The Ascension of Karrak

by Robert J Marsters

  The companions moved out, eager to ensnare the wizard.

  A little closer than Grubb’s estimate, they reached the foot of the hill two hours later and were now strategizing their attack. Faylore, within reason, could move stealthily into position, using her unique chameleonic skill to flank the wizard. Grubb, disguised as a hawk, could fly above him and swoop in at the last second. The others however would crawl as closely as they dare and mount a surprise frontal attack, panicking the wizard and allowing them the opportunity to apprehend him swiftly, before he had time to resist them.

  No bravado would be attempted by any member of the group. This was no armed felon, this was a wizard and as such, a dangerous adversary.

  Grubb circled high above the scene. Ordinarily he would not have been able to see Faylore, but with his raptor eyes, he could clearly see her shimmering outline merely yards from the unsuspecting wizard. Jared, Hannock and Lodren had managed to ascend the gentle slope and were now at the camp’s edge, when the wizard spoke. “If you wish to survive this night I suggest you step into the light before I judge you an enemy, sight unseen.” This was something they had not envisaged.

  “You have committed crimes against the people of Borell and must answer for them. Do not resist and no harm shall come to you, you have my word,” called Jared.

  “And who are you, that skulks in the darkness, to offer me your word?” asked the wizard.

  “I am Prince Jared Dunbar of House Dunbar; my word is law.”

  “Why, Jared Dunbar, should I obey your laws?”

  Hannock could contain himself no longer. “Listen you scrawny little runt, give up or I’ll come in there and cut your bloody head off.”

  “Put your dog on a leash, Dunbar, before he gets you both killed, or are there more than just the two of you?”

  “Try to hurt my friends and I’ll smash your head in,” shouted Lodren.

  “That’s three, or are there even more of you?”

  Hannock turned his head and whispered to Jared. “Likes the sound of his own voice this one.”

  “I think they all do. Remember Reiggan?” replied Jared.

  “Can I just go and bash him now, Mr Jared?” asked Lodren.

  The wizard was now on his guard, pointing his wand in front of him.

  “You’ll be dead before you even get close, Prince.”

  Grubb, seeing an opening, seized his chance. Closing his wings to his sides he dove down toward the wizard’s hand as he brandished his chosen weapon. The three friends charged into the camp, but not quickly enough, the wizard cast a spell. A green mist shot from the end of the wand as quickly as a firebolt and hit Jared in the shoulder, spinning him round in mid-air and taking Hannock down with him as he hit the ground. Lodren, seeing his friends fall, wanted revenge and resumed his charge, hammer held aloft. Grubb had reached his mark and snatched the wizard’s wand cleanly from his grasp with razor sharp talons as Faylore appeared right behind the deranged warlock. Lodren stopped dead in his tracks. A look of confusion had come across the wizard’s face, how had this happened? Where had she come from? He did not know the answers as he looked down at the curved, runed sword that now protruded from his chest, the hilt unseen, as it was pressed firmly against his spine. Slowly, he sank to his knees. “Do you think you’ve won? There are others like me, it is our time. We have protected fools like you for far too long. We shall burn your kingdoms, kill your families…”

  Faylore placed her foot against his shoulder and pushed, withdrawing her sword. The wizard was dead.

  He had been the result of Karrak’s twisted experiments, driven mad by prolonged periods of possession combined with the resulting fatigue and amnesia. But of this, the companions were oblivious.

  Jared was now their priority. Stripping his armour from him they inspected his wound that somehow, already seemed infected.

  “Same as the villagers,” said Grubb. “Out of the way.” He held his hands above the wound in the same way as he had when Faylore was on death’s doorstep, but after a few minutes realised that it was having no effect. “I don’t understand, it’s not working. Why isn’t it working?” he asked.

  “It’s not a wound that can be healed so easily, Grubb,” said Faylore, “The treatment of hexes and curses is always difficult, he’ll be fine. It’s just going to take time.”

