“Harley, fetch me a pig. Not a piglet, a fully-grown pig. Take it to the chamber that Karrak occupied during his… visit.”
“A pig, Master Emnor?” asked Harley.
“Yes, Harley, a pig, hurry now, I don’t have all day. Oh and, Harley, don’t keep calling me Master, it makes me sound so old.”
Harley raised his finger as if he were about to speak, but looking into Emnor’s eyes, thought it wiser not to mention his senior’s age.
“A pig, right, Emnor, a pig,” and he wandered off, muttering to himself.
Harley returned a while later. A scruffy-looking yokel followed him, a large man, leading a pig by a rope. Emnor stared at the man but said nothing and kept a straight face despite the fact that the similarity in appearance between the pig and its owner, amused him greatly.
Reaching into his robes, he passed Harley some coin which Harley, in turn, gave to the pig-faced man.
“Thank you, Sir, if you need anything else…”
Harley ushered him from the room, where another wizard took the duty of escorting the man from the premises.
“Where did you find him?” asked Emnor.
“One of the villages down on the plains. I had to transport him and the pig. He didn’t trust me to take him the coin later.”
“Well done, Harley, that will be all for now,” said Emnor dismissing the young wizard.
Harley nodded and headed for the door. He longed to ask Emnor why he needed a pig but held his tongue understanding that, if he needed to know, Emnor would have told him. He closed the door behind him.
Emnor approached the pig, “Well at least you’re clean,” he said smiling. He held out his hand, palm facing the pig. It began to twitch and shake and then wobbled as it began to grow taller and stood up on its hind legs. The snout drew in and the ears became smaller, its hind legs grew longer and straightened and its front legs stretched out, its trotters becoming feet and hands on its new limbs. Its face, now flatter, transformed, sprouting new features as it grew a long, grey beard. All of the transformations took only a minute until, Emnor lowered his hand, and was now looking… at himself. “Not bad at all,” he said quietly, “but we can’t have you naked can we?”
He took a few minutes to place robes on his doppelganger and tidy its beard. He now stood, admiring his work. The ‘pig’ just stood there motionless. There was no consciousness present in this created lifeform. Emnor took no pleasure in erasing the mind of a dumb animal but realised that it would be kinder than the poor beast suffering the agonising pain of the transformation.
Satisfied with his results, Emnor lay on the bed and closed his eyes. A second later the doppelganger held up his hands to study them.
“Not bad,” it said, “not bad at all,” it repeated.
Emnor had, of course, possessed the perfect replica of himself. The concern from his fellow wizards had given him the idea. If the fake Emnor was destroyed, admittedly a shame for the pig, he, at least, would survive. His intention was to eventually face Karrak, and the destruction of this body was indeed, a distinct possibility if Karrak’s powers, with the aid of Barden, had grown significantly.
A simple test was needed. Poking his head through the door he asked a passing wizard to summon Harley to the chambers. Harley, arriving a short while later and, after knocking politely and entering, stood before Emnor who had carefully covered his real body.
“You summoned me, Barden?” he asked, as he quickly glanced around the room, wondering what had happened to the pig.
“Did I?” Emnor asked, feigning a cross between ignorance and amnesia, “Can’t remember what I wanted you for now, too much on my mind. So sorry, dear boy, it’ll come to me later no doubt.”
“Is there anything else?” Harley asked, now completely confused.
“No thank you, sorry to waste your time. You carry on with whatever you were doing.”
Harley wasn’t stupid, far from it in fact. Emnor had summoned him for a reason and his reason had been achieved. He was ambitious and tenacious, but knew when to keep his mouth shut so, with a slight nod, he left the room.
Emnor rubbed his hands together, perfect. Not only had his puppet worked, he had found a worthy apprentice along the way.
Harley was not completely sure what the test had been, but he had realised that this had been one.
