The Key of Creation: Book 01 - Rise of the Destroyer

by M. D. Bushnell

  Aldrick rose to stretch and was hit by a sudden flash of insight, as unlikely as the possibility seemed. He ran back through the library and up the stairs to the main part of the palace. In his excitement, Aldrick forgot the way, and after a few wrong turns he found himself lost. Running down another hall, Aldrick was becoming frustrated when the object of his search suddenly appeared before him.

  Breathless, he stared at the villain who had murdered the battalion of soldiers in his vision, and lived now in this painting, reeking eternal havoc. Reliving the horrific scene recreated in such vivid detail on the nearly life-size painting before him, Aldrick now knew the origin of the artifact. Unnoticed before, but painted in vivid detail was a shiny golden pyramid atop the gnarled wooden staff held by the most infamous Magician in history, Sargon the Destroyer.

  Chapter 10

  “I don’t understand what we are doing.”

  Dathan looked at his partner Simon as if he were a complete idiot. “What do you bloody mean you don’t understand what we’re doing?”

  “Our orders are clear; we’re supposed to locate Prince Garrick. What I don’t understand is why.”

  “Since when do soldiers question their bloody orders?” Dathan demanded. “What blasted army are you from Simon? We’ll bloody well do what we’re told to do.”

  His talkative companion was still not convinced. “I’m just saying. Since when has King Zabalan used the army to find Prince Garrick? If he wants Garrick so much, why not send your friend Warren, or some of those new bodyguards of his? Those guys give me the creeps!”

  They arrived at the White Horse Inn and Dathan growled, “Shut up already will you, and help me look for the bloody prince.”

  Dathan would never admit it, but secretly he had to agree with Simon. He felt compelled to question their recent orders as they entered the inn, contrary to his own advice. Why were they searching for Prince Garrick? The prince had a wild spirit and would often disappear for a day or two on a whim. More often than not, a woman was involved.

  Rumor had it the prince had not been seen in over a fortnight, which while unusual, was not unheard of as the royal family often went on holiday to the village of Eridun, east of Kishen. King Zabalan, legendary for his patience, would usually send the squire Warren to locate the wayward prince. Dathan could not recall him ever resorting to using the army for that task before.

  They showed the irritated innkeeper their orders and questioned him as to whether the prince had been there recently. With yet another discouraging response, they were forced to search the premises.

  Dathan said as they climbed the stairs of the inn, “We’ll follow our bloody orders of course, but between you and me none of this makes any bloody sense.”

  Simon nodded. “I know! Strange things have been happening ever since the Gathering. Those new guards for example; animals they are, I tell you! And what about orders coming down directly from the king, instead of through our commanders? I hear no one has even seen most of them recently. Then there are the rumors about the king being different.”

  “True or not, it’s bloody treason to talk about it, so I’d suggest you don’t. The fools spreading those rumors have disappeared, and I don’t want that to bloody happen to me.”

  “The king has been sequestered in the palace ever since the gathering,” Simon continued. “But those that have seen him and will talk say he’s a changed man.”

  Dathan sighed as he opened one of the second floor doors and peered in. “Blistering Urkalla, didn’t I just say that was bloody treason?”

  Simon nodded, but continued as if he had not heard. “I still don’t believe the king’s giving all the orders himself. If he sent the military leaders on a mission, where’d they go?”

  Dathan shrugged. “I have no bloody idea. Not like they would tell grunts like us anyway.”

  “I also heard that bodies were dragged out of the Great Hall in the middle of the night after the Gathering.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Dathan asked.

  “From two different men, though I haven’t seen them around recently. Mark my words, something strange is going on.”

  “I’m not gonna bloody argue with you. And you should shut that mouth of yours.”

  They quickly searched the remaining rooms of the simple two-story inn, most of which were empty this time of day. They did surprise a few guests, to whom they grunted a brusque apology before moving on.

  “He’s not here,” Simon moaned after they had searched the final room. “We must have searched every building in Kishen now twice for him. I still don’t understand why we are looking for him. He’s a grown man after all.”

  “Then we’ll bloody keep looking,” Dathan sighed. “That’s our blasted orders.”

  Their search of the White Horse Inn completed their circuit of this end of town. Since it was near the end of their shift, they walked back to headquarters to report their lack of success. After giving an account of their search, they received surprising new orders; they were to carry their report directly to the king himself.

  Simon was not happy with the assignment and said as much to their commander. The gray haired veteran was extremely nervous and unhelpful, giving them no reason for the unusual task being assigned to them. Normally, only a much higher ranked officer would be responsible for delivering reports directly to the king. Perhaps with the highest-ranking officers gone on special assignment, there was simply no one else to deliver the reports.

  More likely, Dathan thought wryly, their sergeant did not want to be the one to deliver bad news. It would be typical for an officer to deliver good news by himself, but send a grunt when it was bad.