  Grubb transformed into a hawk once more and flew to inform the guard to meet them as quickly as they could. The same guard who had treated Jimmy now attended to Jared’s shoulder and, within the hour, Jared, although a little disoriented, was awake. “Did we get him, Hannock?” he asked as soon as his eyes opened.

  “Yes, Jared, we got him,” replied Hannock. Hannock had heard the death speech of the wizard, but held his tongue. He would discuss it with Jared later when he had rested and was a little more coherent. Two of the guard placed Jared gently onto Lodren’s cart and covered him, allowing him to rest.

  Hannock, as a military man was used to hiding his emotions but now, as he stood before Faylore he took her hand. “You saved our lives tonight. Faylore, Jared means more to me than any brother could, if I lost him…”

  Faylore gazed into his eyes. “What a strange race you are. You embrace life but risk it for one another so readily, at any moment it could be snatched from you. Why lose that life when it is so obvious that it would be a heartbreak to those near to you?”

  Hannock smiled. “The most powerful magic in the world, Your Majesty… Love.”

  ***

  Jared awoke, slightly delirious. “Hannock,” he groaned. Hannock rushed to his side. “What happened?”

  “You were wounded by a nasty spell, similar to the villagers, it’s your shoulder...”

  “Oh really! I hadn’t noticed,” snapped Jared, wincing in pain as he attempted to move his arm.

  “It happened so fast, Jared, I couldn’t…”

  “No, no. I’m sorry, Hannock, I never meant to snap at you. It just that… it’s agony.”

  “That poultice should ease the pain until we can get you back to Borell. Once you’re settled, I’ll bring a fresh patrol and continue the search.”

  “Continue? But you said you got him.”

  Hannock explained what the wizard had said before he died. “I need to check the other villages to make sure there aren’t any more of these wizards troubling them, then I can rest.”

  “Well you can think again, Captain. We’re not going home until we check the villages, and that’s an order. Get my armour and my horse, we have work to do.”

  Hannock begged and pleaded with Jared to return to the castle in order for his wound to be attended to, but Jared would not hear of it. “Once we have checked the villages we’ll go home, and inform the men that if they blab about this to anyone, I’ll have them put in the stocks.”

  “You mean apart from the king of course?”

  “I said anyone, Hannock, especially the king.”

  ***

  Day by day and village by village, their mission continued. They entered each one with trepidation and spoke with the village elders, fearing the worst. Luckily, their fears proved to be unfounded as the list of remaining outposts grew shorter, and reaching the last village, Jared, exhausted due to his own stubbornness, met with the elders. They had neither seen nor heard anything untoward and were more concerned with the prince’s health than their safety. It was thought that a brief respite and a night at the inn would help and, too tired to argue, Jared had relented. The idea, of course, had been Hannock’s and the following morning, much to his relief, they turned and headed home.

  “When we get home, Hannock, I’m going to sleep for a week.”

  “How’s the shoulder, Jared? Does the dressing need changing yet?”

  “Changed this morning when you were getting the men ready,” said Jared.

  “We’ll get it looked at properly when we arrive home.”

  “Can’t do that, the court physician will go straight to my father. It’s his sworn duty to inform the king of an
y wound or minor injury incurred by a member of the royal family.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” said Hannock, winking at him.

  “What are you up to now?” asked Jared.

  “We’ll be back in Borell soon. Fear not, Your Highness, you’re in safe hands.”

  ***

  Barden opened his eyes. Lying on the ground in complete darkness and unsure of his surroundings, his first attempt to rise was halted by the aches and pains across, it seemed, his entire body. His wounds, of which there were many, were superficial but to one of his advanced years, very painful. He glanced around in a bid to get his bearings, he was in a cave, alone, or so he thought.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Karrak? Is that you?” asked Barden, peering at the silhouette.

  “Of course it’s me you fool, who else would have kept watch over you as long as I?”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Two days. I had to keep checking to make sure you weren’t dead.”

