Blood Immortal

by Paul Centeno

  Aarian laughed, raising his visor. “It was special to me when I first found it,” he said.

  “You look like a Vlydyonian who is ready to take back his kingdom and become king,” said Earamathras, thunderstruck. After seeing the gleeful expression on Aarian’s face, he went on, “I need to tell you something important, Dralekar.”

  “Of course,” said Aarian.

  “Very soon we are about to engage in a war unlike any other,” said the emperor. “It is absolutely imperative you understand that just because you are the Dralekar doesn’t mean you are invincible.”

  “Invincible?” said Aarian, not sure what the dragon meant.

  “I’m not trying to frighten you,” reiterated Earamathras. “Fighting mortals is one thing. But we will be facing Mor’vyi’dou—many who are skilled with the dark art of necromancy. Though they have no immortal soul, they are capable of conjuring accursed spirits yearning to possess you. And if you by chance come across a dark elf possessed by a demon, he or she may be able to harm or even kill you.”

  “Well, I honestly never thought that being Dralekar meant I’d be invincible,” said Aarian, deciding not to tell the emperor that he’d heard this from Xen already in order to seem insightful. “But I understand what you’re saying. I will be as vigilant as a Master of Vlydyn.”

  “You make us proud, Dralekar of Yunedar,” said Earamathras, producing a roar that shook the chamber.

  “Thank you,” said Aarian, bowing.

  The emperor nodded and said, “On to other matters: I have decided to assign Warlord Varkagorsa to be a part of your personal entourage.”

  “I no longer need an entourage,” said Aarian, his voice stern.

  “No need to be so snooty, Dralekar,” said the dragon musingly. “Think of yourself as the leader of a group I have decided to form. You can call yourselves something similar to Swarm of Fangs—the werewolves you made a fool of during the Challenge of Titans.”

  “That’s a strange name for a humyn to be a part of,” said Aarian.

  “True,” said Earamathras, his snout forming a grin. “But do not forget that one of them bit your neck before it was incinerated by the curse of Izabaldo.”

  Aarian’s face grew pale for a moment. “I want to believe you’re joking,” he said warily. An awkward silence descended upon the chamber. It wasn’t to the prince’s liking, so he broke it by adding, “How about the Guardians of Xen?”

  “Call yourselves the immortals for all I care,” said the emperor. “Either way, I will not permit you to do battle singlehandedly. Speaking of which, I’d like to introduce you to Varka’s second-in-command: Zavoba.”

  Upon the orc general snapping his finger, an immense green-skinned troll entered from a side door. He had a bumpy rock-like scalp, dozens of piercings with jewelry all over his coarse face, and war-paint throughout his brawny body. Zavoba wore only a loincloth that covered his groin and wielded a double-bladed axe adorned with harpy feathers along its handle that was just about as big as his own body.

  “Zavoba be at your service, Dralekar,” said the troll, hunching.

  Aarian gazed at him from head to toe, thinking he must be at least eight-feet tall. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Zavoba,” he said, bowing before the troll. “I’ve no doubt in my mind that you’ll make a fine addition to the group.”

  “Xen be wit you,” said Zavoba, bowing as well.

  Even though Aarian agreed, he found it a bit odd that he was standing next to a troll who showed him respect. This made him feel that trolls weren’t exactly the savages he thought them to be.

  The emperor yawned as he said, “Next in line to escor—pardon me, to follow you, is a female beast who can smell the stench of undead and the like from miles away: Shakar!”

  At that moment a slate-gray-furred beast descended from the wide-open ceiling. Upon landing, it stood on its hind legs, howling with delight. Fixing his eyes on the creature, Aarian realized Shakar was a werewolf. The only thing Shakar wore was a thin silvery necklace that glowed, miniature charms of the four moons attached to it.

  “An honor, Dralekar,” growled Shakar. “You bested one of the greatest werewolf packs I have ever known.”

  “The honor is mine,” replied Aarian. “No hard feelings?”

  “I was never too fond of them,” said Shakar. “They were an egotistical pack that let their victory against the harpies get to their heads.”

  “Interesting,” said Aarian, glancing at her necklace. “By the way, is that silver?”

