“My comments were not meant as an insult, Master Barden,” began Fellox, “but we at the Administration must be mindful of our charges, living, or inanimate.”
“We… what do you mean, we?” Barden shouted, “How dare you? I am the Head of the Administration; I am the Administration. You worms wouldn’t have the power to light a candle if not for my teachings you pathetic upstart.”
“Maybe we should continue our discussion elsewhere, Master Barden. Your chambers perhaps?”
Fellox knew the danger was imminent, but could think of no recourse. Barden was old, that could not be denied, but he was also the most powerful wizard in Reiggan, if not the world.
“Why don’t you continue your wittering… in your grave.” Barden’s eyes blackened and, without warning, he cast a lightning spell that hit Fellox full in the chest, completely disintegrating him.
The doors to Karrak’s chambers flew open. Karrak glared at the first wizard he saw, which happened to be poor Edward, the puppet with which had already had so much fun.
“Defend me,” he bellowed, and Edward immediately began casting fire spells at the remainder of Fellox’s party.
Barden drew the Elixian Soul from his robes. Turning to face Karrak he stretched out his arm but, just before Karrak could grab it, an ice spell hit his shoulder and the Soul flew through the air, and landed, skimming across the stone floor until it hit the wall. The wizard that cast the spell watched its trajectory and now cast another identical spell encasing the Soul in a block of ice that fused it where it lay. Fire, lightning and ice spells filled the air, Edward was killed within seconds by a fire spell that hit him full in the face. Karrak saw the Elixian Soul glowing in its icy tomb, he could hear it calling to him, find me, find me, repeating over and over. He cast a fire spell in an attempt to release it, but realising his intent, two wizards cast ice spells, making it even more inaccessible.
Karrak was under direct attack, feeling that at any moment he would be destroyed, for he and Barden were hopelessly outnumbered. One of the senior wizards, now facing Karrak, was nursing a fireball in both hands. Karrak thrust his hands forward creating an ice wall that only just prevented his incineration. His mind raced, what to do next? Before he could decide a hand grasped his shoulder. He suddenly felt an incredible force, that seemed as if it were inside him, tear him backwards, as the scene before him shimmered, and then was gone.
He was dizzy and fell to his knees, his eyes closed. He rubbed his face trying to regain his composure. Opening his eyes, he found that he was surrounded by trees, he was in a forest. Struggling to his feet he looked about him, he was not alone, Barden lay on the ground motionless and silent, his robes singed and torn as a result of their close call with death at the hands of the Administration. Karrak never gave him a second glance, he didn’t care. “Well, what do you know? The old coot saved me! He was telling the truth, he does want to serve me. Well, why not… for now anyway.”
He checked himself for wounds, there were none. Karrak began to laugh. True, he hadn’t obtained the Soul, but at least he was free.
CHAPTER 11
King Tamor, having been informed of Jared’s return, hurried to the castle gates to greet him personally. Climbing down from his horse wearily, Jared smiled at his father and they embraced one another as they always did.
“Heard you had a bit of a run in with those blasted Dergon, Jared,” said Tamor.
Jared lowered his head, “Yes… and lost most of our escort. We would have fallen too if not for the Thedarians.”
“Who are the Thedarians?” asked Tamor.
Jared turned to face Faylore. “Please forgive me, Queen Faylore, this is my father, King Tamor Dunbar,” then turning to his father, “King Tamor, Queen Faylore of Thedar.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Your Majesty,” said Tamor taking Faylore’s hand in an attempt to kiss it.
Faylore snatched her hand away. “What are you doing? Jared, what’s he doing?” she asked.
“The king was merely going to kiss the back of your hand as a mark of respect.”
“Why?”
“It’s just a polite greeting,” said Jared, now feeling a little awkward.
“You never had a kiss on your hand,” said Faylore.
