by Marin Landis
“You see me at last,” she smiled, her teeth brilliantly white against her dark skin.
“Your face is never not in my thoughts, but I fear your residence in the barbarian child has had an impact on you. Come, let me show you my light.” He reached out to her and she to him. She screamed as the hand she held suddenly was devoid of spirit and life. Empty of Aurim. Her panic and fear were short lived, swallowed by blackness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Epilogue - Mikael
Mikael had no need for rest or healing. He stood in a place he had not been for decades. An island. The place where he did his thinking. Remembering.
He had returned to his original homeland once, long ago and found his people all dead. The victims of some horrible plague that sucked the life-force from their bodies and left them empty husks. Many had lain mummified for an unknowable amount of time. He found it all strangely unnerving but not upsetting. His family and friends had all died millennia before and all affection for them had faded in the acceptance of his immortality. He followed a trail of bodies and eventually started to see a difference in the bodies of the dead. Instead of dying of some horrific disease their bodies showed signs of violence. His memory of it all was fuzzy, but he ran through what he did recall as he did every time he returned to this tower.
After following the trail, it had in reality ceased to be a trail merely a series of corpses strangely preserved, and reached an old well. There were some ruins nearby and the well itself was in bad repair, no cover had it which normally would have stopped animals falling in. Figuring there would be nothing to do but search the ruins, he started with the well and at the bottom discovered the moldy skeleton of a man, taller than an average man, with longer limbs. Mikael estimated his height would have been about seven feet, so not like any men he had seen. Water had long since evaporated from this well, the climate over the years had changed, though Mikael knew nothing of this sort of thing. A few other moldy bones lay in the bottom of the shaft but there was another thing. A book. An impossible book. For how could it have survived?
When he touched it he knew.
It was composed of the same material as the corpses he had followed here. Whatever disease afflicted those poor souls, killed or at least infested the beings that gave their skin to make this book. All the pages were made from the same leathery material which was almost warm to the touch. He felt sick, even he, an immortal, felt sick.
This was of course very intriguing. He took the book away and eventually found a person who could translate it for him. A young woman from a tribe of people in a temperate land, its name now long forgotten. She lived alone with her daughter and had the incredible and mystical ability to see patterns in everything. She was able to read the book and taught Mikael many things form within its depths. The book was one of terrible and terrifying knowledge and ended with a set of prophecies that only Mikael and the woman, Anedra, could read when making the attempt at the same time. Somehow her ability and his foresentience combined to enable comprehension of the previously indecipherable script. What they read sent her close to the edge of madness and changed Mikael forever.
What powerful magic could bind even the likes of him, he still did not know, but they had both agreed to never read the book again and Mikael took it away and hid it in a tower in a remote part of the world and set about it guardians and wards that would allow none near.
Soon after Mikael’s departure, Anedra’s daughter came down with a terrible rotting sickness. The Phage.
Snapping himself back to the present time, he set about temporarily disabling his wards. The Fleshly Mind paid him no heed and against him it was useless anyway. Sometimes it was here but often not and he knew it traveled these lands looking for Garm knew what.
When he was done, he steeled himself.
How could he face Anedra with this request after all these years? How could he do what needed to be done? They would have to read the book again, there was no doubt, but it had killed her daughter and made Anedra into something unspeakable. She had broken all natural laws in her attempt to stop the inevitable and held him to blame, held the book to blame.
He had visited her recently and had suffered greatly for it. Now he was going to open old and profound wounds.
He feared greatly the price she would ask him to pay.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Epilogue - Adversaries
The journey to Fovell wasn't arduous. Finulia had money for mounts and while it was a few days travel they were not bothered by man or beast. Galtian in many ways was pleased by the return of Finulia and had even won a sort of begrudging respect from her. It wasn’t as he had hoped, but was coming to terms with the fact that she was not suited to him. Mainly because he was not suited to her and she had no interest in him in that way. Did she have interest in anyone that way? This gave Galtian back a smattering of self-respect when he considered it.
There were patrols of course, and wild animals poking around their camp when they rested overnight. The former weren’t able to see through her power to warp perception and the latter group reacted badly to something in the camp and didn’t return. All this power seemed effortless for her to expend and yet it was way beyond him. This idea was his, however and he felt righteous in that.
He worried, though. What if the gnomes killed them on the spot? They had a tricky history with Ain-Ordra and as a people denied her. Once they did her bidding, but no longer, and his mother had told him how virulently his father had resisted any attempt to speak of it.
What did he know about his people, or those who were half his people?
They were industrious and lived secluded lives, underground, hence their name. They didn’t refer to themselves as gnomes, they were Fovel, or Fovelish as Kingdom men knew them. They never experienced war for none wanted to live in their caves and they prized no gold nor gem so had nothing work taking. Their lands, if one could term caves as ‘lands’ were within the boundaries of the Malann Empire but they paid no tax nor tribute to the Emperor. The entrance to their kingdom was no secret and stories about brigands trying to make their way in were not scarce. The invaders always came to some awful end or other according to the tales, but nobody ever actually knew anyone who had even seen more than the outside of the entrance cave.
The word Tarkan was a reference to an ancient monster who legend has it was slain by an ancient hero. The creature’s spine lay, broken once only, across the land and after its death became the Mountain range that separated the Three Kingdoms from the Empire. On the North face of one of the mightiest peaks of the Tarkans, just less than three score leagues from Uth-Magnar, as the crow flies, was the Maw of Lohi. A huge cave entrance, with gray iron fashioned into great jaws all around. Its depths unknowable, save that the gnomes lived here.
