Later that evening the heavy footsteps of Zephra Hermagoras once again echoed through the Dungeon of Kahnustus, as it was referred to by its foul inhabitants. Deeper into the complex he walked, with the rotting smell of corpses and chemicals seeping through the doors of the many chambers he passed. So far everything had gone as planned. Aldan had fallen into his trap, terrified by the thought of his retribution if Vladistov would have defected. Now that the only man standing in his way had been taken care of, there was only one thing that he needed to do.
As he travelled the dimly lit corridors he began to hear the sound of crying infants. Slowly as he moved further into the centre and lowest part of the dungeon, the crying grew louder. The walk was long and although time was of the essence, Zephra could not waste any of his magic to speed his travel. He had not yet received conformation of the Honour Guard's assassination or the Queen's capture, but for the moment those issues were trivial. He needed to focus himself on the task ahead. His entire campaign, even the fate of Dargon, rested on the success of his actions tonight. For countless years he had been planning and preparing for this very day, and for the first time since childhood Zephra felt the gut wrenching sensation of apprehension.
The Dungeon of Kahnustus had been built in such a way that the entire complex led to four long tunnels, each of which then travelled down to the centre most room of the elaborate complex. All but the master of the complex were forbidden to enter this room, and it was he that held the only way to open the four doors leading to the chamber.
Zephra approached the northern door and raised his hand to a key hole in the centre of the iron door. Closing his eyes he summoned up an ounce of his magic which swirled between his fingers. Then concentrating on the shape required, he moulded the magic into a solid key for the door. The key entered the hole, opening the portal. Zephra then dismissed the magic and pushed open the final barrier to his success.
The room that Zephra entered was unlike any in this world. Perfectly round, it held a fountain in its centre with a massive stone shield rising from it. The fountain stood on a raised chunk of marble and had water, a sickly dark green in colour, flowing from the top of the shield down to a pool surrounding the marble. The pattern inscribed into the shield was separated into four sections, with the symbol of each of the guardian gods of Kovi carved into one quarter. The eight pointed star of Gushkall marked the top right and Skiye's angel, bearing heart and sword above her head, the top left. The bottom left held the symbol of Nyrune, a droplet of water, with a watchful eye inside of it. The fourth quarter was left blank, as Beon had never allowed the race of men to portray him with a symbol of their choosing.
The walls were littered with torches that were covered by a red and yellow glass. With a wave of his hand, Zephra sent several balls of red magic flying at the torches, causing them to light and give the dark room an orange glow. He then walked over to a large table, upon which a rectangular slab of onyx was resting. The onyx lay at an angle down towards the pool, designed in such a way so that the blood of sacrificed victims would run directly into the water at the fountain's base. He had spent years planning and designing the room before finally finishing construction. He was certain he had it right.
Footsteps drew near from outside and the wailing of small children grew louder. From the northern door came Gourc pushing a tray which held four distraught babies, each wrapped tightly in white blankets. Behind him entered four men, all disciples, and each wearing the symbols of their own god.
Zephra smiled as they entered the room. He had worked so hard finding a disciple from every nation to do his bidding. Finding a disciple of Beon had been his hardest task of all, but after several years of searching he had found one in the Miirvkin city of Jalla. Promising them all great power, he had drawn them into his trap, and now he would use them to complete his greatest work yet.
"Bring the infants here," Zephra commanded. Gourc wheeled the tray over to the altar and then retreated quickly to the doorway. "You four, take your positions."
The disciples walked up to the fountain and took their places each in their own designated spot. Zephra picked up the four infants and placed them on the alter. Zephra had collected one pure blooded baby from every nation, another task that had proven exceedingly difficult. He drew a sharp knife from his belt and took a deep breath. This was it, the moment he hard worked towards for so very long. A sadistic smile graced his face and he took the knife and cut a long gash into each of the infants arms. He waited for a stream of blood to flow from of their wounds then wrapped the infants back up in their blankets. The blood from the four mixed together and slowly dripped down the alter, falling into the pool of the fountain.
Gourc ran over and took the children from Zephra. "What shall I do with them, Master?" he asked.
"Bind their wounds. We shall find a use for them," he answered quickly. Gourc walked back to the doorway and began to bind their wounds using shreds of the blankets.
