to smoulder. The ever-present hay cart behind him started to smoke, and then burst into flame. This was something that Jared had not expected, but he was no fool. He thought of a spell and was about to cast it when there was a loud crack, and suddenly, a deathly silence.

  Jared looked up. His brother’s unconscious body lay on the floor ten feet in front of him, and standing over it was Hannock, broken pikestaff in hand, “You’re not going to hang me are you?” he asked. “This could be classed as treason.”

  ***

  Jared gave orders for Karrak’s hands to be bound behind him, even though he was still unconscious. He did not want to take the risk of his brother being able to cast another spell when he awoke and believed that this may prevent him from doing so.

  He beckoned to Hannock. Bowing his head toward him slightly, he whispered, “Take him to his chambers. Once you are there, gag him and tie him to his bed, post two guards both inside the door and out, and under no circumstances allow him to speak. Once you are done, report to my chambers, we shall address the king together on this matter.”

  “And if he is roused before we reach our destination, Your Highness?” asked Hannock. Jared looked around him. Snatching a pikestaff from a weapons rack, he thrust it toward Hannock, who simply nodded. Four guards placed Karrak’s body on a stretcher and raised it, and with Hannock leading the procession, they headed into the castle, leaving Jared to bring order to the courtyard.

  “My brother can get carried away when we play our little games…” he said with a false smile, trying to make light of the situation, “… he hates losing.” But the guards never believed a word of it, they knew Karrak was a bad seed. “Get this mess cleaned up, men. This place is a shambles,” he said, heading off.

  Hannock entered Jared’s chambers and, closing the door, spoke freely. “Jared, it’s worse than we feared. One of the royal guard has been found dead. His body had been concealed behind some barrels near the tavern, his neck was broken.”

  “We can deal with that later, Hannock, we need to focus on the matter in hand.”

  “I fear they are one and the same, Jared, he was the one who stopped Karrak from killing the barkeep. The rest of the guard were dismissed shortly after they left the tavern. Karrak made the excuse that he’d be fine with just one and sent them away.”

  “And you think that Karrak killed him, outraged by the interjection?”

  “His head was on backwards, Jared, only someone with Karrak’s strength could achieve something like that.”

  “But there is no proof, no witness?”

  “Unfortunately not Jared, but it’s too close to the mark to be a mere coincidence.”

  “That may be the case my friend, but you know what my father will say, ‘No proof, no conviction’.”

  They reached the throne room and, on entering, were surprised to see Emnor standing before the king. His visits to the castle had become very infrequent over the last few years, and neither could recall the last time they had seen him when they had been together. The customary bow was made to the king.

  “Before you start, I’ve already heard…” he said, holding his hand out in front of him, “… so don’t start baying for Karrak’s blood over a singed shirt and an incinerated hay cart!”

  The two friends exchanged puzzled glances. How could he know already? No guard had been sent, no report given, not a word.

  Not wanting to be overheard, they adjourned to the library, by chance the same room in which Jared had first witnessed the destructive power of magic.

  “Please forgive me, Sire,” Emnor began, “I have said many times that today’s events were inevitable.”

  “Yes, I know that,” said the king, “I just prayed that maybe you were wrong. That maybe he hadn’t inherited the same gift as Jared.”

  Emnor had a very pious look on his face as he looked across at Tamor. “Sire,” he said, “I am seldom wrong, but the power he has is very different to that of Prince Jared.”

  “Yes alright, you’ve made your point, wizard. The question now is, what are we going to do with him? He’s still my son, and I shall not allow any harm to be done to him. Jared, where is he now?”

  Jared explained the course of action he had taken.

  “Captain Hannock, what are your thoughts on this?” the king enquired, “You may speak freely.”

  “Sire, I fear for the lives of my men and the citizens of Borell. Prince Karrak is volatile at best and, now that we know he has been learning magic, he could become unstoppable.”

  Jared was the next to be consulted. “He’s insane, Father. I hate to say it, but I saw the rage in his eyes today and it is something we must deal with now, before he does something dreadful.” Jared now took the opportunity to inform the king of the guard’s murder.

  Finally, King Tamor turned to Emnor.

  “Sire, you now know why I have always refused to mentor, or even speak with, your second son. The use of words such as ‘uncontrollable’ or ‘insane’ cannot sum up the magnitude of his illness. From a very early age, for I sensed it even then, an evil has been within your son, corrupting and consuming his very soul. No mortal shall ever contain or control him. If he gains his freedom after this day, he will commit atrocities worse than you can imagine. Now that he has realised his power, his hunger for more will not be satiated.”

