“My plans require even more power than we have already assembled. If I can unite even one brood of succubi and their thralls with an entire city of slagfell, the surface creatures will become much less of a concern,” Zabalas spoke aloud, slamming a gauntleted fist into his open palm and staring at the undead figure beside him. “Soon I will convince all of the surface brutes to join me, but for now the lich and the succubi families are my main focus.” Phaera peeked back over her shoulder as she walked away and he appeared to be speaking to himself more than anyone else.
As Megnus and Phaera exited, the slagfell leaned in to her.
“Ye’ll never replace his Nydiri,” he whispered to her as a thinly veiled threat. “In doin’ so, ye tempt the hand o’ demons even ye can’t imagine.”
Without warning or even a sound, and before the succubus could respond, the slagfell warrior was launched from his boots by a mighty hand. He was sent spinning through the air to land unceremoniously on his back. Megnus rolled to a stop and wiped his bleeding lip, all the while looking up in shock at the dark figure towering over him, glaring at him with contempt and rage, the likes of which he had never seen before. It shook the warrior to his core.
Zabalas’s face appeared distorted and the rage set upon it was immeasurable. His expression was cold and vicious, with a look of unholy power in his black eyes that seemed not to register any pupils at present—he looked truly fiendish, thought Phaera.
“You shall never speak that name again!” Zabalas threatened as he withdrew a wicked blade from its scabbard, the tip drawing ever closer to Megnus’s face. A flame burst forth from it, ranging in hue from pink to a deep purple that flickered along its length. He drew it nearer to eventually touch the pale skin of Megnus’ face. The slagfell warrior flinched in response.
Phaera was told once by a servant that though there were flames that danced upon the steel of his blade, it was a cold sensation that would overrun you when the blade touched your skin. She did not want to put that rumor to the test anytime soon.
“If you do you will feel the cold taste of my blade as it drains your very life…slowly and agonizingly,” Zabalas finished the threat calmly in a whisper to the fallen warrior.
Phaera could have sworn she saw a smiling face within the flames of the sword. She had never before witnessed anything like the power that this man possessed.
If indeed he was a man.
How‘d he cross twenty paces so durned quickly in that heavy armor and not even make a sound? Megnus wondered, his face stinging from the heavy blow.
The blackened armor that the warlord bore was so polished that he could witness his own horrified reflection within its shiny, mirrored sheen. As if noticing for the first time, Megnus observed that Zabalas’s armor was completely pristine, whereas his own armor was dull and marked with numerous battle scars.
Zabalas was the most powerful creature Megnus Bloodstone had ever seen and he felt it wise to remain on his good side. The slagfell was a general within his clan’s military structure, a prince, and heir to the throne of Shadowmere. He was above all else, a seasoned warrior who battled everything the Subterrane and the surface folk could muster. But this individual before him triggered an unparalleled and irrational fear that was very alien to him.
Whatever…thing …gave Zabalas his power, it be a ruinous creature fer sure, I be thinkin’, Megnus considered. He sat amidst the piles of bones on the floor of Zabalas’s throne room in humiliation and watched as the warlord walked away.
Zabalas was back on his throne when Megnus got to his feet once more. Phaera snickered again as she watched the proud slagfell right himself and exit the throne room. The ire in the warlord’s expression and the ferocity of that backhand strike told her exactly what his legendary bride-to-be meant to him.
What a woman you must have been, Nydiri, Phaera supposed, to elicit such rage!
Legend also had it that Zabalas had once been a Templar, a paladin, or some type of holy warrior, and that his beloved was killed while he was off fighting a war.
She looked up from where the slagfell had landed, noticing the small smattering of blood on the floor, and then back to the man sitting upon the throne. She thought of how he seemed to transform a little more each day into something more…fierce…more nefarious…and wondered if it really was her imagination or not.
Yes, this version of Zabalas has the potential to lead the very forces of Pandemonium into war, she contemplated as she continued toward her chambers. Aspect Nahemia would be wise in choosing this one as her champion!