  Resigned to their assignment, they made their way to the palace. Upon arriving, they requested an audience with the king to deliver their unfortunate report. Simon was full of questions as usual, many of which were rhetorical, but all of which Dathan found irritating.

  “Why do we have to do this? Why isn’t an officer delivering this report? I’m hungry, when are we going to be done?”

  “Will you shut up already?” Dathan interjected. “I swear, your bloody mouth is going to get you in trouble someday!”

  Simon ceased his incessant inquiries once they arrived at the throne room, but Dathan was not certain if that was due to his request, or the four hulking and extremely well armed guards looming in the doorway. Either way was fine with Dathan.

  He showed the scowling guards their orders and requested an audience with the king. After a short wait, they were quickly escorted into the throne room, to stand before King Zabalan himself, seated on his massive basalt throne. Several more guards flanked him, all wearing sneers nearly as cruel looking as their weapons.

  The king appeared similar to what Dathan remembered, and yet different. He was thinner, his mass of black and gray locks was unkempt, and his royal robes were rumpled and stained. The menacing scowl he wore was quite unlike the beneficent smile Dathan recalled.

  “Why are you here?” the king rasped in a low hiss.

  Simon was the first to reply. “Uh, well you see, uh, your majesty, that is, we were sent here to give you the report on the, uh, search for Prince Garrick.”

  A moment of exasperated silence hung heavily in the room like a thundercloud. “And?” Zabalan growled. “Where is he?”

  Since Simon had begun the report, Dathan felt it was best to say nothing. Simon glanced first at him, then at the belligerent guards. Seeing no help, Simon swallowed and turned back to the king.

  “Uh, well, so far we have been unsuccessful in finding the prince. He doesn’t seem to be anywhere in the city.” Seemingly oblivious to King Zabalan’s rising ire, he continued, “To be honest, I don’t understand why you have us searching for him in the first place. That is, I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. He’s a grown man, isn’t he?”

  Zabalan slowly rose, and Dathan could see his hands shaking. Anger glimmered in his black, hooded eyes. Before now, Dathan had only seen the king at public funct
ions and the like, but he had always seemed patient and kind. He could never have imagined the man on the edge of fury who stood before them now. This was not the same king the Illyrian people had known and loved for so long. The rumors had to be true; he was a changed man.

  Zabalan pointed at Simon with one crooked finger. “You don’t understand my orders?” With a quick gesture to one of the guards, he added in a vicious whisper, “Kill him.”

  The chilling command hung in the air as Simon’s expression transformed into a look of surprise, followed by one of terror. The normally garrulous man stood there stunned and speechless as the towering guard unhooked a massive axe and stepped forward.

  The doomed man regained muscle control and spun towards the door, but made it no further; the enormous axe plunged deep into his spine with a sickening crunch of bone. Blood fountained from the wound on impact, splashing gore onto both Dathan and the grinning executioner. Dathan stared in horror as Simon collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, blood oozing from the gaping wound in his back to pool on the floor.

  Zabalan plopped down on his throne, ignoring the final twitches of the remains staining the marble floor as if the iniquitous act had not occurred. His terrifying gaze settled on Dathan like a predator, sending a shock of terror down his spine like a lightning bolt.

  Zabalan wiped his spittle flecked lips on his sleeve and wheezed, “How about you? Do you understand my orders?”

  Dathan swallowed, knowing he walked the edge of a razor. With his life depending on his answer, Dathan nodded and answered as confidently as he could. “Yes sire! Prince Garrick must be found, no matter the cost!”

  The king narrowed his eyes and his gaze grew intent, as if peering into Dathan’s very soul for any sign of sarcasm or duplicity. Under the power of that gaze, Dathan felt each beat of his heart ring loudly in his ears. Instinctively, he held his breath. After an excruciating moment, the pressure passed and he drew a slow shuddering breath.

  Zabalan hissed. “Perhaps you will see to this personally?”

  Dathan stood at attention. “Yes your majesty! I will search for Prince Garrick as if my life depended on it.”

  “That it does,” King Zabalan whispered, a horrible rasping sound. “Now be gone with you!”

  Dathan swiveled and marched out of the throne room, with no more than a flicker of his gaze towards the blood-soaked corpse on the floor. He had tolerated Simon in life, but now that the man lay dead on the marble floor in a pool of blood, he could only feel pity. No one deserved to die like that. Dathan passed through the arched entrance and turned down the hall, away from the charnel stench of death. The sudden silence clutched at his heart like a rusty iron fist.

  Dathan left the palace and drew a shaky, shuddering breath. Everything had changed; the rumors were true. If anything, they had been understated. Dathan had no conception of what had happened to the king, but this was not the same man who had ruled Illyria benevolently for so many Summers. This was a monster.

