“But Karrak, as an infant, was there when they were tortured and murdered. His body absorbed their souls at the moment of death. In a way, he consumed them.”
“So what does this have to do with a thousand-year-old scroll?” asked Yello.
“The scroll predicted it exactly as it happened. The number of sacrifices, the attempt on the king’s life, the fact that she would not succeed and the way in which she would be destroyed with a golden crossbow bolt through her temple. They were all written in the scroll.”
“How could you possibly know what was written in the scroll, Emnor? Come on, how?”
“I had always suspected what was written, Yello, but now I know it to be true. I am the Head of the Administration now and nothing is off limits to me. I have read the scroll myself.”
Yello stood up slowly. “You’ve actually read it? You have held and read the Peneriphus Scroll?”
“I have, and it also predicts the ascension of a member of a royal house as one of the most powerful and cruel sorcerers that shall ever live, but it also suggests that he can be stopped.”
“What do you mean, suggests?”
“If one reads the scroll, that which has already happened and that which is in the near future are printed boldly and easily visible. Strangely, as one reads further and further, the print fades until eventually, it disappears completely. The size and weight of the scroll never alter, as you unroll it, it never diminishes. It’s as if its chronology is endless.”
Yello was unaware of his own intrigue. Few were his intellectual equal, but it seemed to Emnor that despite his cynicism, at last, he was beginning to believe. “Do you think it possible that the prediction of his defeat would become visible the closer we were to its reality?” he asked.
“I’m convinced that it will, but there is a dark side to the scroll,” replied Emnor.
“And that is…?” asked Yello, slowly.
“That we must not allow ourselves to intervene in any of the predictions. It will be more difficult for me than it will for you, Yello.”
“What would be difficult about destroying an evil sorcerer?”
“Many of the Borellians and their companions are my friends. The young men outside are now my charges, one, my apprentice. How would it be if the scroll were to predict the death of any one of them? Would we allow that to happen if it resulted in Karrak’s defeat?” Emnor probed.
“It’s a tough question I admit, but it’s all hypothetical really if Karrak has the scroll,” replied Yello.
“That’s the thing, Yello, Karrak doesn’t have the scroll,” whispered Emnor.
“What? But you said he got what he came for.”
“And he did,” replied Emnor, “but he never came here for the scroll; he came for the Elixian Soul.”
“He took the Soul?” exclaimed Yello.
“Yes, but he thinks that the Soul is just a magnification stone to enhance his powers. Only if he obtains the scroll can he fulfil the prophecy of world domination.”
“So where is the scroll, Emnor? Is it here in Reiggan?”
“All I am prepared to tell you, old friend, is that it’s safe. The secret of its location is known only to me.”
“And you’re positive that Karrak doesn’t know its content?”
“I’m unsure as to whether he even knows of its existence, and if not, we must keep it that way,” insisted Emnor.
“I doubted you for so long, Emnor. Can you forgive me?” asked Yello, smiling at his lifelong friend.
“In the words of a little friend of mine…” said Emnor laughing, “… get stuffed.”
***
Harley entered the room with his head bowed. “Forgive my intrusion, Master Emnor, but I believe our task is complete.” As he had approached, he had pondered how to say this to Emnor, but there was no subtle way of explaining that you had finished burning the dead bodies of so many friends.
“Very well, Harley. I think we should stay a while and see if we can make a few of the rooms habitable. We’ll fetch Jared and the others in order to plan our next move.”
“I’ll help as much as I can, Emnor,” said Yello, “but you know me, better at blowing things up than rebuilding them.”
“In that case, do me a favour, would you?” urged Emnor. “Stay away from Drake.”
CHAPTER 2
“It was horrific, Jared, they killed them all. Some were burned alive, others eviscerated or crushed by falling debris, they never had a chance by the looks of things.”
“There were scores of them though, Hannock. Were there any of the enemy amongst the fallen?”
“Hard to tell with the state they were all in. I think that some were unrecognisable to any of the wizards.”
