“You can kill me if you wish, but if you do, you’ll never get the Soul.”
“Why ever not? Surely you don’t believe an old duffer like you can stop me. I mean, I’ve been possessing your body for weeks, you couldn’t even stop that. Oh, and you really should learn to bathe more often,” said Karrak, wrinkling his nose as if there was suddenly a bad smell under it. “But I digress, tell me about the Soul.”
He blinked slowly and glared at Barden. “What is the Elixian Soul?”
Barden spoke in a monotone voice. “It is an enhancement for black magic,” he replied.
“What do you mean by BLACK magic?” asked Karrak.
“Magic that is used solely for destruction or death,” replied Barden.
“How much does it enhance the effectiveness of spells?”
“It is said to increase one’s natural power ten-fold.”
Karrak leapt from the bed. “Where is this Soul, old man?” he barked.
“Entombed, deep in the bowels of Reiggan Fortress,” replied Barden mindlessly.
“Can you get it, by yourself, I mean?” asked Karrak.
“I am unable to obtain it alone. The spell to release it from its solitude can only be performed with the combined power of five.”
So you need four other wizards to help you, Karrak thought. “You’re the chief of the Administration, they have to follow your orders, don’t they? Get me the Soul, Barden. Don’t draw any attention to yourself, or to me… but get me the Soul.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” replied Barden.
Karrak stood back and lowered his arm and Barden’s head fell forward to his chest. A second later he looked up, blinking and slightly confused. “Please forgive me, Your Highness. Did I doze off?”
“Don’t worry, Barden. Our little secret,” Karrak smiled.
“I must leave you now, Your Highness. I have just remembered a very important matter that I must attend to.”
“Don’t let me keep you, Barden, you go about your business… don’t be a stranger, see you very soon.” It had worked perfectly. Barden would acquire the Elixian Soul.
Karrak’s vengeance was at hand, and wreaking havoc as he sought it, would make it all the sweeter. He placed his hand inside his tunic, clasped his hand around the gold talisman and drew it out. Holding it in the palm of his hand he looked down at it.
“So you’re The Order of Corrodin, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
CHAPTER 10
Barden closed the door to Karrak’s chamber as he left but had taken no more than a dozen steps before he lost his footing and fell heavily to the floor. The two wizards guarding Karrak ran over to offer aid.
“I’m fine thank you. I just went a little lightheaded that’s all. A breath of fresh air and a drink of water and I’ll be fine,” protested Barden.
More wizards appeared and escorted him to the courtyard, where he was given water, and a chair brought to allow him to sit for a while. He kept insisting that he was fine and eventually persuaded the gathering to disperse, allowing him some privacy.
The last of the crowd had disappeared from view. Barden stood and walked across the courtyard so that he now stood between two of the marble statues. He held his arms out to the sides, placing a hand against each, and closed his eyes. A gentle breeze blew the fallen leaves around his feet as the statues started to tremble gently. The statues began to shake more violently now as the breeze became stronger, causing Barden’s robes to flutter. Exactly what he was trying to do was unclear, but whatever it was, it had been unsuccessful. After a minute or so, he dropped his arms back down to his sides, glaring at one statue, then the other. He paused for a moment as if deep in thought then, turning swiftly, stormed across the courtyard.
***
Karrak had had no contact with Barden. Could he glean anything regarding the old wizard’s progress should he possess his body? Surely the Head of the Administration would leave no obvious clue of his intentions toward the Soul?
He decided on the traditional approach of simply sending a messenger, seeking an audience with Barden who promptly arrived within minutes. “You sent for me, Your Highness?”
Karrak raised his hand, immediately all expression left Barden’s face. “What’s going on, Barden? Why don’t I have the Soul? Why am I still sitting in this cell?”
“The Soul can only be retrieved by the Five, Your Highness, and as yet, we are only four.”
“Make sense, Barden. Surely you can find another wizard. There are more than five of you here.”
“No, Your Highness, there is only one Fifth. He is the only one who has the remainder of the release spell.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I apologise, Your Highness. He will return presently, then I shall retrieve the Elixian Soul for you.”
Karrak was bored and angry. He instructed Barden to sit so that he could release his mind and torment him, just to pass the time.
“So, can you remember what you’ve been doing for the last couple of days you horrible little wizard?” he asked.
A look of confusion swept across Barden’s face. “I have no memory. Karrak, what have you done?”
“What… no, ‘Your Highness’?”
“Why have you done this? What do you want?”
“The Elixian Soul, don’t you remember?”
“Well let me get it for you. I was going to give it to you anyway, at the earliest opportunity.”
“Of course you were, Barden. The Soul that can only be used to enhance BLACK magic, and you were going to give it to me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? After all, I made you what you are.”
A frown appeared on Karrak’s face. “What do you mean… you made me?”