Once in her room, Phaera gazed into the larger mirror on her wall and willed her natural demonic side to show through, revealing a more ferocious and distorted type of beauty as her amber eyes glowed bright in the mirror’s reflection.
Curved, ivory horns jutted from her forehead. Her ears sharpened at the tips, looking somewhat elven in that regard. The claws on her fingers elongated and hardened. A set of bat-like wings sprung from her back and a tail sprouted from her backside. She smiled, revealing a sharp pair of fangs. Then she quickly willed that form to fade and ran a hand through her thick, white hair. She fell onto her bed comfortably and reflected upon recent events.
Zabalas took a seat upon his throne once more.
“My influence is growing with each day, isn’t it father?” Zabalas directed toward the undead creature at his side. The thing looked at Zabalas as if to say something, but instead merely gargled something instead before looking away from him. This was, of course, due to the fact that the creature was lacking a tongue
“I employ one large contingent of orcs and goblin tribes, who are completely under my command and there is more to come,” Zabalas boasted as he stood and folded his arms over his chest. “Now, I must once more confer with the lich and make sure we are working toward regaining the item that holds his soul—the key to his unbridled and glorious return to power,” Zabalas continued explaining to the undead creature.
He began to make his way toward the exit of his throne room, the sound of his boots echoing off the walls of the large, nearly empty hall. “With this once-powerful creature returned to full strength and at my beck and call, the possibilities are endless.”
With that, Zabalas exited the room, disappearing down a hall. The undead creature that was once his father shambled loyally just a few paces behind.
Chapter 5
Barguth the goblin walked slowly down a passage within the long-abandoned temple, in the direction of a cell that held their prisoners. He led a worg along on a leash, which was not uncommon for goblins, who often provided services as mounted cavalry to orcs in times of war. Worgs, or dire wolves as they were also called, were kin to the wolves, only larger, stronger, and more cunning. They were able to grow in size to match that of a small horse, which was why the goblins chose them as steeds.
Barguth scratched a tuft of black hair that sat upon his green-tinted head with a set of sharp claws. To an untrained observer, it would seem that the worg was leading the goblin, but this was not the case. Barguth was an experienced rider and commanded the unyielding obedience of his beast due to decades of training.
There was a cunning sentience behind the deep red pupils of the tiny goblin that belied his outward appearance. He was very clever and this fact aided him in many a battle, since foes generally underestimated him. It was also the reason he was given the important job of checking on the prisoners. He didn’t quite know why Commander Grubb wanted to keep the prisoners alive, but he was sure there must be a good reason.
Barguth hated their temporary lair. It was dank, dark and smelled like the living dead. That was the thing that bothered him most, he admitted. Goblins mostly inhabited abandoned villages, burrows, or caverns on the uppermost reaches of the Subterrane, which made them somewhat immune to the filth and smells that accompanied those places. But it was a distinct and significantly pungent odor that the undead produced which offended even the senses of the goblins.
The stench was due to the
unusually large number of undead creatures that were encountered wandering the grounds here. Though their numbers were many, Barguth knew that the combined forces of goblinoids gathered here could handle them, especially with the mighty ograthi fighting alongside the orcs and goblins.
There were only a few of the ograthi brutes in their force, but they were fearsome creatures indeed. They were the product of crossbreeding ogres and orcs, which resulted in a larger, stronger—albeit hairier—orc. They were less intelligent than either of the two races combined, but were extremely loyal to their masters.
Barguth recalled the first encounter his contingent had with the walking dead. Grubb and a few of the overlords, who made up the officers within the orc ranks, entered the initial cavern, along with the Shaman Tukk. Tukk, bone staff in hand, investigated the drawings and symbols on the walls that Barguth did not understand. Being the smartest and highest ranking of the shamans within the Bonemasher clan—Tukk was the one chosen to come with Grubb on this important mission.