  “Not yet, but it was close I fear, very close, too close.”

  “Yes, we need to talk about that, Barden. Glad you brought it up.”

  Barden’s mind began to race as he recalled the turn of events that had placed them both here. He had failed to deliver the Elixian Soul as he had promised. A look of dread came upon his face as it dawned on him that he would now have to face the wrath of Karrak for that failure.

  “Prince Karrak, I must…”

  “Don’t call me that,” bellowed Karrak.

  “I am no longer a member of the festering House Dunbar. My heritage was destroyed the moment I was incarcerated by you and your turnkeys. I am Lord Karrak from this day forward, understand?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Now, the Elixian Soul, how are you going to get it for me?”

  Barden was expecting the question but was hesitant to reply. Whatever he said would not be received with understanding.

  “It is doubtful that the Soul still resides within Reiggan, Lord Karrak. It will have been relocated within moments of our attempt to acquire it.”

  “Don’t you mean your attempt, Barden? You were the one who allowed them to follow you. You are the one who lost his grip and dropped it. You are the one who allowed it to be frozen in a block of ice and you are the one who, rather than fight for it, ran away with his tail between his legs.”

  “We would have been killed, Lord Karrak. I feared not for my own life, but for yours. You do not know how to transport yourself. If I had been killed, you would have been next.”

  Karrak, now sitting on a rock, drummed his fingers against his thigh as he stared at Barden. “Alright, Barden, I’ll give you that. Now where would they have taken the Soul?” he asked.

  “It will be in a location that is unknown to me,” replied Barden nervously.

  “That’s the problem. You don’t know, and they’re not stupid enough to put it somewhere you might suspect. Well, I’ll get it eventually, but patience is not my greatest virtue. You will aid me to hone my skills, I will not be caught off guard again.”

  “It would be my honour, my Lord.”

  Barden rose from the ground and stepped toward Karrak but then whirled around, a firebolt appearing in his hand. He had heard a cough, and began to look for the person responsible.

  “Oh don’t mind him, Barden,” said Karrak, beckoning toward the darkness. A man appeared, at least Barden believed it to be a man. He lurched toward them, deformities of his spine and legs preventing him from walking properly. “I haven’t named him yet,” Karrak informed Barden, “I know, I’ll call him… ‘Barden’.”

  “My Lord, where did you find him? What happened to him?”

  “Two days Barden, two days. I had to find something to amuse myself with.”

  The wreckage of a man that now stood before them was an innocent passerby, a victim of his own good intention. He had discovered Karrak as he lay unconscious, outside the cave. He had given him water and enquired after his health. His reward was to be tortured, thus providing Karrak’s amusement.

  ***

  Karrak’s instruction in magic covered many subjects. He seemed to have a penchant for fire spells, but this paled into insignificance as soon as mind control was introduced. He continued to practise on the poor stranger he had taken as his pet until one day he went a little too far, and the poor soul perished, his body twisted beyond recognition. Karrak showed no remorse at his death, merely mentioning that he would need another test subject as he dragged the corpse from the cave. Even Barden, his greatest advocate, was shocked by his callous demeanour.

  Karrak walked, as he did regularly, through the forest and happened upon another stranger who was attempting to repair the broken wheel on his cart.

  “Having a spot of bother?” asked Karrak.

  The stranger turned slowly.

  “What’s it to do with you? Sling your hook before I break your face.”

  He was almost the size of Karrak, the tell-tale scars on his face revealing that he was a ruffian.

  “Now that’s not very nice is it? I merely asked you a question.” Karrak had a huge smile on his face, thoroughly amused that this vagabond thought that, in some way, he could bring harm to him.

  “Second time, piss off. I won’t warn you again.”

  “I think you need a lesson in manners,” sneered Karrak.

