The Fall Of Celene (The Prophecies of Zanufey Book 2)

by A. Evermore

  ‘I’ll await your safe return,’ Coronos said. All the joy of flying now gone from his face, and the creases of worry replacing it. The orb in his hand was bright white in the dark. The wind it had created still blew strong, whipping Coronos’ hair about his face and tugging on his cloak.

  Asaph regarded. ‘No need to worry. I shall return soon, like Triest’anth said. I’ll find her and bring her back, that’s all,’ it sounded simple, he prayed that it would be.

  He turned and leapt from the rocks, following the raven once more.

  Coronos watched the young Dragon Lord go. He looked like a shining comet shooting across the sky and was soon lost from view. How amazing it felt to fly again on the back of a dragon. He settled himself upon the rough blanket, held the orb in his lap and closed his eyes, letting the orb carry him in the Flow as he searched for danger.

  There, far out to sea, he could see the taint of the immortals like a black stain in the Flow. Within that stain, turquoise light shone, calling to the orb in his hands.

  Chapter 4

  Baelthrom

  BAELTHROM stood between the altar and the great iron ring, deep within his three-peaked mountain fortress that had first been his birthplace, then his prison, and now his stronghold. The mountains themselves were as much a part of Baelthrom as his own mind was. He stood motionless for so long that Kilkarn wondered if he had fallen asleep. The dark dwarf knew better than to interrupt his lord and so he too stood silently and as motionlessly as he could beside the closed stone door.

  Kilkarn stared out at the physically uninteresting, yet energetically fascinating, chamber. The dark energy of the Under Flow was always loaded in here, the heart of Baelthrom’s domain, and whilst he could not easily see magic (he was not a magic wielder) even he could feel it. The hairs on his arms rose and fell, the darkness swirled in ribbons around him, and every now and then light flickered. He glanced at his lord.

  Baelthrom’s giant human hands rested on his muscled reptilian hips, his demon wings folded behind him, and his scaled tail, usually flicking back and forth, was still. His legs from mid-thigh down were unarmoured and muscles bulged beneath dark green scales. His eyes were lights that constantly changed colour, and Kilkarn knew they saw not just physical forms and light, but energy and magic.

  Right now his eyes were glimmered gold from within the triangular slits of his helmet - a helmet moulded into the shape of the three mountains of Maphrax, and forever hiding his face.

  Baelthrom stood more than half again taller than a man, and twice as wide. His torso and arms were covered in the same thick black dark dwarven armour that all Maphraxies wore. The metal was mined from the Maphraxian Mountains, was fire resistant and virtually indestructible. Like Baelthrom, this metal was not natural to Maioria, but came, as did he, from the Dark Rift.

  The dark dwarves had named him “Baelthrom” in their own language, and it meant “Lord of Oblivion” in reference to the Dark Rift of Oblivion from whence he came.

  Over many years, the dark dwarves had tunnelled deep into the mountains, and crafted an immense network of stone corridors and vast halls. Rooms, prisons, torture chambers, banquet halls, kitchens, libraries filled with books on black magic and necromantic arts, Sirin Derenax laboratories, and everything in between, all existed within the black stone Mountains of Maphrax.

  The main chamber in which they stood lay deep within the tallest central mountain, and was where Baelthrom spent most of his time, directing the war that swept across Maioria through the iron ring. This chamber was exactly crafted at fifty-five feet square, and so high that the ceiling could not be seen. The black stone walls sloped inwards and upwards to the tip of the mountain hundreds of feet above.

  A huge iron chain swung down from that blackness, and on its end hung an iron hoop some fifteen feet in diameter. At Baelthrom’s bidding the iron ring could show any event in time in the past or present of Maioria, so long as it had a dark dwarf or Maphraxie presence in it. The iron ring was also called the Shadow Master, for it was through the Shadow Master that Baelthrom could communicate to all Shadow Stones.

  The powerful Shadow Stone was made from bloodstone - a blood-red stone found only in the lava chambers within the mountains. The bloodstone was not molten, in fact it was impervious to heat, even dragon fire did not scald it. The roots of the Maphraxian Mountains ran deep, so deep that Kilkarn had yet to hear reports that the miners had reached the bottom. Perhaps they stabbed into the core of Maioria herself.