Zephra watched the last droplets of blood fall into the murky water and laughed. "Excellent. Now that the pure essence of the four races is in the shrine we can begin."
He walked over to the front of the fountain and removed his robes. The four disciples were shocked to see that under his robes Zephra's body was surprisingly robust and well muscled. He looked at the disciples and said, "This is the day you have been waiting for my friends. Today you will receive the power that I have promised you." Zephra then knelt down on the floor and raised his hands, palms forward. The four disciples raised their own hands and pointed them at the pool of water. "Now unleash all of your power into the water," Zephra commanded, his eyes flaring with passion.
The disciples summoned up their magic and allowed it to flow into the water. Bit by bit, more of the magic left their fingers and entered the water, swirling rapidly around the shield. Green, red, blue and yellow energy mixed together in the water, crackling in the air as they unleashed every ounce of their power. A constant stream of magic flowed from each of the disciples hands into the fountain, linking them together.
"You must not break the connection," shouted Zephra. "Do not forget that." Watching the magic pulse through the water, Zephra decided it was time, and unleashed his own magic into the pool. A great cloud of red mist escaped his hands and engulfed the entire shrine. Zephra stood up, keeping the stream of mist leaving his hands intact, and began to chant.
"Feruthlangan Iluwieth Kahnustus," he recited.
He waited then repeated his words again, louder this time.
Still nothing happened.
"Feruthlangan Iluwieth Kahnustus!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.
The magic swirling around the shield came together in a circle and exploded with a deafening crack that shook the foundations of the dungeon.
As the smoke from the explosion dissipated Zephra caught his first glimpse of the thing that he had worked so hard to create. In front of the shield, suspended in mid air, was a circle of black energy. A portal to Teefarrnur, the realm of the gods.
Zephra walked over to the portal, which was alive with energy. The room was now filled with a dreadful hissing and with each passing second tiny bolts of lightning shot from the portal, striking the water in the pool. Looking inside of the portal Zephra could see a myriad of colours swirled together in streams. The four disciples remained in the room, pouring their magic into the pool, keeping the portal active.
Zephra took a deep breath and walked over to the portal. He reached out with his right hand and touched the black energy in front of him. A shock of pain ran through his arm, but he did not withdraw. Keeping his arm attached to the portal, he closed his eyes and began a silent prayer to Gushkall.
Gourc watched the magical scene with terrified eyes. The air was alive with raw energy and he could feel the hair on his body rising from the sheer amount of power being unleashed. Zephra had raised his left arm and from it opened another portal, a portal to the Third Plane. It was a mirror image of the first, except that it was red in colour.
He lifted his head high and one final time screamed out the words, "Feruthlangan Iluwieth Kahnustus!"
The black portal began to pulse violently, growing larger in size, until a burst of black energy shot out of it into Zephra. He fell to his knees screaming as the energy coursed through his body. Gourc turned away, unable to watch the terrifying scene. Zephra's body began to shake as the energy sizzled him. He did not release his hands from the portals. Blood began to run from his nose and ears and his eyes rolled back, showing only their whites. The energy continued to pass into Zephra for several horrifying moments until it left his body and flowed into the red portal.
Zephra released his arms from the two portals and fell to the floor in a heap. A great beam of energy then shot forward from the red portal into the black causing it to burst. The four disciples were all hit by shots of lighting that travelled up their connections to the fountain and took their lives in an instant.
Then all was silent.
Gourc looked back into the room and saw the four disciples lying dead on the floor. The portal to the Third Plane still hung in the air and underneath it lay Zephra, covered in blood. Gourc ran over to him and held up his head. "Master, what should I do?" he asked in distress.
Zephra opened his eyes halfway and struggled to speak. He was dying. The energy had damaged his body to the very last notion of life. In a hushed voice Zephra managed to whisper, "The portal."
Gourc hesitated at first, but seeing the life quickly fading from his master's eyes, he picked him up and using all of his strength hurled him into the red portal. The energy swallowed Zephra's body up and then exploded into nothingness. Gourc stood in the room staring at the scene of chaos before him. He was now alone, but for the infants in the tunnel outside. His master was gone.
Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One) Page 52
