I pray you take my words to heart.
Though the events in the stories of the Second Race are said to be mere legends and myths, they are real.
I wish you to understand. You must believe, or our world and our hope is lost. You must be ready to battle the darkness, if you have not already. Not warlords like Tyrkam, but true darkness. The corruption of the Darklord when he touched the hearts of the Second Race is in every one of us.
I would tell you his name, this Lord of Darkness, that you might recognize him; but to do so would hasten his return to power much sooner than we can afford. He cannot remember who he is since he tried to flee his destruction once, in another time. To hear his true name would break the enchantment that binds him. We are not ready for that. Every passing moment gives us a greater chance of final victory.
But that is another story, one I included in the tome in the library. (Though not his name)
Know that I have bound his vile Red Clan under a spell of sleep. There they will remain as long as the secret is never uttered. I have also spent my years battling his demons. Some I destroyed, others my power could only subdue into a dormancy that will not last. I did these things to provide some time to coordinate all forces of Light.
The descendants of the Ancients must also join the fight as their ancestors did, were created to do. The Majera know this. The First Race guard their secrets and themselves, but you must find them. There is one I know among you, perhaps a second, who can guide you to them.
Yes, two, a rare treasure. Look to the flame.
I can say no more, as I have sworn to them, to the lovers who came to Ayrule and died in their quest for answers.
With Gilthiel’s return, no more shadows will fall.
Walk in the Light.
Makleor, last of the Great Magi
“Ask the dragons.”
Darius’s words never penetrated the focus that sharpened Jayson’s attention. While the entry addressed anyone who would read it, the contents of the passage gave him chills. Most of it he had learned from Haiberuk.
But the last item froze him where he stood.
Two Ancients. “Look to the flame,” he read. What else but the flaming color of her hair? Calli, we know, but another? Who? Red hair was rare in Ayrule, as he suspected it was with the Ancients.
He had seen another with the same fiery red, a man whose face escaped his memory at the moment.
Calli was their only connection. She knew of her father’s homeland but had never heard the legends of the Second and Third Ages of Gairdra, leaving her without knowledge of her ancestors. She could not know of another of her father’s people on the continent.
From his written words, Makleor promised to say nothing. He must have made the promise to Calli’s father and a woman—perhaps her mother?—whom had both passed away. That meant the mage knew of her, but he’d said nothing to anyone.
He must have been protecting her.
“I see.”
Jayson blinked and turned to Darius, who gazed at the open pages.
“He foresaw our coming.”
Without further word, Darius returned to the tiny fire climbing over the logs in the hearth. Jayson closed the book and set it back on the table in the square outline free of dust.
“It would seem that way.”
Darius sat next to the fire and adjusted the logs with the iron prod. “I’ll leave the Ancients to you, if you’ve no problem with that. Besides, I have other duties waiting in Eyr Droc.”
Jayson turned to the faint warmth the fire generated. He would not ask Darius for more than this. The man had more important duties as a father soon to attend.
But did Darius know the identities of the individuals of which Makleor hinted? Jayson had said nothing of Calli’s lineage or the power of the sword she used. Too tired to think, he shrugged away the thought for later and found a place near the fire to sit down.
Makleor’s note gave them something to discuss. In the race against dark forces, they needed all the knowledge and allies they could find.
__________
Vahrik
“Take him away.” Vahrik turned from the man. The clatter of metal told him the guards standing over the servant carried out their duties. The feeble-minded servant would be punished for overpaying the merchant. He could not afford such prices. Perhaps next time, he would send his soldiers to take what he needed. Tyrkam had allowed the local merchants too many liberties. That would end.
Vahrik stood with his back to the activity, waiting for the thud of the door. After it echoed in the meeting room, he turned from his brooding, expecting to have time to think without interruption.
He jumped back from the table and the woman with the chilling smirk. She wore an alluring black dress fitted tight to her curves and cut low. Despite the warmth of the flames, he could have sworn he saw his breath.
“The quest for power is rather…satisfying.” The last word came out in a hiss. The glint in her eyes hinted of her dark pleasure.
Vahrik eased back from her, cautious of her presence. “Why are you here?”
Lusiradrol’s black-red lips curved into a menacing smirk that made him shiver. “You have visitors.”
“Visitors? I’ve allowed no one—”
A finger to his lips stopped his objection.
“You could not stop them if you wanted, my little king.” She stood back and leaned with casual grace on the mantle of the fireplace, the slit in her gown exposing her thigh. “But I can. I’ve been waiting for this. Make your guards ready. They’ll attempt to steal your treasure.”
“How, by the Trinity, could they steal that block of crystal?”
She stepped close, her slender body inches away, and lifted her hand, palm up, at her side. A ball of fire ignited in the air above her palm. “Need you ask?” She closed her fist on it, dissipating it into a puff of smoke.
“Magic?”
Lusiradrol stepped back to the fireplace. “Very good. You understand now. Ready your guards.”