  Between them, the four forged a plan. Karrak would be taken to Reiggan Fortress, high in the Muurkain Mountains. But this was no ordinary fortress, this was a Wizard’s Retreat. At any given time, it was occupied by upwards of a hundred wizards, warlocks, mages and the like. Emnor explained that the magical forces contained within Reiggan Fortress would always be strong enough to not only contain Karrak, but also protect him, especially from himself. “He will be well
taken care of, Sire, no harm shall befall him,” Emnor promised.

  “And shall you visit him from time to time for me, dear friend?” the king asked.

  “Karrak and I shall have a meeting, of that I am sure, Your Majesty. However, that will not be for some time yet, at least I hope not anyway,” replied Emnor.

  “Very well,” said the king, looking a little confused by Emnor’s last statement. “Jared, you shall supervise the transportation of your brother to Reiggan. Captain Hannock will accompany you, with a detachment of the guard.”

  Tamor paused and looked at Emnor, “Emnor?” he asked inquisitively.

  “I regret, Sire, that I shall not be able to make the journey. I have pressing matters elsewhere. I shall, however, contact my colleagues in Reiggan and have them prepare for the royal guest, and I may join Jared occasionally, if I have time.”

  Their departure was set for the following morning, before daybreak, to prevent prying eyes. The king, obviously upset by the discussion of his youngest son’s impending incarceration, made the excuse of his faith in Jared’s capability and withdrew.

  “Your Highness,” said Emnor, “take these.” Reaching into his robes he produced two small glass vials and handed them to Jared. “They will ensure that your journey is uneventful.”

  “How so?” asked Jared.

  “The red fluid will keep your brother calm, and help him sleep,” said Emnor.

  “You mean it’ll knock him out? Fantastic!” said Hannock with a grin.

  Emnor rolled his eyes, “The clear fluid will revive him but keep him docile, providing you administer no more than two drops.”

  Jared raised his eyebrows, “Impressive, but why wake him at all before we reach Reiggan?”

  “Do you want him to starve to death?” asked Emnor.

  “Good point, never thought of that.”

  “To awaken him, two drops of clear liquid into his mouth, two drops of red mixed into food or wine and he’ll sleep again,” instructed Emnor.

  “What if he won’t eat or drink?” asked Jared.

  Hannock, not being able to contain himself, “Pikestaff.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The following morning, they set off before dawn, as planned, and by daybreak were obscured from view by the trees. Jared and Hannock were mounted on white stallions at the head of the procession. Following them was a covered cart, in which lay Prince Karrak, surrounded by sixteen royal guard, marching proudly, heads held high, their highly polished armour gleaming in the morning sun, and at the tail a smaller cart carrying provisions.

  “We should make good time if this weather holds, Your Highness,” said Hannock.

  “No need to be so formal, Hannock, we’re not in the castle now, relax a little.”

  “But, what about the men, Sir?”

  “They can’t hear us, and besides, they couldn’t care less. Look at them, they’re enjoying the fresh air and sunshine.”

  “How long do you think it will take to reach Reiggan Fortress?” asked Hannock.

  “Well, if the weather does hold, about fourteen days to reach the Muurkain Mountains, from there it depends on what condition the pass is in. That could add anything between three and five days, if we have to start digging through snow,” replied Jared.

  “You really do know how to cheer a fellow up, don’t you?” said Hannock.

  “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

  “More like a curse.”

  The first few days passed uneventfully. On the fourth day, at dusk, they set up camp in good cheer, having covered more ground than they had expected. Tents had been erected, a fire set, and a meal prepared. Sentries were posted and everything was quiet, save for the subdued banter amongst the guard, who had yet to take their turn on watch. Jared was the only one who was to have any contact with Karrak, the soldiers having been given orders not to so much as look inside the canvas of the cart. Jared had palmed the two vials given to him by Emnor, dished out some food and was now inside the cart, tending to his brother.

  Hannock, now finding himself at a loose end, wandered about the camp. As captain of the guard he still had to make sure that standards were maintained, but much as he tried, could see no major issues and turned toward his tent. It was at this point however that he overheard some of his troop’s conversation. His interest peaked, he slid into shadow and listened intently…

  “Some kind of sleeping sickness I heard, just fell down like he was dead, apart from his snoring.”

  “No, it’s some kind of leprosy apparently, half his face fell off, and the other half’s all mangled and such, makes you feel sick just looking at him.”

  “Well you’re both wrong see, it’s some kind of magic spell. Sent him mad in his brain it has and all he does is talk in strange languages and try to bite people.”