As the new Head of the Administration, Emnor attended many meetings over the following weeks. The Elixian Soul had been secreted once more and security measures at Reiggan had also been addressed, but in the back of Emnor’s mind was still the worry of Karrak’s possible attempt to gain revenge on the Borellians. “We must aid them should they need it,” he said during one such meeting.
“Why would Prince Karrak risk exposure by doing exactly what we think he will?” asked one of the seniors.
“His need for revenge will eat away at his very being. It will consume him and drive him insane, if it has not already done so. Mark my words, Karrak will try to kill his own family.”
***
Ramah sat, honing the edge of his black sword, glancing up as Karrak neared him. “What’s your plan then, sorcerer?” he asked.
Karrak raised his eyebrows at the insolent tone used by Ramah. “Watch your tongue, Dergon,” he snarled. Korbah, still loyal to his leader, stepped forward. “And what are you going to do, dog? One more step and I’ll roast you where you stand,” snapped Karrak.
Ramah held up his hand and Korbah took a step back.
“That’s better. Keep your distance,” Karrak sneered at him.
“Are we going into battle today, sorcerer, or are you just here to insult us?” asked Ramah.
Karrak looked around at the Dergon warriors, repulsed by their appearance. He wanted nothing more than to take pleasure by butchering every single one of them himself, but had to face a solitary fact, he needed them… for now. Turning back to Ramah he spoke again, “Are they ready?” he asked.
“They are, but what are your intentions, sorcerer?” Ramah asked, still a hint of doubt in his voice.
“A simple plan. One that even your followers can understand,” replied Karrak.
Korbah growled at the slur, but remained stationary. Karrak glanced at him and laughed. “As I was saying. Lead your warriors in a frontal attack, make as much noise as you can to get their full attention. The arrogance of the Borellians will get the better of them, causing them to open the gates and charge directly at you. You however, must hold your position until they reach the halfway point between you and the castle. Then, and only then, divide your forces equally to each side. I shall pass between you and destroy every last one of them, leaving you only open ground to cover before you enter the gates. You may lose a few warriors to arrows, but once inside, you can exact your revenge quite easily against such a diminished force. I will follow once the castle is taken, then we can discuss the well-earned compensation for your endeavours. An easy victory, wouldn’t you agree?”
“We shall see, Lord Karrak, but trust me, any hint of deception and I’ll kill you myself,” answered Ramah.
Karrak stayed calm, he had a loathing of the Dergon. Their green skin, their deformed faces and most of all, their stupidity, disgusted him. The sooner they were eradicated, the better. “Why would I deceive you, Ramah? We are friends after all.”
***
The Dergon moved stealthily into position. If they were spied too soon, the plan would fail, and this was a risk that Ramah was not willing to take. Reaching their position, they were now set.
“Just picture your hands around King Tamor’s throat,” Karrak had said.
“CHARGE!” Roared Ramah.
The Dergon, following his orders, flew headlong toward the castle gates.
In the distance, a horn sounded and the gates sprang open. The mounted Borellians charged through, bearing down on their targets. Reaching the halfway point they saw the Dergon part, but could see no reason for them to do so, only making them easier prey for their spears. The enemies clashed, scre
ams and roars were heard as the battle commenced. Ramah spun around and around. Where was Karrak? Where was the sorcery that had been promised to aid them with their victory? Dergon warriors, one after another, fell to axe, spear and sword.
For the briefest of moments, Ramah saw Karrak. He had not moved, not a single step as he laughed out loud, whilst witnessing the slaughter of the Dergon, before vanishing.
In the blink of an eye, he re-appeared between the castle gates, pausing momentarily to salute Ramah before turning away and walking through them. With a wave of his hand, the gates closed behind him. “Now where’s the old goat hiding?” he asked himself.
“Welcome home, Brother,” Jared shouted from high on the ramparts.
Karrak looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. His arrival had not, as he believed, been undetected.
“Well, well, if it’s not big brother. Where’s your sidekick, Hannock? Are his lips not firmly on your backside as usual?”