“It begs the question though, Hannock. If that many wizards couldn’t stop Karrak, what chance do we have?”
Hannock picked up the golden crossbow. “Get me within a hundred yards of him and I’ll show you,” he replied.
“Perhaps it would be better if I were to take the shot,” suggested Faylore.
Queen Faylore was a seven-foot-tall Thedarian with pointed ears, sparkling white skin and long blond hair. Whenever she spoke, it was always with fairness or good intention. However, there was always an air of pomposity in her tone when asking questions or offering opinions. Thedarians believed that they were inherently correct about everything.
Hannock looked up at her, “Oh no, Your Majesty, that honour will be mine. I want to see the look in his eyes when the bolt goes through his skull. I just hope he realises it was I who pulled the trigger.”
“I know how much you want your revenge, Charles, but I never miss my mark. Can you say the same?”
“Karrak will die by my hand. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to take that away from me,” he replied.
Lawton and Poom, the two Gerrowliens, were watching from the trees where they were perched.
The Gerrowliens, a feline race, were covered with gold and black striped fur. They walked upright when travelling slowly, but when the need for haste came, they would drop to all fours becoming just a blur to most eyes. “You know something, Lawton, his thirst for vengeance could prove to be his downfall.”
“Indeed it could, Poom, but would you be any different in his situation?” asked Lawton.
“I would never be in his situation. I’d have already killed the git,” replied Poom.
“Nevertheless, we must make it our duty to protect the captain, from himself.”
“Why do you care? He’s just a soldier. He’s cocky and sarcastic and his sense of humour could drive you mad. Personally, I think he’s a bit of a prat.”
“Oh, really? I quite like him, he reminds me of somebody I know,” said Lawton.
“Does he? Who’s that then?” asked Poom.
Lawton sighed and stroked his chin, a slight grin on his face.
***
“Didn’t you say you don’t like shiny things, Grubb?” asked Lodren.
Lodren was a Nibby. Part of a nomadic race, he had wandered the lands quite happily until fate brought about his chance meeting with Jared, Hannock and Faylore. He stood five-foot-tall and had a huge head with saucer-like, bright green eyes. His short, stout body was not unusual, but the same could not be said about his arms. They were colossal, with massive biceps and triceps as hard as steel. Surprisingly, he was the gentlest of all the companions and their allies. His only habit, not a bad one, was his love of cooking. To refer to him as a gourmet chef would be an understatement and he seized every opportunity to grab his pots and pans so as to begin the preparation of a delicious meal. He needed no special occasion, the mere mention of hunger sent him into a frenzy of culinary creation.
“What you on about?” asked Grubb.
Grubb was the strangest individual of the bunch. He was a Vikkery. A two-foot-tall, red-headed (and bearded) shapeshifter who Jared, Hannock, Faylore and Lodren had come across on their journey through the caverns of the Muurkain Mountains. One would not have expected one
so small in stature to have as bad an attitude as his, but it was there, and he didn’t care who saw it. He was, possibly, the most surly and irascible creature you could meet until you got to know him. For deep down, he had the kindest of hearts.
“Back in Borell, when the king offered you a reward for helping Jared, you said you don’t like shiny things and that’s why you chose Buster.”
“I said I don’t like gold, too glinty. But what’s that got to do with my Buster?”
“Well, for someone who thinks that gold it too glinty, you do a lot of polishing.”
“Lodren, what are ye talking about?” asked Grubb.
“That,” said Lodren, pointing at the dagger that Hannock had given Grubb as a gift.
Grubb blushed, “It’s a poor deal when a Vikkery can’t go about his business without bein’ spied on. Go on, bugger off, keep your nose out.”
“I just thought it very sweet of you to take care of the generous gift you were given, I didn’t mean to pry Grubb, I’m terribly sorry.”
“Well, you can stick your sorry,” snapped Grubb and stormed off toward Buster, who was always his excuse for escaping awkward moments.
Lodren smiled to himself. He really is a lovely Vikkery, he thought.
It was getting late in the day and the companions were becoming a little concerned for Emnor and the boys.