“But you said I cannot stop them. What good will guards be?”
She crossed her arms. “Keep them occupied.”
“How many are they?”
“Two.”
“The princess?”
Fire masked her smile, enveloping her in an instant. “Just as well.” The pillar of fire vanished, along with her.
Just as well? The princess had not come but someone as good had? Was it Darius? If so, who was with him? What magic had they? Surely Darius could not use magic. Perhaps the person with him could.
How were his guards to keep someone with magic at their disposal occupied while Lusiradrol set her trap? What did she plan?
Vahrik growled and stormed from the room, frustrations grinding between his teeth. Why could she not speak in clear terms?
He would check on his frozen captive himself.
__________
Marjan
The smooth walls of the dank corridors arched overhead. Moisture dripped into a pool beyond the light of the torch; the slow, steady drips echoing in the darkness. The thump of steps called down the lonely passages in fading echoes.
Marjan shivered. Something about the inner passages—or was it his mind working on the descriptions from Kirin and Siannon—touched on fears he learned to ignore, or thought he had. These corridors were not meant to be walked.
He knew it before starting on this trek. Siannon agreed to show him the way, while Kirin stayed behind, mourning the death of his brother.
Marjan had asked for other volunteers and received only one—Kale. Of all the people who could have accompanied him in this trek through the inner corridors of the fortress, Kale was the one he most wanted at his side if they ran into danger.
Marjan glanced aside at the shadowed visage. Perhaps you’ll find a way to work off your frustrations. The man never apologized for attacking him in their council meeting, but neither did Marjan apologize for his purposeful insult. The men feared the dragon beasts, which had n
ot entered Arronfel; he would not apologize for being right.
Kirin reported of worse monsters than the dragons, though. Perhaps by seeing them, Kale would show his bravery against the dragons and lead the others to follow, rather than hide behind his so-called honor.
At one of the cross-corridors, Siannon bent down, torch held high. He took a few steps into the center of the intersection and looked both left and right.
Marjan found the stones on the floor, the markers Kirin had used to keep from getting lost. Siannon had explained it in their report.
The cook’s boy pointed to the left. “This way.” His whisper cracked through the still like the snap of a whip.
Marjan followed with Kale a step behind. The captain had said nothing since they passed through the lonely door in an isolated part of the fortress and stepped within the dark corridors excavated through the mountain. Marjan could only imagine what the bold warrior thought of this place.
They walked down the corridor a short distance before reaching another intersection. In the flickering light of the torch, Marjan made out a doorway at the end of the corridor to his right.
Siannon pointed but said nothing. He stayed close to them as they approached the arched doorway.
A small shiver ran down Marjan’s spine, though he knew it was not the cold. Something about the decorative markings framing the door and reflected in the torchlight set his mind on edge. Someone wanted them to be noticed. Why? They matched the designs found throughout Linfrathâr. What was so special about these markings?
Or were they meant as something more than decoration?
Marjan hesitated a step before the archway. Now that he studied them, he realized they formed a pattern. What did it mean?
“Are we going?”
Kale’s rough voice jerked him out of his thoughts and the fears that inspired them. Marjan gave a nod and motioned to Siannon to lead them inside with the light of the torch.
The room was as the explorers had described it.
Marjan’s eyes immediately fell on the dust-coated obsidian on the pedestal in the center. Recalling Kirin’s warning, he pulled his eyes away to the pictures on the seven sections of outer wall. Starting with the image next to the doorway, he studied each fiendish creature in its depiction. Eerily lifelike, the images included one of the red dragons.
Kale’s dark eyes studied the dragons swooping down from the sky and lifting off livestock and people, but he said nothing.
Marjan knew what he thought. Kale believed the stories now but pride prevented him from admitting it.
In another, a fierce warrior stood with a sword dripping the blood of a man beneath his feet. Marjan thought the image strange amongst the rest. What seemed an ordinary soldier in battle puzzled him.
“Traitor,” Kale muttered.
Marjan turned to ask the reason for such a statement, but the captain pointed to the black eyes and traced his finger from the man’s armor to his victim’s armor.
“Same army.”
The markings on the armor of the two warriors matched. Marjan had not seen it clearly in the shadows.
But the eyes blacker than the inner corridors and the insane, wild expression on the man’s face were not an effect of the shadows.
“I hate them all. This room is cursed.”
Marjan glanced aside at Siannon, whose eyes never wavered from him.
“Have you finished?” the boy asked.
Kale moved off, his interest taken by another of the gruesome images.
“A little more time.” Feigning a calm he could not feel in this place, Marjan patted Siannon’s shoulder and stepped past him to join the captain around the circle of images. He understood the boy’s anxiety to leave, but for his own knowledge and reasons, Marjan wished to learn as much as he could of the ancient fortress; and whatever lurked in the dark recesses of it.