“Not today, Karrak,” shouted Hannock, “but you know me, never far away from defending the royal house.”
“There he is. Your little toy soldier. You should be a little more courteous to me after what you said in Reiggan, Captain. Who knows, I might allow you to live so that you can serve me, not torture you like I’m going to do to my obnoxious brother and traitorous father.”
Jared looked across at Hannock. “But you never said anything in Reiggan.”
Hannock racked his brains, trying to recall the events at Reiggan. Suddenly it dawned on him. How could he have heard, he was asleep? The realisation on his face was obvious.
“Hannock, what did you say?” demanded Jared.
“I said it so quietly, how did he hear?”
“Said what?” asked Jared with an urgent frustration.
Hannock was now glaring at Karrak. “Let me just cut his throat and have rid of him. And I meant it.”
“You coward. You would have murdered me in my sleep. Not even the courage to face me like a man,” said Karrak mockingly.
“I’ll face you now, Karrak. Just you and me, any weapon you choose.”
Hannock was headed toward the steps that lead down from the ramparts.
“Hannock, no!” shouted Jared.
The only way to hurt Hannock was to attack his pride and Karrak knew this.
Now halfway down the steps, Hannock drew his sword. “I’m going to take your bloody head off, Karrak.”
Karrak pouted. “Oh the poor soldier’s all upset, come here…” his tone changed to a growl “…and I’ll make the pain go away.”
Jared knew that Karrak was enjoying this game and that no good would come of it, especially for Hannock.
Karrak thrust his hands out in front of him as Hannock reached the foot of the steps. Hannock, being a seasoned military man, had expected this and dodged to the side, but not quite far enough, as the firebolt glanced off the side of his breastplate, mostly going under his arm but searing his exposed bicep. Jared was almost as quick to respond and in turn had thrust his hands forward. Nothing could be seen, no fire, no water, no ice, but Karrak was suddenly blasted backwards by the invisible force and he crashed into the gates behind him.
Hannock, driven by rage, was attempting to get to his feet but was hit by another firebolt, this time in the back, throwing him to the ground where he remained, motionless. There was a boom like thunder as the ground split open before Karrak, who fell forward into the crevice that had appeared, confusion on his face.
“Sorry, Mr Jared. I missed him.” It was Lodren.
An arrow whistled past Karrak’s head, missing him by an inch, then another and another.
Karrak threw up a fire wall that turned the following arrows to ash before they reached him, but he did not block the talons that ripped a piece of flesh from his cheek. He was dazed, he could not focus, as hard as he tried. Karrak struggled to his feet. “I’ll kill you all,” he roared and threw up his hands once more.
“Not today ye won’t.” A large creature had appeared immediately in front of him. He hesitated momentarily, he had never seen the likes of it before. His confusion grew as he studied its form, about ten feet tall and with… four arms? It punched him full in the face with two of its fists, launching him into the air. He landed in a heap. The rain of arrows had resumed, the four-armed beast was charging at him and the ground beside him split once more. Realising his defeat, he closed his eyes… and vanished.
***
Faylore reached Hannock first. He was badly burned. Tears welled in her eyes as she turned to Grubb, who had now squatted beside them. “Can you help him?” she begged.
“He’s pretty bad, Your Majesty, but I’ll do me best.”
Jared and Lodren were now with them and Jared took a knee beside his dearest friend. “I’ll give you anything, Grubb, anything, just save him.”
Grubb rubbed his hands together as the others turned Hannock over. Faylore gasped at the sight of his wounds. One side of his face was almost gone, literally melted. The flesh had been seared from his bicep and the bone could be seen beneath, and on removing his armour, three of his ribs were visible.
“He’s going to be fine, Mr Jared, you’ll see,” said Lodren, openly crying.
Grubb spent half an hour taking care of their wounded friend before turning to the rest of the companions. “I’ve done as much as I can, his arm will be fine and his back. His face doesn’t look that bad now, and it’ll look better with time. There’s nothing I can do about his eye, Jared, it’s gone, nothing left to heal I’m afraid. I’m really sorry.”