“Didn’t your father ever mention your mother’s sickness? That she was a white witch? How she made a miraculous recovery after the visit by a stranger? How that stranger returned years later and had a private meeting with her? How she started practising black magic and sacrificed five young girls? I was the stranger. Your mother was nearly dead when I first saw her, I just finished the job and then raised her from that death. The second time I saw her was simply to make the corruption of her soul absolute. Necromancy is a fine art, but every soul resurrected is also tainted. You could only be born from a tainted soul. Your coming has been prophesied for over a thousand years, Karrak, but it had to begin with the unnatural death of your mother… and I was the one who caused it. I am here to serve you, willingly.” The look in Barden’s eyes was enough to convince Karrak that he was telling the truth.
“So you created me? You created the monster that is Karrak Dunbar? Do you expect my thanks?” asked Karrak.
“I wish only to serve you, Your Highness. Command me and I shall do your bidding.”
“My dear Barden, you’re doing that anyway. Do you think that I would ever trust a slimy underhanded little weasel like you, without control? A wizard who murders ailing women in their sickbeds,” he screamed.
Barden was terrified, and Karrak could see his terror.
“You will follow my commands, weasel, and do my bidding, right up until I tear your puny little body apart with my bare hands,” he said, raising his hand above Barden’s head.
Barden, once again, looked calm. He would carry out all of the tasks Karrak had set him whilst in his oblivious trance… then he would die by Karrak’s hand, slowly, and painfully.
***
In due course, Barden arranged a meeting with his four colleagues and they had joined him in the circular courtyard, eager for an explanation. Barden faced them, ready to announce his reasons. “My friends, it has come to my ears that all is not as it seems here in Reiggan Fortress. Certain members of our institution are plotting, as we speak, to steal the Elixian Soul,” he announced. There were murmurings between his fellow wizards.
Barden continued. “I cannot name names, for I have no real evidence, but I do have my suspicions. A few that are loyal to myself and the Administration hav
e come forward and voiced their concerns. I therefore believe that it would be prudent to remove the Soul from Reiggan and I, solely, shall be responsible for its relocation. We shall remove it from its hiding place together, as was always the agreement, but you four must then leave me to bear the burden alone, thus setting you free from the dangers of persecution for information regarding its whereabouts.”
“But, Barden,” began one of the wizards, “it was always deemed that no solitary wizard should have possession of the Elixian Soul, for fear that the temptation to use it would be too potent to resist.”
“Do you question my authority, Master Fellox?” Barden asked the wizard calmly. “I have served Reiggan Fortress and protected its secrets since before you were born. Surely you cannot believe that I, Barden Oldman, Head of the Administration would be so easily tempted?”
The wizard shuffled his feet uneasily. Lowering his head, he looked down at the ground.
“Not tempted, Master Barden, but the carriage of the Soul by oneself could be most perilous and I am only concerned for your safety,” he replied.
“That is most considerate of you, Fellox, but I think I am a powerful enough wizard to protect myself should the need arise.”
“But you could be outnumbered, overwhelmed before you have a chance to act in your own defence,” continued Fellox.
“That is why it must be done now. Only we Five will know of its removal. I trust you all implicitly, and that trust, ensures my safety.”
His four colleagues huddled together in muttered conversation. Barden was not insulted by his exclusion from the brief debate and stood, calmly waiting for their decision.
“Very well, Master Barden, if you feel that it is for the best, we shall support your decision,” announced Fellox.
Barden approached the two statues he had originally faced alone. Two wizards stood either side of him and they all raised their hands to face the statues. As they concentrated, the two figures turned ninety degrees and glided away from one another, revealing a wide stone staircase. The Five stepped forward and began their descent into the darkness. The gloom lasted just a few seconds, for as they walked torches on the wall ignited spontaneously. Deeper and deeper they went until, reaching the foot of the staircase, they faced a huge manmade cave, hewed from the solid rock of the mountain. To the side of the cave stood a double door, seemingly made from solid gold and, as with everything else in their world, embossed with strange, mystical runes. The wizards stood before the doors and repeated their earlier process, causing the doors to swing open outwardly. Barden proceeded through them unaccompanied.
He stood in a room similar in design to the courtyard, but without the statues. In its centre stood a pedestal and placed upon it, a small golden chest. Barden stepped forward and slowly opened it. There was a sudden blaze of light from within that caused Barden to shield his eyes with his hand.
Reaching inside, Barden removed the light’s source and held it aloft, in awe of its splendour. A blood red ruby as large as a man’s fist, that pulsated as if it contained a heart, lay in the palm of his hand. Crimson droplets fell from it as if it were haemorrhaging, dissipating as they fell, never reaching the ground. By order of Karrak, Barden had retrieved the Elixian Soul.
Gazing upon its beauty, none would have believed that this treasure could hold a power so sinister and evil, but throughout the ages, it had destroyed entire civilizations.
Carefully, Barden returned the Soul to its gilded cage, and gently closed the lid.
He must raise no suspicion if he was to deliver it successfully to, who he believed to be, its rightful owner. Bearing the chest, Barden returned to his unsuspecting colleagues. “You must escort me to my chambers,” he ordered.
Dismissing his entourage, Barden entered his chambers alone. Placing the chest on his desk he stared at it at length. It would be unwise to attempt its presentation to Karrak immediately, he must bide his time. He could not risk detection when his task was so close to completion.