As Tukk communed with the spirit world to uncover clues about the symbols, an animated skeleton emerged from the darkness and attacked. Barguth recalled how two of the huge ograthi smashed the animated skeleton in unison, spraying bones far and wide.
The ograthi troops that Grubb brought, along with the overlord’s retinue, made Barguth more than a little uncomfortable. He did not care for the big, hairy creatures and they did not care for him much either, he sensed. Sometimes they looked at him as if he was a tasty morsel to be eaten.
He and the orcs got along for the most part, but the majority of them hated the smaller goblins and often abused them whenever they could get away with it. They did not like Barguth especially because he was treated well by the commander. Grubb often favored Barguth with important tasks instead of his own officers. This openly angered the orcs, but Barguth knew they would never disobey their leader.
Grubb had recently sent word back to Chieftain Kelgarek in Chansuk, but, with the acolytes in their captivity and a storm brewing outside, they thought it best to wait here until Grubb ordered them to move out again.
Chieftain Kelgarek was the mightiest orc that Barguth had ever seen—though Grubb was a close second. Kelgarek was said to have been prophesized by the orc shamans and sooth-sayers as the one to lead the combined forces of the Bloody Fang goblin tribe and the Bonemasher orc clan in the upcoming war. He was the one who realized the folly of their passive ways and decided that they should be recognized as the ruling force of Wothlondia.
They would no longer live in the shadows of the elves and humans on the surface. They would no longer trade or make peace with them. They were stronger and far superior to the other races and should rule them—not do business with them. This was reinforced by the shamans, who claimed to have foreseen Kelgarek as the one and only orc capable of uniting and leading the goblinoids in the coming war against the so-called Races of Order. Of course Kogh, the goblin king, did not agree.
Barguth continued down the passage, focusing on his current task. Leading the worg down another set of corridors, where he came to an area with cell doors in a circular pattern. He moved to one particular door that was mostly solid wood. It had a sliding panel covering a peephole. The worg sniffed around and snarled until the goblin smacked its snout with a bit of leather strap, quieting the beast.
Barguth climbed on top of the worg, stood nimbly on its back, and steadied himself. He slid the cover to the side with his clawed fingers and peered into the room. It seemed there was nothing stirring inside, no movement at all. He secretly hoped they were all dead, but then remembered that Grubb wanted them alive. Either way, the prisoners were not awake and he felt that was enough to report immediately back to Grubb.
He slid down onto the makeshift saddle atop the beast, kicking a boot hard into its side. The worg sped off down the hall and disappeared around a bend, following the directions of its master.
It was the twenty-ninth day of Winter’s Bite, in the year 66 PA. Garius Forge stood from his seat and stretched, recalling the specifics of his discussion with Tiyarnon over and over in his mind. Tiyarnon and he had spent the last two eves going through the particulars of their plan. Winter’s Heart was a day away and the weather would certainly worsen, especially in the area surrounding the Oakcrest Mountains. The facts were evident that something unusual was responsible for the missing artifact, as details did not seem to add up regarding the behavior of the acolytes in question.
Garius ran over the specifics once again in his head and tried to see if he was missing any important details. He stood and stared out of a window into the courtyard and recollected the fine points of those talks as best he could.
Tiyarnon escorted Garius into the central meeting room in the Hall of the High Council. The sages that accompanied Garius were present. They had pored over the minutiae and historical documents as required during an investigation of this type.
Along with those sages was a gathering of High Council members seated around an oval shaped conference table. A pair of large skylight windows set into the ceiling of the room, gave off a bit too much light at times. Garius, however, felt that the intensity of the sun that shone that day was a clear sign that The Shimmering One himself was keeping an eye on them.