  Once polished to a shine, Kilkarn would bring the bloodstones to Lord Baelthrom. His lord then worked his otherworldly magic upon them, making them powerful. When “infused” the stone cast no shadow in the light, as if it were its own shadow, and so the bloodstone came to be called a Shadow Stone. If you stared into one, really looked deep into its blood-red surface, it would come alive with a dark glow and draw you into it. The Shadow Stone could be used to trap the soul of any mortal. Kilkarn had almost lost himself in those fathomless depths, despite having more knowledge about Shadow Stones than any other dark dwarf. The power-filled stones were then set in black gold also mined in the Maphraxian Mountains.

  These Shadow Stone amulets were gifted to each Dromoorai, Baelthrom’s most prized and powerful war machines. Each Shadow Stone was connected to the Shadow Master, and within the Shadow Master Baelthrom could see through all the Shadow Stones worn by his Dromoorai. He could view his army and the Feylint Halanoi they fought from many angles - a priceless weapon in their war to dominate all Maioria.

  Beside the iron ring stood a black stone altar, within which were six round hollows. In one of the hollows sat a crystal orb the size of Baelthrom’s fist. It shone dully in the low light of the brazier. The Orb of Life had not always been dull, Kilkarn had seen the time of its taking in the iron ring. Back then, long ago now, the orb had been bright and shining all the colours of the rainbow. Kilkarn had hated it, it hurt his eyes and made his head throb. The magic it held was the magic of the Ancients, and he was positively allergic to it.

  Now it was dull, he could look at it easily, scornfully. For all its supposed power, Baelthrom had simply picked it up when its Keeper, an Ancient High Priest, slipped dead off his lord’s sword. As the life force of the Ancient dwindled, so too did the light of the orb. It was through understanding something of the Orb of Life that Baelthrom had managed to tap into the natural life energies of the planet, and reverse them to create immortal life.

  Baelthrom had mentioned once that two Ancients still remained, but more than that he did not say, and Kilkarn always wondered if, when those last two died, would the orb itself turn dark and die? Perhaps that was why Baelthrom allowed two to remain, in case the power of the orb died, but he could not know for sure.

  There were five other orbs and soon they too would fill the empty hollows, and their power would become Baelthrom’s. For whatever Baelthrom wanted, he got, and he wanted nothing more than the power of all the orbs.

  ‘Maioria.’

  Kilkarn jumped at the sound of his master’s voice. It echoed around the chamber.

  ‘Abundant, rich in magic… And soon, like the land they called Tusarza, it will all be under my control.’ Baelthrom did not move as he spoke and his lips, if he had any, were hidden behind his mouthless helmet. Only his pupil-less eyes changed. At first they glowed dark green, then to red and back again.

  ‘Soon, my lord,’ Kilkarn grinned.

  ‘Long have I waited. In the beginning, when first I struck Tusarza and before I had form, I laid dormant, and yet I knew all that was happening around me. I knew myself as thought, as consciousness, that I had come from somewhere else, somewhere dark and powerful, but even now I cannot remember this place…’ Baelthrom trailed off and shifted so that his back and folded wings were facing Kilkarn. Kilkarn sensed frustration.

  ‘We had long awaited your glorious arrival,’ Kilkarn offered. Baelthrom considered this.

  ‘Yes,’ he finally said. ‘Under the nurture of your race, my conscious
ness grew, or collected itself, and formed into order.’

  ‘You grew strong, fast,’ Kilkarn nodded.

  ‘And yet stronger I can grow,’ Baelthrom said. ‘I have yet to find the limits to my power and my being - always there is more. Over years that turned into centuries, I drew into me the life energy of Tusarza. Then I chose my form from the creatures on this planet. Even back then my necromancers had great skill when they created my body. When it was ready I seeped my consciousness into it. I could look outwards for the first time with physical eyes, I could feel things I had never imagined. I had to have more of this energy, this magic, it gave me strength and power, it gave me my very existence.

  ‘Tusarza had been bled dry, it offered me no more, and that is why all of Maioria must feed me until I am complete. Or perhaps I have no boundaries of being, and even the goddess, even that Source of All they speak of here, will one day be mine. I think nothing can stop me, even the mighty Ancients fell to me. I destroyed their lands that lay to the east, hundreds of islands lying like emeralds scattered in the ocean ready to be plucked.