“Well no, you see…”
Jared gave up on his attempted explanation, once Faylore reached this stage of awkwardness the questions would keep coming. Waving his hands dismissively he continued with his introductions. “Lodren, Grubb, meet…”
They approached the castle. Jared imparted the tale of their journey to Tamor, including their rescue by Faylore in the gulley and the heroic deeds of both Lodren and Grubb within the caverns of the Muurkain Mountains.
As they entered the throne room, Tamor felt that he and Faylore had started off on the wrong foot and decided to try again. “It seems as if I owe you my son’s life,” he said with a light-hearted smile.
“No thank you,” she said adamantly, “you can keep it, I don’t want it.”
Tamor was now completely confused. Did this strange queen actually think that he was offering her Jared’s life?
Jared had heard the brief exchange between them and thought it best to intervene. Taking Tamor to one side, he offered him some gentle advice. “Say what you mean Father. They don’t use pleasantries as we do, it may seem a little rude to you, but to her it’s fine. Just speak to her plainly.”
“I am speaking plainly, she’s just weird,” blurted Tamor.
“And how do you think we appear to her?”
“Normal?” asked Tamor.
“We’re not normal to her, she thinks we’re the weird ones, Father!”
“Really? Fancy that,” said Tamor.
Grubb was his usual self. Not one for conversation, he milled about the room, picking up anything he found vaguely interesting, tutting, shaking his head and then putting it back down again. Lodren, on the other hand, seemed fascinated as he stood open-mouthed at the splendour of the castle. He followed Jared at a polite distance, looking like an excited child, desperate for answers to a myriad of questions. Jared sensed that the Nibby could wait no longer and turned to face him. “Was there something you wanted, Lodren?”
“Well, I was just wondering, Mr Jared, could I see your cooking room, please, if you’re not too busy?”
“It’s called a kitchen, and yes, of course you can. I’ll have someone show you the way.”
The head cook was summoned and after a brief introduction, Lodren headed off with him, the two talking as if they had known each other for years due to their mutual affinity with the preparation of food. Their discussion covered so many culinary intricacies that it was hours before the others saw him again, “Lost track of the time,” he said.
Hannock asked that he be excused. There was nothing that he could add to the conversation, that would not be covered by one of the others. His request was denied, by the king himself. “I know you are not my son, Charles…” began Tamor. Jared smiled as he remembered the simbor incident. “… But you have been with Jared his entire life, and I do think of you as one.”
Hannock bowed respectfully. “You are most kind, Your Majesty.” He was waiting for Faylore to ask if he had a bad back again, but fortunately, she remained silent.
They were all seated and the conversation became more intense as the subject of the Dergon was raised.
“Four villages completely erased from existence,” Tamor informed them.
“Four!?” exclaimed Jared.
“Yes, four, all the same, every head severed and put on a spike,” said Tamor.
“What did they want?” asked Hannock.
“We have no idea. They were acting alone apparently, following one of their own. Big blighter, intelligent too. We burned the bodies of all we killed, at the village and the battleground but we never found him, he must have been one of those that escaped.”
“How did he manage to escape, Father, how did any of them manage to escape?”
“I l
et them go. I won’t kill indiscriminately as they do. They were beaten, hardly a handful of them left. There’d been enough slaughter already, so when they ran, we never gave chase.”
“Father, how did you know that we had been attacked by the Dergon?”
“An old friend of yours told me.”
“Who?” asked Jared.
“Emnor,” replied Tamor.
“Emnor has been here? But I thought he was going to help take care of Karrak.”
“Emnor wants nothing to do with Karrak, never has. Reckons he’s a bad seed.”
“Can’t disagree with him there.” Hannock had a look on his face that seemed to say, ‘did I say that out loud?’ Hannock had proven his loyalty to the royal family countless times and, understanding that there was no love lost between Karrak and Hannock, Tamor ignored the comment.
“So what will be Karrak’s fate, without Emnor to guide him?” asked Jared.
“The Head of the Administration, Barden Oldman has taken that responsibility,” replied Tamor.
“We met him in Reiggan,” Jared informed him.