Garius, along with the sages, were introduced one by one to the nine council members present for the meeting. A tenth member—the Assistant Mayor, Ganthorpe Randolph—had other pressing duties to attend with regards to Norgeld, Queen Lynessa and Citadel Pridemoon in the north; specifically, her missing daughter, Amara. That matter was only one of the many political responsibilities that kept Tiyarnon and his former companions very busy these days. Tiyarnon had informed Garius that the two of them would discuss that situation later in more detail, as it was yet another matter of great significance.
The nine remaining High Council members included Tiyarnon, as well as Aldranon, the Lord Mayor. There was the half-elven sorceress, Nimaira Silvershade, who was the mistress of the Guild of Wizardry and a former traveling companion of Tiyarnon in his younger days. Garius had recalled meeting her on several occasions prior.
A white-bearded dwarven warrior, also a former companion of Tiyarnon and the current Master of Watchmen was present, Rolin Hardbeard. He was another personality that Garius had met on many previous instances, and an unforgettable dwarf, indeed. Aeldur, a pathfinder and half-elf, who’d recently taken the mantle of Captain of the Watch and who worked directly under the tutelage of Rolin Hardbeard, was seated at the table. There was a halfling, another dwarf and a few other unremarkable men, all representing various guilds and factions, and handpicked to represent the city as members of the High Council.
Tiyarnon did most of the speaking once the introductions were through, Garius remembered. “Esteemed Inquisitors of the Order, we welcome you,” Tiyarnon started. “As you know, something of dire importance has surfaced and we require the aid of the Faceless Knights of Order in setting this issue right. Allow me to quickly speak of my past as it relates to the dilemma.”
“I, Rolin, and Nimaira traveled all about Wothlondia just after the drakes began to disappear some sixty plus years ago,“ Tiyarnon informed them. “We spent many years seeking our fortune and risking life and limb for the thrill of uncovering forgotten magic or dispatching malevolent creatures that threatened the realm. While adventuring, we met and befriended another—a mage named Sadreth.”
Garius recalled that Rolin Hardbeard noticeably shifted in his seat and his eyes narrowed as the name was spoken.
“Sadreth was a great and powerful mage, despite his human ancestry. He specialized in the ruinous powers of necromancy,” Tiyarnon explained, leveling his gaze upon each High Council member as he spoke. “He accompanied us on many an exploit, and performed admirably, proving himself worthy time and again…until we encountered a powerful demon.” Tiyarnon became visibly unnerved at that point as he continued the story. “We were in pursuit of a rare and unspeakable artifact and were indeed foolish in
thinking that any one of us could wield that kind of power—let alone control it. We realized too late that we were persuaded by a powerful demon, straight from the depths of Pandemonium itself, named Cyrza….”
Tiyarnon paused, wiping beads of sweat that appeared on his brow as the story progressed.
“This demon not only seduced us with his vast power, but was responsible for the death of Sadreth as we knew him. Despite our best efforts, we failed to save him…twice now,” he added, attempting to keep his composure.
Tiyarnon paused briefly at that juncture as he saw that Nimaira was visibly upset, tears streaming from her eyes as she recalled the horrors of the story. Even Rolin Hardbeard, a dwarven warrior of incomparable courage, fought to maintain an emotionless countenance as the tale went on. The demon of which they spoke must have been horrible indeed for them to be affected in such a way, Garius considered, as all of them are. After a moment to regain his poise, Tiyarnon continued his account.
“After a full year had passed, Sadreth returned from the dead…but he was far from human. He was—nay, is!—a lich,” Tiyarnon somberly explained. “He is literally a shell of his former self—a soulless husk of a thing that occupies the body of our former friend. The artifact that we sought offered him power beyond his wildest imagination and poor Sadreth succumbed to its temptations! Its power completely consumed him and eventually controlled him…at the cost of his soul.”
There were audible whispers from most of the High Council members who had not known details of these events that shaped the lives of Tiyarnon, Nimaira and Rolin prior to their current positions here in Oakhaven. Tiyarnon waited until the hushed conversations finished amongst the group.
The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) Page 23