  ‘Their magic was strong, their essence shone like the purest light. I had to have their power, I had to take it for myself. True power cannot be learnt, it cannot be shared. No, I had to take it and consume it. And how I fought them, for so long… I thought even I would break.’

  The iron ring flared into life. A battle scene was revealed. An image of Baelthrom stood within it, looking as he did now, encased within armour, his eyes glowing red. Thousands of dark dwarves spread before him, wielding their weapons and casting their black magic against tall graceful beings shrouded in light.

  They fought upon a land of green grass, forests and rivers. In the distance reached the elegant spires of crystal cities - far more advanced than could be found on Maioria today. There were no Maphraxies, they had yet to be created.

  Kilkarn snickered. ‘Yes, Lord Baelthrom, I see in the iron ring my ancestors at your side, as I have seen many times before. In your power they are fearless. The Ancient’s blood ran like rivers through the necromancers’ chambers…’

  ‘They were strong,’ Baelthrom nodded, ‘but they showed me where I was weak. Only a fool would deny how close they came to destroying me utterly.’

  Kilkarn chuckled and then fell silent as his lord’s eyes dimmed to blackish-red, and the air grew chill and heavy.

  ‘They crushed me, bound me deep beneath these very mountains. And all I could do was watch, powerless…’ Baelthrom fell silent. When he spoke again his voice was a rumbling whisper.

  ‘They were powerful enough to sunder the very magic of the planet, and bind me with unbreakable power. For eons I struggled in that prison, trapped in my own body, seething in hatred. All the while I planned the demise of those that bound me. My body wasted away and I moved back into consciousness. I watched the world, learnt its power, its gods and goddesses, its people, its weakness, and in the end I planned its coming downfall.

  ‘I learned that the light is nothing without the darkness, and freedom does not exist without first the chains. I know true freedom, the chains that bound me taught me that,’ Baelthrom fell into a brooding silence once more.

  It unnerved Kilkarn. His lord was the epitome of confidence, unshakeable will, and swift direct action. But now he seemed unsure, as if something had challenged his confidence. Indeed, it almost seemed as if his lord was concerned about something, and this feeling he did not like at all. Which is why he chose to stay silent.

  His lord never talked of the past, so why now? He had mentioned many times recently the subtle change in the energies of Maioria, and that was the only thing Kilkarn could think of that could be the cause of his Lord’s disturbance. It was impossible to think that the Feylint Halanoi had any power to stop Baelthrom now. Their concentrated numbers on the northern shores of Frayon were putting up a strong resistance, but even they dwinled. It was simply a waiting game. And with Sirin Derenax flowing in their veins, the immortals had all the time in the world. Yet still, Baelthrom was disturbed, and that made Kilkarn disturbed.

  ‘There is no power that can stop us now, Lord Baelthrom,’ Kilkarn chanced with a laugh that portrayed his utter confidence in their victory.

  Baelthrom nodded, ‘Indeed, Kilkarn. It would seem no power is greater than ours. Each day I feel my power growing stronger, and yet…’

  Kilkarn waited as the minutes went by, and when his lord did not speak, asked, ‘And yet what, Lord Baelthrom, what is it you see?’

  ‘This new power in the west… It’s strange. I don’t understand it, and that is very dangerous. No, it isn’t new. It’s as if it has always been there, within or beneath everything, like the thought that precedes the action. But now it’s… focused… It’s linked to that cursed blue moon and… something more.’

  ‘The Dark Moon of Death has been with us before, eons ago, my lord. So long ago that few scriptures remain, and only myth perpetuates its memory. It heralds a time of great change, and, Lord Baelthrom, you are that change,’ Kilkarn grinned and nodded as his lord cast him a glance.

  ‘This power is nothing compared to ours, Lord Baelthrom. Our powers only grow stronger as we assimilate all. Soon this power of which you speak will also be ours. We are unstoppable, and any that stand in our way will be killed. Either way, living or dead, willingly or not, they will be assimilated.’

  Killed.