“What’s he like?” asked Tamor.
“Old, wrinkled, grey beard, grey robes, a typical wizard really,” replied Jared.
“Emnor seems to rate him. Says he’s possibly the most powerful wizard on the planet,” said Tamor.
“He’ll need to be. We all know how… difficult, my brother can be.”
The day wore on and the trail weary companions were showing some slight indications of their fatigue. Tamor called for attendants to show their guests to a campsite that had been prepared for them in the castle grounds. Lodren bowed graciously before the king, Grubb simply nodded and Faylore, being royalty herself, thanked him for his hospitality before departing.
Tamor shuffled forward on his seat and leaned toward Jared. “Beautiful woman that Faylore, is she married?”
“She’s too tall for you, Father,” replied Jared. “Goodnight.”
***
The weeks passed and Jared and Hannock had resumed their normal palace duties. Lodren had made himself quite at home, enjoying the hustle and bustle of the busy castle kitchen, whilst becoming firm friends with Raymond, the head cook. Grubb was the most unlikely visitor of all, not seeming in any rush to depart Borell. Exactly what he did most days was a mystery, so he was just left to his own devices. Faylore came and went freely. Her people would appear, usually on a weekly basis, and she would leave with them to attend to matters that, obviously, were only of concern to the Thedarians.
All was peaceful, too peaceful for Hannock after their mission to deliver Karrak and, as time went, by he became increasingly bored. For this reason he had approached Jared. “I thought it might be an idea to accompany one of the patrols soon, Jared,” he said.
Jared looked at him knowingly. “As bored as I am, Hannock?” he asked.
“Oh no, not at all. Just like to stretch my legs a bit, make sure everything’s alright in the villages. Protect the borders, that kind of thing.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Hannock, just admit it, you’re bored.”
“Alright, I’m bored. There, I’ve said it, so what’s your answer?”
“Next patrol leaves in two days, we’ll be leading it,” said Jared.
“Marvellous,” said Hannock, rubbing his hands together.
***
The morning of the patrol’s departure had arrived. Jared and Hannock neared the stables to collect their horses and were not surprised to see Lodren, complete with laden cart and Grubb, waiting for them.
“Good morning, Mr Jared, Mr Captain. Are we off on another adventure then?” asked Lodren.
“Well, we’re off on patrol,” said Hannock, “but there’s no need for you to go, unless you want to of course?”
“No need, Mr Captain! And who’s going to make sure you’re fed properly if I stay here?” exclaimed Lodren.
Hannock now turned to Grubb. “And your reason?” he asked.
“Keep an eye on ye. Don’t want ye getting into any trouble. I’d probably get the blame for not being there to help,” mumbled Grubb.
“Your concern is most reassuring my dear Vikkery,” said Hannock with a slight smile, and a hint of irony.
Grubb gave him a blank look, ignoring the irony and glanced around him before offering a reply. “Bog off.”
Faylore was not present. She had joined her kin a few days prior and it was agreed that if she wished to join them, she would easily catch up later. They proceeded through the castle gates, to begin their patrol.
***
Faylore, as anticipated, had found them as they set their camp one evening. The four, accompanied by twenty royal guard were quite safe, but for some reason, felt incomplete without her presence.
The following morning they entered one of the many villages scattered along their route. Jared, as always, along with Hannock, joined the village elders for an ale in the small, makeshift tavern.
“Your arrival is most timely, Your Highness.”
“What is your name, Sir?” Jared asked, offering the man respect.
“Godfrey, Your Highness, Godfrey Rannul.”
“So why is our arrival so timely, Godfrey?”
“Well you are here to deal with that young wizard I presume, Your Highness?”
“What young wizard? I have received no reports of a wizard. Tell me more.”
“Well, he turned up here a couple of weeks ago. Three times more since. Comes into the village, uses the tavern, gets drunk and threatens people. Stung poor Jimmy over there with his magic ‘cause he wouldn’t give him free ale. Then started waving a stick around. Called it his ‘wand’, saying as he could turn people into all sorts o’ nasty things if we didn’t give ‘im what ‘e wanted, and when ‘e went, ‘e took all Jimmy’s coin with ‘im.”