  “Yes,” said Shakar. “An enchanted gift from the emperor—it allows me to be immune to silver and retain my form whether the four moons are visible.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking,” began Aarian, amazed that he was actually having a conversation with a werewolf, “is it true that if all the moons of Yunedar are visible, you grow in strength?”

  “That is true,” she replied.

  “Then let us hope the four moons shine brightly in the night every day until the demons are purged,” said Aarian.

  Shakar agreed, joining Varkagorsa and Zavoba behind the prince.

  “And now, unless you are able to find Quel’de’nai to join, I’d like you to meet the final member of your group,” announced Earamathras. “When or if I am not available and you need eyes in the sky, you can rely on: Falvorn!”

  The grotesque statue made of marble by a wall festooned with orcish heraldry depicting crisscrossed axes that were splattered with blood, which stood only a few feet away from Aarian, cracked and crumbled apart. To the prince’s surprise, he witnessed a charcoal-skinned gargoyle arise from the shattered stones.

  “A pleasure,” hissed Falvorn, spreading his wings.

  “A pleasure,” repeated Aarian, slack-jawed. Trying to compose himself, he swallowed, turned to the emperor, and continued, “Well, at least the Mor’vyi’dou will be intimated by my comrades.”

  Earamathras roared with laughter. Then the others joined him. When the laughter died down, they continued their discussion:

  “Do you have a battle plan, Dralekar?” asked the emperor.

  “Indeed,” responded Aarian. “I suggest we use every vessel available. It shall be the most fearsome armada in the history of Yunedar.” He looked at Warlord Varkagorsa and went on, “I’d like you to assign a leader in your ranks to guide the fleet. In the meantime, we’ll ride along His Imperial Majesty’s back and scout the northern shore of Gaeldein.”

  “What a bold plan you have,” said the emperor. “But you shouldn’t abuse the back of an old dragon.”

  Aarian began, “Imperial Majesty—”

  “I jest,” said Earamathras, chuckling hoarsely. “My only concern is: what if Gaeldein is infested with the Mor’vyi’dou?”

  “That’s a possibility,” said Aarian, rubbing his chin. “Though, since Chevirith is located at the heart of Lar’a’dos, I’d like to assume most of them are guarding the capital. However, if I am wrong, the armada will take care of them.”

  “I want to tear the Mor’vyi’dou apart,” barked Shakar.

  “Agreed,” said Varkagorsa. “When does the carnage begin?”

  The emperor and those he chose to aid Aarian turned to him, waiting for an answer. He was startled by this, astonished that they sought his decision on the matter. The thought of him confronting Saldovin Keldoran made him anxious. Thinking about it, if they would truly obey him, he’d like to leave this instant. Yet he had a feeling that would be too soon, even though his fellow guardians appeared excited to leave.

  “I say we embark on our journey by dawn,” said Aarian.

  “A sound plan,” said Earamathras. “Varka, alert the swarm to ready the ships and stock them with everything they need for the long voyage. You are all dismissed. Get some rest until tomorrow.”

  Obeying the imperial emperor, they returned to their quarters in one of the southeastern strongholds. Aarian went to his bedchamber on the top floor and lay on a wooden canopy bed fashioned for him by the finest orc a
rtisans. Thinking back on everything that happened, he had been here for quite some time. Leaving wouldn’t be easy, which was strange to him because at first he hated being in Niratredam. An unexpected nightmare actually turned out to be a major turning point in his life and the future of Yunedar, he conceded. Confident that the voyage to Lar’a’dos would be a major success, he felt optimistic and relaxed, falling asleep in a matter of seconds.

  After several hours’ rest, Aarian awoke and bathed himself in a rectangular tub beside his bed. One of the perks here, he thought, was the incredible magic—water was always warm and clean. Upon bathing himself, Aarian dried up and put his gold-coated armor back on. He then sheathed his sword, grabbed his shield, and left the bedchamber. Before traveling to the central fortress, Aarian stood in the middle of an outdoor bridge, gazing at the view. It wasn’t dawn yet; he could still see the flickering stars. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes for a brief moment and embraced the wind.