  The notion rolled around Baelthrom’s mind for a long while. Killing did not bother him, but he did not revel in and relish it like his dark dwarves and necromancers. Killing meant death and the notion disturbed him. Even in choosing his body, the hybrid form in which his consciousness now stood, he had found the death of those beings from whom his parts were created, disturbing. The very thought of death, of not existing, disturbed him. If he really thought hard about death, and all its consequences, he came close to feeling something very alien and very uncomfortable. Fear.

  Death was a terrible thing. To live and exist, and then to die as nothing, to nothing - even the thought of it now made him shudder. Death; seeing the life disappear from a once animate being, as he had seen it disappear from the things that had created his body, he could not understand it.

  There was something terribly wrong with death. But not pain, no. Pain was good. Pain, like any information, was useful, and it could be used to teach very effectively. He had killed a great many things, but it was only through the Black Drink of Immortality that he found a chance to capture that escaping life force, to make sure it wasn’t lost and pointless.

  No, he did not agree with death. He was here to give all things a great gift - immortality. It was a pitiful shame that the beings upon Maioria were too weak and stupid to understand that gift. They followed the teachings of the goddess; a being that made them die, a being that refused to help the very people who worshipped her.

  ‘It’s time for a new god, Kilkarn. One who delivers on promises and answers prayers. One who gives immortality to all life. Too long have the people of Maioria been denied the eternal by a greedy selfish goddess. What’s the point of a goddess if she cannot even stop death, or worse, choose not too? I’m here to give back to the people what she has so long denied them.’

  Kilkarn nodded and rubbed his hands, pleased to hear the certainty again in his lord’s voice.

  ‘Death is a disease that should not be,’ Baelthrom continued. ‘Long ago in the days when I was trying to take form and did not understand death, I kept the dead close to me. I watched their limp forms decay, smelt the stench of putrefaction. I waited for months for them to move again, but they did not. They rotted, disintegrated, and eventually disappeared.

  ‘The horror of it was beyond my comprehension. “How could this be?” I asked, and I feared then for my own demise. It was a terror that haunted me like no other. But I did not age, I did not die, for I’m not of Maioria, but from the place you call the Dark Rift. All I remember of this place is that there was no such thing as death there. My immortality would be a gr
eat gift to this world. I just had to find out what it was within me that could bring immortality to a being. I had to create the greatest cure the world has ever known, the cure for death.’

  ‘That is what our prophets told us, Lord Baelthrom,’ Kilkarn said. ‘The True God would end death. So we came to you, with as much knowledge as our necromantic art had taught us. It had taught us its darkness, its deceit, its terrible strength, and its awesome power, but it was wildly unpredictable.

  ‘Even in the beginning we called ourselves Life Seekers, for we sought the eternal, we sought immortality. But without you, we could not reach it. You rewarded us for our devotion, you gave us our greatest desire - immortality. You taught us how to capture the life force within a body and use it to create the blessed Elixir of Immortality. Through you, Lord Baelthrom, we unlocked powerful magic from the Dark Rift itself.’

  ‘Yes. The Elixir of Immortality describes this wonderful gift better than what the elves call it,’ Baelthrom nodded. ‘Sirin Derenax, the Black Drink. But it does more than instil immortality into the imbiber, it binds forever their small and weak soul to me, connecting them to the greater divine.’

  Baelthrom chuckled. ‘How crude the first creations were. They required scores of lives to create but one immortal. And now it takes only one. It is the key to taking over this world. Millions of lives have been sacrificed to make this most wondrous thing. Every life has made it purer, stronger, and more powerful.

  ‘But the Maphraxies’ desire for the elixir can never be quenched. This desire is a weakness for which we still need a cure. Though immortal, they still need to consume it, albeit a weaker cruder version, to keep the body strong and powerful, otherwise they wither. Though they cannot die, they become useless lumps of flesh,’ Baelthrom’s voice hardened.

  ‘Anything can be made immortal, from the ants in the ground to the fish in the sea, all human kin and dragons, but it changes them forever,’ Baelthrom said. ‘Perhaps this change is why few come to me for the great gift I offer. If the fools do not want my gift, then they will not be spared. I cannot abide stupidity,’ his voice dropped so low the ground rumbled. ‘That is why we must enslave them, they must be forced to take the Elixir. I’m sure it’s this goddess who makes them foolish. Even under torture they do not deny her. She must be destroyed!’