***
The companions grew closer to one another with each passing day. Jared and Hannock had become accustomed to Lodren’s ever pleasant, happy attitude to life, Grubb’s equally grumpy one and Faylore’s sometimes aloof but also inquisitive nature and the three in turn had embraced Jared’s regal steadfastness and Hannock’s childish, sarcastic, but inoffensive, sense of humour.
Faylore had parted from them for two days, believing them to be safe, but had rejoined them along with a few other Thedarians who, it was quite obvious, quickly became bored with their company and departed again.
Lodren approached Jared. “Mr Jared,” he said inquisitively, “where do you do your cooking in your castle? Well not you, obviously, but the people who cook for you.”
“Why is it obvious that someone cooks for me, dear Lodren?” asked Jared, “Maybe I cook for myself.”
“Well, no offence, Mr Jared, but your cooking’s horrible!”
“How do you know? You’ve never tasted my cooking.”
“Mr Captain told me. He said you couldn’t even boil an egg without burning the water.”
“Oh did he now!” exclaimed Jared looking across at Hannock who immediately threw up his hands in mock defence.
“You wouldn’t expect me to lie would you, Your Highness? Not a good example of Borellians is it, lying to our new friends?”
“On a more serious note,” said Jared turning to address the group, “when we arrive in Borell you must show Hannock the proper respect due to his position. He is the captain of the guard, and as such, is in command of our entire army. Please do not mock him in the presence of anyone other than present company.”
“But I can call him a prat until then, eh?” Grubb’s timing was, as always, impeccable.
“By all means, help yourself, don’t mind me!” exclaimed Hannock feigning indignation.
“Mr Jared, where is the cooking done?” asked Lodren again.
“Sorry, Lodren, how rude of me. In the kitchen,” replied Jared.
“What’s a kitchen?”
Jared explained how the castle had an entire room with ovens and burners, used solely for the preparation of food. Lodren was beside himself with glee. “Can I have a go in it? Can I have a go in your kitchen, Mr Jared? I won’t make a mess, promise.”
“Lodren, my dear friend, you can do whatever you want. Within reason of course.”
Lodren, without a word ran off toward the cart. He wanted his pots and pans in perfect order when they arrived in Borell so had decided to give them another wash, just in case.
***
Later that day they approached Ferendon Village. Their jovial banter ceased as they drew nearer, for the sight they beheld was horrific. Every building had been destroyed and there were still bloodstains on the ground. The bodies and severed heads that had caused them had been removed by one of the king’s patrols, but this of course was unknown to the companions. The soil in the centre of the village stood proud of the surrounding area, a banner of remembrance mounted at the northern end of the strange excavation. It was a mass grave. The soldiers who buried them had not known the names of the villagers and the banner had been placed as a mark of respect. This was the only trace of civilization having ever existed in Ferendon.
To the eastern side of where the village had stood, there was a pile of ash and bones. Faylore, now standing at its edge, flicked a skull with her foot. “Dergon,” she announced.
This was the site of the second Dergon attack. This was the village where, in its defence, the people had fought bravely and claimed the lives of more than fifty of their foe. The two guards would ever be unsung heroes, for as their health had increased they had set an arena similar to the one in which they had trained in Borell. Their practise sessions had peaked the interest of many villagers who came to the guardsmen with offers of free ale, wine and food in exchange for tuition in combat techniques. To the villagers it was just a game, something different, but they were taught in the same way as any raw recruit and al
though none had survived the Dergon, it had prolonged their lives, if only by a matter of minutes, allowing them to despatch so many of their enemies.
“Dergon. You mean those things that attacked us in the gulley?” asked Hannock.
“The same,” replied Faylore.
“Why would they attack a village?” asked Jared.
“I have no idea. This makes no sense,” replied Faylore.
“Well somebody knows. They didn’t bury themselves, this is the work of one of our patrols, the flag signifies that. We’ll find out when we get home, then we will make them pay for this,” it seemed that Hannock sought a bloody revenge.
***
Barden was single-minded as he headed through the passageways of Reiggan Fortress. He must deliver the Elixian Soul to his master, nothing else mattered. Many wizards attempted to engage him in conversation, but he would permit no delay, indicating that he was far too busy to speak with them. Greetings by others were received with a simple nod and a false smile. Eventually, he approached Karrak’s chambers.
“Master Barden.”
The voice came from behind him. Barden knew the voice. The two wizards guarding the door sidestepped, covering the entrance. Barden was furious, but turned around calmly. “Can I help you in some way?”
He was approached by Dane Fellox, who was flanked by at least ten other Administration members. “We do not believe it to be in your best interest to face Prince Karrak whilst in possession of the Elixian Soul, especially as you no longer wear The Order of Corrodin,” said Fellox.
“Do you think that I would be so naïve as to carry the Soul with me, whatever my destination?” asked Barden.
“Ordinarily, no, Master Barden. But you have been quite ill recently and may be carrying it, inadvertently.”
“So now I’m a forgetful old fool?” Barden remained outwardly serene but was filled with rage at the intervention of, what he believed to be, irritating, second-rate conjurers.
The Ascension of Karrak Page 16