“What do you mean, he stung him?” asked Hannock.
Godfrey turned to face Jimmy. “Go on. Show ‘im.”
Jimmy began removing a swathe of bandages from the side of his face. He turned his head for them to see. The wound was hideous. The lower half of his ear was missing and from there to his neck was badly infected, almost gangrenous.
Hannock never hesitated, crooking his finger at Jimmy in order for him to follow. He took him outside, leaving Jared to his meeting with the elders.
Hannock ordered one of the guard to take care of Jimmy’s fetid wound.
“Stone me!” exclaimed the guard as he fumbled through the abundance of medical supplies whilst studying the festering injury, “What did this?”
“Poxy wizard,” Jimmy replied.
***
They received a similar tale from another village, visited two days later and another the day after that. Each time the description of the wizard was the same, small, skinny, and always pointing his wand at people. His actions, according to witnesses, were becoming more aggressive. More victims with similar wounds to Jimmy were treated by Jared’s guard and the wizard had now also taken to incinerating buildings and livestock if his demands were not met. Jared, after hearing of the Dergon attacks, had sworn that he would never allow the king’s subjects to be terrorised and was convinced that they were now closing in on this heinous, rogue wizard. Acting on information given by the villagers, they began their manhunt, and it was not long before Hannock found his trail. Two days of pursuit passed, until at midday on the third, Hannock stood scratching his head. “Lost him. The ground’s far too rocky, I’ll never find him now,” he said.
Faylore stepped forward, studying the ground. “Perhaps I can help,” she offered. Leaning toward the ground, she placed her hand on a flat boulder, then another and another, until she had touched around a dozen. Standing, she pointed her finger, “He went that way.”
“How do you know?” asked Hannock.
“The stones he stepped on are warmer than the others, but we are still a day and a half behind him.”
“The stones are warmer!” Hannock was flabbergasted.
“Are there
any villages nearby?” asked Jared.
“No, Your Highness,” replied Hannock.
“Good, at least there’ll be no one in danger before we catch up to him.”
“He might have a camp somewhere near here. If only we could travel faster,” said Jared, his frustration showing.
“I could go and have a look for ye, if ye want me to that is,” said Grubb. Even though he said it as if it would be a great inconvenience, his offer was sincere.
“Even as your alter-ego, I doubt you’d be that much quicker, Grubb, best stay together for safety’s sake.”
“Fella with the four arms is not all I can do,” said Grubb.
“What else can you do?” asked Lodren, at last finding something interesting about their conversation.
Grubb spread out his arms and started to shake himself. Before their eyes he was sprouting feathers. His face stretched forward, his nose became a beak, his arms became wings and his booted feet splayed into talons until, within seconds, he had transformed into a golden hawk.
“That’s fantastic, Mr Grubb. Isn’t he good, Mr Jared!?”
Grubb, the hawk, soared into the air and flew off into the distance. Hannock turned to Jared. “He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?”
Grubb returned some time later and, landing in front of Jared, turned back into the grumpy Vikkery they all knew. “We won’t catch him for at least two days. He’s way ahead of us at some kind of camp he’s set up at the top of a hill. He’ll see us half a day before we get to him,” he reported.
“Not if we catch up to him at night,” said Hannock.
“There’s twenty-five of us, horses and a cart. Do ye think he’s blind and stupid?” asked Grubb.
“Well we won’t all go, just a few of us,” suggested Jared.
The companions had every intention of it being them.
Grubb continued his reconnaissance flights every couple of hours over the next day and a half and they were now close enough for Jared to order the guard to set camp and hold their position. The protests from the guard concerning Jared’s safety were duly noted, but still rejected by the prince. “Hold your position. Do not break camp until we return,” Jared ordered.
The Ascension of Karrak Page 17