“They should be back by now,” said Hannock as he paced back and forth.
“The disposal of so many bodies will be very time-consuming, my friend, even if one uses magical flame,” said Jared.
“All the same, they should have…”
But Hannock never finished his sentence. A dart, similar to the one which Faylore had used to sedate him when he was affected by her simbor (a Thedarian form of puberty), struck the cart beside him. A puff of blue vapour came from it as it hissed and began to rot the wood.
“Get inside, now!” roared Poom as he leapt from his branch and swiftly grabbed Lodren under one arm. Lawton too sprang into action as he snatched up Grubb, and in the blink of an eye, both Gerrowliens crashed through the door of the tavern. “Stay here, keep down,” panted Poom as both he and Lawton dashed back outside.
Faylore entered moments later, alone, but was followed almost immediately by the other four.
“What was that all about, you great furball!” exclaimed Hannock, straightening his tunic.
“Hissthaar,” replied Lawton.
“So what? Let’s just go out there and kill them.”
“You won’t be killing anyone if one of those darts hits you, you’ll be dead,” said Poom.
“From a little dart, I don’t think so,” protested Hannock.
“No, you wouldn’t, Captain, not from the dart, but you would die from the poison it’s been dipped in,” said Lawton.
“Have a peek outside at the cart, but be careful,” suggested Poom.
Hannock peered through the window. The cart had begun to smoulder where the dart had hit it, literally melting the immediate area and causing it to drip, mud-like globules onto the ground.
“Imagine what it would have done to you, Captain,” said Poom.
Hannock pulled at his tunic again and cleared his throat. “You have my thanks, I didn’t realise…” he began.
“Ooohh, I bet it really hurt to say that,” laughed Poom.
Hannock smiled at Poom. “You have no idea, Poom…” he replied, “… but I mean it, thank you.”
“Oh, give it a rest, it’ll be cuddles next,” snorted Grubb.
Faylore stepped to the side and raised her bow. Stringing an arrow, she paused for a moment, then let it fly. A screech was heard in the distance as the arrow had obviously found its mark. She turned to face Hannock. “As I said, I never miss,” she said quietly.
“Now if you can do that a few dozen more times, Faylore, our dilemma should be resolved,” said Lawton.
“Why weren’t we able to smell them?” Poom asked Lawton.
“Pemimberry, this place is full of it,” Lawton replied.
“Pemim… what?” asked Jared.
“Pemimberry. It’s a pungent fruit, they rub it on themselves to disguise their scent, and as you’ve seen, it works perfectly,” said Lawton.
“And why didn’t we hear them approaching?” asked Poom.
“Well, there are only two possible reasons. One, they were already here when we arrived…” began Lawton.
“And two?” asked Poom.
“…Or two, forgive my speaking whilst you’re interrupting… you’re getting old, going deaf.”
“What do you mean, getting old? I’m the same age as you!” exclaimed Poom.
“Oh, are you? So why do you keep telling everyone you’re two hundred and sixty?” hissed Lawton.
Poom suddenly looked a little sheepish. “There’s no time for this…” he said, “… we need to decide how we’re going to get out of here without being dissolved.”
“Jared, how good are you with fire magic?” asked Lawton.
Jared held out his hand and he began to juggle three fireballs that had appeared. “I don’t think anyone would want to test me,” he replied.
“Now we know Faylore is an excellent shot, Captain Hannock, do you have any ordinary bolts for that crossbow? Using gold ones would seem such a waste.”
“Well, I do, but they’re on the cart,” replied Hannock.
“Anyone want to just nip out and fetch them, just remember to dodge the poison bolts on your way ba…” There was a brief gust of wind and before Grubb could finish his sentence, Poom was standing in front of Hannock, arm outstretched, his bloody, clawed hand clutching the bolts.
“Sorry about that …” he said, retracting them, “… managed to get two of the buggers on the way back.”
Lawton placed his hands on his hips, “How can we work out a battle-plan if you keep dashing out like that? Pay attention, Poom, if you’re going to do something, tell me first.”