Jared’s mind flashed back to his conversation with Alfred in The Weary Traveller, when George was the first to suffer such a wound. “Don’t you dare apologise, Grubb,” he said, “Hannock’s alive, alive because of you.”
They had survived their encounter with Karrak, but at great expense, having nearly lost their friend. Worst of all, was that it had been for nought… once again Karrak had escaped.
***
Karrak re-appeared on the outskirts of Barnford, one of the smaller villages in Tamor’s kingdom. His wounds were minor, despite the attempts of the companions to make them more severe. He leaned against a fencepost in order to catch his breath. How had he failed? he thought. Who had come to Jared’s aid? The unseen bowman, the being with the hammer, the four-armed creature. Who were they?
At least he had managed to kill Jared’s lapdog, Hannock, or so he thought.
Venturing into the village, he stumbled through the open doorway of the tavern. A young girl rushed from behind the bar and grabbed his arm. “What happened to you? Here, sit down,” she said.
“Bandits,” replied Karrak, “a few miles from here…”
“Alright,” continued the girl, “that can wait, let’s get you cleaned up first.” She cleaned and dressed his wounds with surprising ease and Karrak was intrigued by her skill.
“You have a healer’s touch, my dear lady. Are you a physician?” he asked, smiling.
“No, Sir, my father was a soldier. I learned how to patch up his wounds from a young age, it comes as second-nature now, second to running the tavern,” she laughed, “It comes in handy when the customers start brawling after too much ale!”
“This is your tavern then?” asked Karrak.
“Yes,” she replied, “left to me by my father.”
“But you said your father was a soldier?”
“He was,” she replied, “but he was not the sort of man who wasted his money on ale and gambling. He saved his pay for many years and bought the inn as an investment for his retirement.”
“And your mother?” asked Karrak.
“She died when I was a child. I barely remember her.”
“What a tragedy, my dear, you are still so young and already an orphan. Your father died in battle I presume?”
“No, Sir, he was murdered.”
“Murdered?!” exclaimed Karrak.
“Yes. His body was discovered, hidden behind some barrels, in the grounds of Borell Cas
tle. His neck was broken.”
“How terrible for you, but it must have given you some satisfaction to see the murderer hanged?”
“No, Sir, he was never caught!”
Karrak remembered grabbing the girl’s father, squeezing with all his might and then twisting until he heard the crunch as he crushed the life out of him. “I feel I must apologise my dear. You have been so kind and I have no means with which to pay you. I am a humble merchant and the bandits, they took my wares as well as my coin.” His act was working perfectly.
The girl took his hand. “Don’t worry about that,” she said, “my father always taught me that we should help a person in need. There may be a day when I need your help,” she smiled.
“And if that day comes, you shall receive more than you deserve, dear lady, far more.”
The girl held out her hand. “My name’s Maria, by the way.”
***
Karrak spent the next few days recuperating with the help of Maria, who waited on him, bringing food and drink at regular intervals, glad of the interruption to her fairly mundane life. Various villagers came and went, each attempting to engage Karrak in idle conversation but instead receiving a frosty reception as he showed his true colours. They were of no use to him, there was no need for civility toward them.
Karrak, sat at a table in the tavern, glared at the two locals who had dared to enter the now, hostile atmosphere of the tavern, an atmosphere that was felt by all except the hostess, who had become besotted with the handsome stranger.
The patrons sat at the bar on tall stools and occasionally one would look in Karrak’s direction during their mumbled conversation. Karrak suffered their impertinence for a short while but, as was always the case, his temper got the better of him. “Something to say to me?” he asked. “Come on, out with it.” The locals said nothing, pretending that it was not they who were being addressed. “I’m talking to you. Answer me.” Still they said nothing. “As I thought, children in a classroom. Telling tales and making up stories.”
The Ascension of Karrak Page 20