  “I ain’t wrong it’s that leprosy thing, that’s why they won’t let us see him.”

  “No, it’s in case he bites one of us.”

  Hannock had heard enough and quietly stepped out, now looking down at the surprised soldiers, who shot to attention and saluted.

  “Did you know…” Hannock began, “… that there have been wolves sighted in this area?”

  “No, Sir,” came the chorused reply.

  “Oh yes, and big, well when I say big, I mean huge. One took a man’s head clean off with one bite, apparently.” The guards’ eyes grew wider with every word. Hannock continued, “And if I ever hear you tittle tattling or discussing the personal lives of a member of The House of Dunbar again…” at this point he leaned forward, nose to nose with one of them, “… I shall personally rip out your guts with my bare hands, dismember you and feed you to them. Do I make myself quite clear?” Hannock was very proud of being a friend to House Dunbar and would allow no slur to go unchecked, to insult it, was to insult him. He tugged down his tunic and marched away.

  Entering his tent he found that Jared had returned. “That was quick, being a good boy then is he?” he asked.

  “You should be a little more careful, Hannock, and I say that as a friend. He is my brother after all, you know… a royal.”

  Hannock’s expression changed, “He tried to kill you. What would have happened if…”

  “But he never succeeded did he?” said Jared, “Thanks to you my friend. It looked much worse than it actually was Hannock, he just had a tantrum because my father had the audacity to question his behaviour.”

  “If you say so, Jared, anyway, how is he?”

  “He seems in perfect health, but when he speaks it’s as if he’s in a dream. Just staring ahead of him, he never blinked once whilst awake.”

  “So the potions work then?” asked Hannock.

  “Perfectly,” replied Jared.

  “At last…” said Hannock, “… something that works in our favour.”

  But their journey had only just begun and, unbeknownst to them, they were being watched.

  ***

  The intruders were close enough to see, but not hear, the events that were taking place. They watched the camp for over an hour, their distance allowing them to converse unheard.

  “Look at ‘em, fancy armour and fancy ways. I hate Borellians, let’s just attack ‘em now and ‘ave done with it.”

  “Patience, Klag, time is on our side and, we know, there’s nothing for three days in any direction other than back the way they came.”

  “But they’re sitting ducks, Ramah. We could ‘ave ‘em all dead before they know what’s ‘appenin’.”

  “Maybe, but they have posted sentries, and we don’t know what’s in that cart. No, we shall bide our time and ambush them later.”

  “Let’s just kill ‘em now, eh? I ‘ate waitin’, come on let’s kill ‘em now.”

  “How many times must I tell you, Klag? You are very brave, but when have you ever been right? Just leave the thinking to me. You don’t want to hurt that delicate brain of yours by trying to use it too much now, do you?” Klag was confused. Was that concern for his health, or wa
s he being mocked? Ramah knew Klag very well, act first, think, or at least try to, later. This had gotten him in many scrapes in the past, and Ramah was the one that usually had to get him out of them.

  They were Dergon. A dying race that had been decimated over the years. Coerced to fight in fruitless battles and unwinnable wars with false promises of great wealth and power, the mercenaries of this world. A most impressive race physically, each standing around eight feet tall, with magnificent musculature and glistening pale green skin. They were, however, one of the ugliest, with facial deformities of various degrees, a result of interbreeding. Buck teeth, cross eyes, huge warts and hare lips to name but a few. Depleted almost to extinction, not because they were weak, not because they were fearful, but because they were not the most intelligent of beings, and believed the false promises.

  They were now, however, being led by Ramah. He was far more intelligent than any Dergon that had ever lived. Much broader than the rest, and far more powerful, he had taken control of his band only a year before by challenging and killing their previous leader. The battle between them had taken less than thirty seconds, resulting in Ramah cleaving the head from his opponent and holding it high in the air, thus earning the allegiance of his inherited followers. Since then, adopting a nomadic existence, new clan members were recruited, raising their ranks from a mere twenty to almost a hundred as they travelled. During their travels Klag had proven to be the most reliable amongst the group and as their number increased, so did Klag’s standing. He was not what one would class as intelligent, but he was true and loyal to Ramah, as he had been somewhat of a punch bag for the previous leader. Ramah had promised all others that this would never happen to Klag, or indeed, any of them, providing they followed his orders and they whooped and cheered when they were told by Klag that they would now be expected to refer to Ramah as their ‘chief’.

  “We’ll be alright now, lads, we’ve got a chief, he’ll look after us,” were the type of comment to ring through Ramah’s new band.