He saw images to frighten him, though he dared not show it. Shadowy creatures and monsters from nightmares spread their foul wings or sank their teeth into the flesh of men and beasts. Two less frightening images, like the dragons, numbered many in their murals. While some of the creatures were best described as demons from what he thought were myths, others were corporeal beings that could be injured and even killed. The images showed that, almost as if the artist intended to grant hope against them.
Each image showed its monster at the worst, though as he looked closer, Marjan realized someone stood up to them in each. The images of demons showed a man or woman with a globe of light in their hands warding off a second or third kind of that monster. The armies of dragons, what appeared to be a cross between wolves and men, and something resembling a man twisted and tortured fought the gallant heroes of an age forgotten. While some of the creatures killed, others were being slain.
“This place is a warning.” Marjan’s grim tone broke the silence. “But with hope.”
Kale grunted, his steps taking him back to the doorway. “What o’ the stone?”
Marjan looked to the stone in the center. Had Kirin seen what he described, or was it his imagination inspired by the gruesome images of the room?
Curious of its nature, Marjan studied it for a few more seconds. The temperature of the room dropped.
An image formed in his mind, a foul shadow laughing in mockery.
“What are you?” Marjan asked the question but his mouth never moved.
“I am death.” The voice grated and cracked like ice. “I am the hand of my master. I will have my vengeance on those who trapped me!”
“Sir!”
Violent shaking made Marjan blink. He looked up.
Kale drew his hand back as if to slap him broadside.
Marjan blocked his swing with his arm.
Kale relaxed and stepped back. “You woke too soon.” He sounded disappointed.
“You’d have liked it too much.”
Kale shrugged, keeping himself between Marjan and the stone with his back to it. Siannon stood next to him.
“Just like Kirin,” the boy said.
Was that it, a creature was trapped inside the stone? Marjan shivered at the cold of the room and the chill left in his core. He wished to leave immediately, to leave the evil place and forget the monster that spoke to him. Now he understood Kirin’s reluctance to return.
“I’ll explain later.”
As he turned to leave, a red light pierced the room from the stone.
Marjan blinked and backed to the doorway with the others, his eyes on the angry light, which grew to encompass the entire stone.
“I think it best that we leave.”
Marjan glanced aside at the hulk of a warrior. For the first time since he could remember, fear reflected in Kale’s eyes.
Malevolent laughter chilled his core, and an inky black grew from within the red. The stone rattled on its perch.
The three backed out of the room
The stone crashed to the floor and shattered. Sinister laughter echoed around them.
“At last!” The deep voice froze all three outside the doorway. A shadow oozed from the stone, which melted like water and flowed together. It pooled into a black emptiness, absorbing all light. The air chilled until they saw their breaths.
A piercing howl rang through the corridors from the room.
Marjan covered his ears like the others, but the sound vibrated through him.
The pool grew up into a column to the arched ceiling of the room beyond the doorway. The howl faded with the shadow vanishing upwards.
In seconds they stood in silence again.
“We have a new problem.”
The others turned to Marjan. Kale’s frown reflected his thoughts. What had they disturbed? What creature had broken free of its cage?
Without a word, they hurried back through the corridors. No one would return to that room.
On their race to escape the tunnels, Marjan kicked the stones into the walls behind them to erase their trail. When they returned to the main fortress, he would have the door se
aled with masonry. No one would enter the chamber again to free any other demons waiting there.
__________
Lusiradrol
A faint power tingled through Lusiradrol. It called to her, or something inside her.
From her place in her ruins, she watched the orb before her, waiting with all the patience of a spider in its web. The crystallized Calli remained where she left her in the castle. No one had entered or left since Vahrik.
The old mage did not return to the castle; she would have felt his presence. Besides, this disturbance fed the darkness in her rather than fight it. Not the mark of any mage.
That disturbance awoke images in her mind. Scattered like flies over a carcass, they darted from her grasp.
In quiet contemplation, Lusiradrol focused on them, bringing one scene forth in her head. Vague but familiar, it played, opening something deeper within her. Like other times in recent cycles, her powers expanded without effort.
But the scene rose up from the ashes of another’s memories.
Great armies stretched out in formation, filling the long valley from this end to the farthest passes. Humanlike but not human, they were the product of his tampering with the creations of his enemy.
They awaited his command.
Nearby lingered greater powers, pieces he pulled from himself and molded into demons. None had the full power of their Lord but they were greater than the Majera’s creatures. His favorites would go forth and steal the life energy from the beings populating the world. Others would control men for his purposes. Most would destroy.
He envisioned a day when his armies extinguished the Light of the world, and Chaos once again ruled.
“Send your legions to the East.” His deep voice commanded the C’Lupuc.
“Raze the men of the South,” he ordered the Garzun.
To the dragons perched around the valley, he gave orders to aid his armies by defending against the first clans. His demons he sent forth to the less populated areas to the north of the Dark Hills. Nothing remained to the west, but the C’Lupuc would return full circle over the world when they finished.
Legends Page 26