Visitors would be welcomed outside the Maw, fed and their petitions heard, for the Fovel people liked nothing more than a challenge, a puzzle and a mystery. Hence their involvement in the architectural marvels which were said to scatter the Empire. Still none were welcomed into their lands and he feared his only half gnomehood would land him in that same boat. Hells knows what they would think of Finulia and he couldn’t even be sure that she would be respectful.
There was no time to regret or panic any longer as he could see now the dull iron jaws of Lohi and the stories he had heard did it no justice. If dragons were real and big enough that when they died their spines become a continent-spanning range of mountains, their fleshless, dead jaws may very well be the size of what he now gazed upon. It took a little while for him to truly comprehend the vastness of what he regarded. The cave mouth wasn’t just an opening in the side of a mountain, but almost the start of a chasm. It must have been half a mile wide but he found it difficult to make such a judgment, so in awe was he. He turned to look at Finulia who looked confused.
“How…I wonder how they made this, it’s…”
“Extraordinary, yes, I agree.” The high pitched voice came from somewhere near
by and they both started. “If you could tell me your names and your business, I’m sure we can get down to it straight away.”
Galtian spun, more out of fright than anger. There was an odd quality to the voice and it didn’t seem aggressive so he wasn’t scared, just surprised.
“Show yourself, gnome,” said Finulia crossly.
“Well, I can’t really do that, but if you look down and to your right, you will see the means through which we are communicating.”
They both did so and all they saw was an old tree stump.
“Yes, that’s it, I can’t see you, so describe who you are and tell me what you want.” The voice didn’t sound aggressive to Galtian and it spoke perfect Torgete
“I’m a erm, male, short as I have Fovel blood…” Gatlian didn’t really know what else to say.
“I am Finulia, Necromancer and Priestess of Ain-Ordra, we have come with a proposition for your king.”
“I see, well you are expected, but we don’t have a king. Go towards the noise.”
“What noise…” Finulia demanded, but then they heard it.
If dragons were real and big enough that when they died their spines become a continent-spanning range of mountains, their screams of anguish and pain may very well be the exact sound that started to issue from the jaws of Lohi. The volume of the screeching was incredible. Curious though they were, the pair hesitated. What if there was some danger, what if this was a trap?
Incredibly, Galtian was the first to pull himself round. He traipsed toward the jaws like he had leaden feet. Finulia followed closely, managing to gather up willpower enough to concentrate on walking rather than covering her ears.
As they neared the metal contraption they both noticed that a light shone from within.
“That wasn’t there before,” Galtian indicated a doorway into the mountain, open and not in the least inviting, in a wall of dark gray steel. The feeling of stepping into the jaws was unnerving but he was too far gone in his plan to stop now. He didn’t even look back to see if Finulia was following.
King Calra Alpre XVII was most pleased with himself. He had managed to annex the principality founded by his dead brother with a minimal loss of life. So minimal in fact that he felt the need to execute some of the wealthier Mareshian nobles just to make a point. He only took the oldest males in the family, leaving the women to remarry and quite probably strengthen their positions. They’d fall in line with Sterchan, that was in no doubt. Unimaginative as he was, he’d make the perfect pawn Prince. He was quite relieved even that Melvekior hadn’t died. Arnkoer was nowhere to be found and he had failed in his mission. King though he was, a master spy like Arnkoer could be a major inconvenience. The Martelle brat didn’t seem even worried that he had lost his Princedom. As if he knew something…
He’d taken now to sitting on his balcony and for the last few morning had kept an eye out for a message from Arnkoer, but nothing had come. Now he sat out here for breakfast. For pleasure. The grounds were beautiful and he rarely saw the chief gardener, just his minions. Wondering about that he didn’t notice the bird land on the table next to him so it have him a terrific fright when he turned to pick some more fruit from the bowl.
“Arnkoer,” he laughed in relief, “you’ll be getting nothing from me, let’s see what you’ve got to say.” He reached for the bird and then stopped suddenly. Somehow the bird wasn’t there and instead, in the chair next to him, which wasn’t there before, was a black robed figure, its face shrouded in darkness.
“Calra,” it croaked.
“Damn you, Critus!” he barked, getting his second jolt of the day. He needed a drink.
“There’s no need to damn me, Calra. I have news you will find valuable.”
“So say you. When was the last time you enjoyed anything?” Calra found his brother repulsive. He wasn’t even human anymore. Was he himself human? A matter for another day. Thacritus was definitely not human; he still inhabited the same body he had three centuries ago, though since that damned knight released their ticket to immortality he had aged appropriately. Surely with all his power he could do something about that.
“I enjoyed watching you jump out of what little wit you have remaining.” The robed Mage intoned coldly.
“Very good. What do you have for me. And what do you want from me?”
“I want you to pay more attention to my warnings about the Phage. Also, annihilate the Aelvar in Vanakot.”
“Sure, I want to rule the Malannite Empire. While I’m at it, I want a glass of wine.” He was about to shout for wine when his brother’s bony fingers pushed a glass filled almost to the brim with what looked like red wine.
“I have fulfilled one of your wishes, Calra, at least consider mine.”
“You are serious? How will I fight those damned tree savages? Their woods are impenetrable. Unless you can fly an army in, you’re wasting your time.”
“Have you ever known me to waste time, Calra?”
Thacritus laughed in a most sinister fashion which the King of Uth found utterly distasteful.