“But you said he needed the bolts,” shrugged Poom.
“I get it, now…” said Hannock realising Lawton’s plan, “… set the bolts and arrows alight before we release them.”
“And in the confusion, Poom and I can make our way around and flank them. We’ll kill the ones at the rear and you shoot the ones at the front.”
“There is one slight flaw to your plan though, isn’t there, Mr Gerrowlien?” Everyone looked at Lodren.
“Which is?” asked Lawton.
“All those poison darts flying around. You or Mr Poom might just get stung by one of them. One of them… hissy… things might get a lucky shot.”
“It’s a chance we are willing to take,” said Lawton staunchly.
“Is it? What’s this we crap? I’m not getting shot with one of those flesh-melters,” snorted Poom.
“What’s wrong, Poom? Scared?” Lawton knew exactly what to say to Poom in order to achieve the correct response.
“Me? Scared? Tell you what, don’t bother with the fire, let’s just go out there by ourselves. Come on, right now!” he growled.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Poom, but let’s just stick to the plan, eh?” suggested Lawton.
They approached the doorway and nodded in agreement, but none uttered a single word. Jared conjured the fireball in his hand. Faylore and Hannock leaned forward, ready to light their projectiles, but before they could, heard an almighty commotion amongst the trees outside. They heard screeches, screams and yelps, heard twigs and branches snapping and cracking but could see no reason why. Slowly, one by one, they crept through the doorway and, in the distance, saw bushes shuddering as unseen bodies brushed past or hurtled between them. The furore lasted a few minutes but not once did they see a hissthaar or any other being. Then suddenly, a deathly silence fell. Confused looks passed between them as none was sure of exactly what had just happened.
“Have they gone?” asked Lodren, peering around from behind Faylore’s leg.
“Poom, get your best sprinting paws on and go and have a look, would
you?” asked Lawton.
“Won’t be long,” Poom replied, and as quick as a flash, he was gone again. He leapt into the nearest tree and traversed silently from branch to branch as he travelled deeper into the dense forest. Nothing seemed untoward at first, more trees, bushes and shrubs, just as a forest should look. He paused momentarily, staring at a particular tree, it didn’t look right, and he should know having lived amongst them his entire life. This one seemed twisted, warped in some way. The trunk seemed to be split in two as if it had legs and it only had two branches that bent at a peculiar angle. But the strangest thing of all could be seen higher on the trunk. A burr was growing, but it was almost pointed. Above it were two indentations and below, a small hollow. Poom shuddered, it looked like a grotesque face. He pondered for a moment, shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought that had just entered it, but then he saw another tree very similar to the first, and then another. Pouncing from tree to tree, he saw more and more of the strange growths. He turned and hurtled back toward the inn. “I think we may have a bit of a problem,” he announced as he hurled himself through the doors of The Hangman’s Noose.
“Jendilomin?” asked Lawton.
“The very same,” replied Poom.
“And what are Jendilomin?” asked Jared.
“Not a what. A she,” replied Poom quietly, “and she’s far more dangerous than the hissthaar.”
“This just keeps getting better and better!” exclaimed Hannock. “First Karrak and his mob, then the Dergon, then the hissthaar and now somebody else wants to kill us, or eat us, or both.”
“Jendilomin doesn’t want to kill you, Charles, and she doesn’t want to eat you either, she wants you to be her friend.” The statement by Faylore took everyone by surprise, most of all the Gerrowliens.
“So you’ve heard of her then?” asked Poom.
“Of course, I’ve heard of her…” replied Faylore, matter of factly, “… she’s my sister.”
***
Yello’s rapid recovery appeared quite miraculous and although far from being in perfect health, he insisted on assisting as much as his disabilities would allow. He had, once again, tried to improve the healing of his broken leg, with very little effect. Craftily, he took another sip of Abigail’s Mercy, but not craftily enough for it to go unnoticed by his old friend, Emnor.
The Bane of Karrak_Ascension II of III Page 2