  Even though he hadn’t adapted to the extreme cold, the panorama always left him in awe of Niratredam. The icescape was deadly and yet so beautiful, much like the darkness within him. Though hazardous, he embraced his mastery over the demon and believed that this curse was for the greater good of the world. More importantly, he had Xen by his side to watch over him. Both powers of light and darkness were vital for him to succeed. Was this fighting evil with evil? This was a difficult question he asked himself, clenching his fists.

  “No,” he said to himself, unfolding his fingers.

  He remembered that Xen was a demon. Not all demons were evil by nature, he thought to himself. Xen had turned to the power of light but told him to balance both sides of the spectrum. Black magic had evil elements but it also had its uses, he conceded. The difference between him and the other demons was that he’d never abuse such magic. Perhaps that was the key to being the Dralekar.

  Dawn finally arrived, breaking Aarian out of his daydreaming. Watching the sunrise for the first time since living here, he basked in its glory. His golden armor shone with the radiance of the sun’s light. He didn’t mind standing in the freezing cold because experiencing daybreak in Niratredam was an incredible feeling to him. The aurora and four moons were no longer visible, replaced by the mighty sun. The fjords’ water glittered. And mist curled below, rising midway up the vistas of mountains that gleamed with snow.

  “Enjoying the view?” asked someone with a feminine yet guttural voice.

  Aarian turned around, not seeing anyone. Instead he saw a shadow. Confused, he looked overhead and spotted Shakar on the roof.

  “My goodness,” he said, startled.

  “I get it,” she snarled, glancing at the scenery. “You’re not used to dealing with comrades on roofs.”

  Aarian laughed softly. “I’m not used to it, but I did have a friend who used to love being perched on the roof of my castle.” Before the werewolf could ask, he unhappily continued, “He died during the demonic incursion.”

  “Demons have an odd habit of causing misery,” replied Shakar as though unmoved. She then plunged down, standing on her four paws. “Would you like a ride?”

  “What?” he asked, shocked.

  “You’re the legendary Dralekar,” she said, breathing in a panting manner. “It would be a pleasure for me to bring you down to the wharf. Besides, I can handle a humyn on my back—no offense.”

  “None taken,” he said, mounting her.

  “Hang on tight,” she said.

  Without wasting any time, Shakar leapt onto the bridge’s rail. From that point she lunged on the wall using her long claws, climbing up to the stronghold’s roof. She then galloped across the top of the building, jumping at the edge onto another structure that wasn’t as high as others. Once she reached the icy plains that were littered with a tender layer of snow, she scuttled south. Her gait was extraordinary to Aarian—no other werewolf, unicorn, or any animal for that matter, could match her speed.

  In under a minute the duo reached the boarder walls of Warenyth. Shakar then dashed across the main bridge that led out of the imperial city and turned east, swiftly approaching a dock. Aarian noticed another entrance to the water cave where vessels were sailing out to the exterior wharf. Other ships were moored there, each one filled with hundreds of werewolves, orcs, trolls, and ogres.

  “There must be a million warriors on these boats,” said Aarian, amazed at the sight of such an army.

  “More or less,” replied Shakar, her snout forming a smirk.

  Upon reaching the wharf, a gargantuan shadow cast over them. The wind grew wildly in brief intervals, a sound of wings flapping. The shadow enlarged. Aarian didn’t have to look up to know Earamathras was descending toward his legion of honorable savages. He then landed upon the snowy plains and lowered his back, allowing Shakar to leap onto him. Once she reached the center of his scaly spine, Aarian dismounted her and joined the rest of his companions.

  Warlord Varkagorsa, Zavoba, and even Falvorn stood there. Aarian was a bit surprised to see the gargoyle on the dragon’s back. He scratched his head, attempting to figure out how in the world Falvorn could be a breathing, living being during daylight.

  Aarian began, “How are you able—” He stopped himself short and said, “Wait, let me guess: the emperor’s magic?” Seeing the gargoyle nod at him with a crafty expression, Aarian smiled and said, “Ah-ha! I’m finally starting to catch on.”

  “Indeed,” said Falvorn gruffly.