  It was no wonder Prince Garrick had not been found. He was likely still alive considering the ongoing search, but if he had discovered the change to the king, he would have fled in terror. No, Dathan thought, he would not have done that. Prince Garrick could be irresponsible, but he was no coward. He would not have fled in terror; he would have left to seek help. His friend Warren, the squire and constant companion of the prince, would have seen to that.

  Then realization struck; he had not seen Warren since the night of the Gathering, when he had been searching for Garrick. Warren must have found the prince and escaped with him. Chances were good that if he found Warren, he would find Garrick, unless his clumsy friend had met his doom.

  But if alive, where would they have gone? The king was so adamant that he be found; yet the city had been scoured for days, without success. Unless Warren was dead and the prince was touring the brothels of the country. No, he could not accept that; they both had to be alive.

  That only left one option. Although none of the surviving gate guards had reported seeing anyone leave the night of the Gathering, Garrick must have fled the city under the cover of darkness, taking Warren with him. Dathan had no way of knowing where they had gone, but the best place to begin a search would likely be the southern trade city of Karkerech.

  His decision made, Dathan started towards home. He would need to pack and find a way to sneak out of the city. The king may have ordered him to find the prince at any cost, but his commander might not understand, or try to send a squad with him, and he did not care to risk that. Best that he went alone.

  Scared, and with no one to trust, he knew his life depended on finding Prince Garrick; Zabalan would certainly kill him otherwise. Dathan had told the king the truth, however. He was going to find Prince Garrick, but when he did he would not be sharing that information with the king.

  Chapter 11

  Aldrick raced back to the library, miraculously arriving with the assistance of only one wandering servant. He sat at his customary table and opened the large book of symbology, flipping to the section of the Great War. He huddled over the ancient volume in the flickering candlelight and inspected each page, until he found what he was looking for.

  Depicted in a fading diagram was an artist rendition of the pyramidal golden artifact he had discovered, complete with its jagged handle. With a surge of excitement he scanned the ancient drawing, and then read the caption below it:

  Sketch of the above object by Jacob, son of Morley, the only man known to have allegedly seen it with Sargon and live to tell the tale. This object was mounted on the staff of Sargon the Destroyer, during the Great War. Sargon himself is rumored to have held the staff dear, and referred to the pyramidal headpiece as the “Clavis.” Whether the object was an adjunct to his powers of sorcery, a key of some kind, or merely a matter of sentimentality, is unknown.

  The staff is believed to have been lost after Sargon’s defeat at the Battle of Mount Zagrias. Of interest to symbologists is the pyramidal shape of the Clavis itself. It is conjectured that this three-sided symbol originally represented the Tripartite Pantheon, that being the original gathering of three. Some scholars have speculated it symbolizes the All Father’s splitting of the legendary Tritaph into thirds, but perhaps it is an amalgam of both. The later use of the symbol by Sargon has certainly muddied the original meaning. Further confusing the issue for scholars was the recent discovery of the lost pyramids of Aegizeh, and whether or not they relate to the ancient symbol of the Clavis. In summation, we can only speculate as to what the original meaning of the symbol may have been.

  Aldrick was amazed that he had found such a legendary piece of history, if the artifact was indeed the Clavis. But what possible connection could there be between Sargon the Destroyer, the Clavis, and the failed attack on his family? With more questions than answers, he decided to take the information to his father. Perhaps with the assistance of the scholars they could find the solution to this maddening dilemma, if indeed one existed.

  Aldrick found his father on his way to bed. Excited from his discovery, Aldrick blurted out, “Sargon the Destroyer!”

  Tiberius stared at his son expectantly.

  Aldrick took a deep breath, and continued. “I have discovered where the artifact came from; it was possessed by none other than Sargon the Destroyer.”

  Incredulous, Tiberius raised an eyebrow. “Sargon? How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “I saw it first in a dream. I know that sounds crazy, but the images were incredibly vivid and realistic. I was climbing a hill, only to discover a sorcerer at its peak wreaking destruction on an army situated below. He had the exact same object mounted on his staff.”

  “You had a dream,” Tiberius said, peering at Aldrick with a skeptical expression.

  “I know how it sounds, but hear me out,” Aldrick argued. “I remembered seeing similar imagery in that enormous painting in the palace.

  Tiberius nodded. “I know the one. ‘Sargon’s Last Stand’.”

 
; “I was there at that battle.”

  “Have you lost your mind, Aldrick? That battle took place five hundred Summers ago!”

  “I meant in my dream. Once I made the connection, I went back to the library and checked the symbology book. Inside, I found an artist rendition of the artifact as it appeared on Sargon’s staff.”

  Tiberius crossed his arms. “Are you sure it’s the same piece?”

  “I’m certain,” Aldrick nodded. “It appears to have the same handle, but I’ll need the artifact back to verify.”