  The traveller stood and stormed toward Karrak, fists clenched. He was within arm’s length before Karrak held out his hand. The stranger stopped abruptly as if he had been struck in the chest and fell to his knees. This was, after all, self-defence and enough of a motive for Karrak to practise his art of mutilation. How easy it had been to goad the fool into action. Karrak turned his wrist back and forth and with each movement a part of his victim was affected. First his face, which looked as if someone was pulling at his cheeks, stretching the flesh so far that it looked as if it would tear open. His jawbone stretched outward, crunching and cracking as it contorted under Karrak’s magical manipulation. His arms and legs twisted, the joints bending the wrong way. His would-be attacker was attempting to beg for mercy but all that came from his contorted lips were incoherent whimpers. Karrak continued with his experiment for over half an hour as tears ran down the bleeding cheeks of his prey until, with a spin of Karrak’s wrist, there was a loud crunch, and the victim fell to the ground dead, Karrak had deliberately broken his neck.

  Karrak rubbed his hands together, pleased with his results. “Interesting” he said and, without a second glance, headed back toward his cave.

  Karrak became more powerful with Barden’s instruction. His ventures into the forest continued and many bandits, and innocents alike, suffered the same fate as the first. Time after time he would kidnap unsuspecting strays, sometimes bringing them to the cave, others tortured where they were discovered, but always with the same inevitable conclusion… their death.

  CHAPTER 12

  Jared was comfortable next to his father, as the goblet of wine that Tamor had poured, had been the first of many. The pain in his shoulder had now subsided, a combination of the skilful application of the poultice by Alfred, and alcohol. He glanced around the room once more, still careful not to make eye contact with the peacocks. His brow furrowed suddenly, maybe he had over-indulged a little. Shaking his head, he realised that his eyes were not playing tricks on him. At the far end of the hall, obviously trying to get his attention, was Hannock. Jared rose and unsteadily approached his best friend.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Hannock,” slurred Jared. “These people are so boring. See him over there…”

  “I need to speak to you, outside.” Hannock, grabbing him by the elbow, marched Jared from the room.

  “What on earth’s wrong, Hannock?”

  Hannock gave Jared a look of disapproval. “How much have you had to drink tonight? You’re wobbling all over the place.”

  “Probably more than is good for me. But those people, really, Hannock, you have no
idea…”

  “Well I’ve got something that’ll sober you up.”

  “I don’t want to sober up, I’ve got to go back in there and…”

  “Karrak’s escaped!” Blurted out Hannock.

  “What!? What do you mean, he’s escaped?” asked Jared, closing one eye in an attempt to focus.

  “Barden helped him escape. Attacked the guards, killed one of them, and escaped.”

  Jared shook his head, trying to make sense of the devastating news. “Does my father know yet?” he asked.

  “You’re the first,” replied Hannock.

  “How did you find out?” asked Jared, still swaying.

  “One of the senior wizards from Reiggan Fortress. He’s already gone, said it was most important that he return immediately.”

  Jared, bleary-eyed, looked at Hannock. “I think I’d better be the one to tell my father.”

  “I agree entirely, but not yet. You need to sober up, then we’ll see him together,” said Hannock dragging Jared toward his office.

  Jared was plied with medicinal beverages, supplied by Alfred, and had done something nobody should witness a prince doing, before, sometime later, the friends headed back toward the throne room.

  Jared approached the musicians. Holding out his hand for them to cease playing, he turned to address the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, forgive my intrusion, you must all leave.” No apology was offered to the guests as, with Hannock’s instruction, the guards escorted everyone from the room. King Tamor had not questioned his son’s decision to end the gathering so abruptly and sat patiently, awaiting his explanation. Jared ordered the guards from the room, Hannock being the only exception, and approached his father.

  Their conversation had barely begun when there was a bang on the door and a guard announced, “The wizard Emnor seeks an audience, Your Majesty. He informs me that it is of great import, Sire.”

  With the king’s permission, Hannock opened the door, allowing Emnor to enter. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I came as soon as I heard the news.”