  “Legion of Warenyth!” shouted Earamathras without warning. “Weeks ago we witnessed history unfolding before our eyes. With the coming of the legendary Dralekar, we are privileged to be a part of a treacherous war that shall determine the future of Yunedar. Steady your hearts as we embark on a perilous voyage across Crey’falen. When we reach Lar’a’dos, be ready for a battle unlike any you have experienced. Many of us will spill blood across the elven lands. Many of us will suffer. Many of us will even perish. But we will prevail!”

  The hundreds of thousands of warriors cheered at their emperor who spread his enormous wings and rose to the air. When he parted from the land, his army of savages set sail to an inlet that turned into a fjord, which would eventually lead them all to the ocean. Aarian, high up in the sky, observed the armada propel south. They soon, however, became so small that he wasn’t able to watch them any longer. Instead he looked ahead at the clouds before him.

  “Take this,” said Shakar, standing on her hind legs and giving Aarian an iridium-forged talisman depicting the four moons.

  “What’s this for?” he asked.

  “You were bitten by a werewolf,” she said. “It usually takes four or five weeks for the curse to change you. Put this on unless you don’t want to remain humyn.”

  “I feared this would happen,” he said, putting the enchanted necklace on. “Thank you for honoring my humynity, Shakar.” Hearing her snort, he wasn’t sure if she was proud of her deed. After a moment of silence, however, he decided to change the topic. “I can hardly believe we’re traveling to Lar’a’dos.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” scowled Varkagorsa, producing a grunt-like laugh. “You were always a skeptic.”

  “Not always,” replied Aarian, trying to defend himself.

  “Come to think of it, I recall a certain orc doubting the prophecy,” said Falvorn, cackling while spreading his wings.

  “Tch,” sulked Varkagorsa, keeping quiet.

  “This is the Dralekar you’re speaking to,” said Shakar to Varkagorsa, growling. “He is the reason why your life has a greater purpose. Without him, we’d be the meaningless savages that the other races think we are.”

  “So true,” said Falvorn, taking off into the clear blue sky and flying alongside his mighty emperor.

  Varkagorsa grumbled.

  “Someone is still grumpy,” she said with amusement.

  “It’s all right, Shakar,” said Aarian lightheartedly. “One of these days I’ll get him back for teasing me.

  The guardians laughed.

&n
bsp; “Keep your wits about you, guardians,” said Earamathras, his voice booming and echoing throughout the sky. “For the time may come when you’re all skeptical, wondering whether we’ll succeed. If such a moment of doubt and despair arises, you must look to one another and believe that you shall triumph over the coming darkness.”

  With the exception of Aarian, the guardians agreed and cleared their minds, remaining alert on the emperor’s back. Even though Aarian concurred with Earamathras, he was the only one who had more on his mind than the others. He couldn’t clear his mind. All he could think about was the coming war. This troubled him greatly. But with an army of this magnitude and masterful warriors by his side, he was certain he’d have a fighting chance against Saldovin and his undead minions.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  RAIDING CHEVIRITH

  The voyage to Lar’a’dos was indeed long and treacherous. During the six weeks of journeying southwest, the armada experienced numerous, horrendous thunderstorms. Since the prince had warned Earamathras of the deadly hydra he’d faced while sailing with his former comrades, he made sure to occasionally fly above his fleet and protect them in case an atrocious sea monster attacked.

  Fortunately for them they didn’t come across such a creature. They did, however, lose a few ships to the weather; they had capsized what with the violent waves produced by the many hurricanes that had occurred. Though some warriors drowned in the process, most were rescued by their comrades, brought aboard other nearby ships.

  Another week had passed. The storms waned during this time as they finally approached the elven continent. Though the armada couldn’t see yet, Aarian and his fellow guardians were able to spot the distant land from the sky.

  “At last,” said Falvorn, returning to the dragon’s back.

  “Those were supposed to be my words,” said Aarian, his eyes fixed on the enchanted continent.

  “Remember what I told you before,” said Earamathras, his voice booming while hastily gliding toward the sand-littered shoreline of Gaeldein. “Keep your wits about you and always be ready to help each other.”