Destiny's Gem
Page 22
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Another long scream was torn from him as he hung chained to the wall, his arms shackled over his head barely allowing his feet to touch the ground. His once fine royal blue robes were tattered and matted with blood and dirt. It had been weeks since he was captured, all the others in his group systematically found and executed. Hope was all but gone at this point, the sting of his failure worse than any physical pain he had endured over the last weeks. He was all that was left of the Magicus Celesti. The mighty Glaedrin was reduced to a shell of his former self, only being kept alive long enough so he could witness evil’s triumph.
The witch sat on her throne directly across the grand chamber looking at him in self-satisfaction, enjoying the spectacle of his latest torture session. It was her doing that led to their demise, and to the terrible magic that was about to be unleashed upon the world. Despite all of their efforts, they could not stop Sevra from recreating the forbidden designs she had somehow uncovered.
Looking across the room he glared at her through pain-glazed eyes. He would almost have considered her beautiful regardless of her unusual appearance, had he not known how deeply evil this woman was. With skin so fair as to almost be translucent, the red of her lips provided the only hint of color. Her hair was as dark as the night sky stripped of stars, save for a slivered crescent of white.
Unable to bear the sight of her sadistic smirk any longer he used what remained of his faltering strength to survey his surroundings. Four large pillars stood in the center of the room extending high to the ceiling, squaring off a large area between them. Nearly filling the area was an intricately crafted network of silver and obsidian conduits, interweaved and coiled so as nearly impossible to follow with the eye. The contraption was only about a foot high and several feet across, but looked to contain miles of thin twisted metalwork. Moonlight filtered in through an opening in the ceiling directly above it.
Rising from her gilded throne, Sevra walked around the perimeter of the room, approaching him with the saunter of a cat ready to toy with an injured mouse. A thin smile spread across her lips, a smile of arrogance in her plans coming to fruition. The guard who had been tormenting him bowed his head to her and stepped off to the side.
“Soon, so very soon you will see the results of a century of my efforts. All of Luskir will be united by one power, under my command,” she said to him coyly, gently patting his bruised face.
Sevra had gone to great lengths to ensure Glaedrin was fully subdued. Each of his fingers were broken to prevent him from manipulating energy with his hands. He was fed a vile liquid every hour on the hour that made his mind weak and confused. Able to neither think nor gesture a spell, he hung defenselessly to the witch’s devices. Had he been able to speak he would have told her how foolish she was for what she was going to attempt, that there was no way to account for the unintended consequences of such a massive spell, or the lack of morality evident in controlling the minds of people in such a fashion. Better yet he would have liked to incinerate her with a mere thought.
Instead, he could only groan in response, his mind too muddled to form words.
“Oh, what’s that – something to say my dear?” she asked, followed by a throaty laugh, “no, of course not Glaedrin. You will just watch. And see the extent of your failure before I let you die.”
He looked her in the eyes, trying to offer a last attempt at defiance. He maintained his gaze only a moment before his head fell back down, not having the strength to continue looking forward. Before he slipped into unconsciousness his last sight was of the necklace adorning Sevra’s collar. A string of six diamonds ran up one side, with five on the other and an empty slot where one once was. Each was fractured, flawed and broken though still beautiful. At the bottom of the chain and nestled in her bosom rested a large crimson gem, the cause of the calamity soon to be unleashed upon the world.
Boldstone
Snow devils sprang to life in the gusting winds across the northernmost plains. Glistening crystals swirled up into an unseen dance and vanished, reappearing at the wind’s whim in an encore across the frozen stage. It was always windy in the Blue Fold, the mountain sides dominating the landscape this far north at the top of the world incessantly smoothed and shaped by the unending gales. Cold and indifferent, the wind rose over the stone that endured here for millenia, stoic and indomitable in defiance of the elements.
Seeming to blend with the stone around him, his face weathered beyond his twenty-two years from this harsh environment sat a man overlooking the landscape. From his vantage point sitting high atop the rock face of Boldstone Ridge, the highest of the five mountain ridges, the majestic beauty of the land he called home was not lost on him. The sun, low on the horizon, shone across the ranges comprising the Blue Fold Mountains. In the predawn light, endless shades of blue shone like glowing sapphires in the distance.
The man looked down past the encampments on the Ridges where his people lived during the more hospitable seasons, and beyond to the open plains below. During the winter, they migrated across these plains where the weather was less severe, surviving from hunt to hunt by shadowing the movements of the various herds.
Soon, he would be trekking onto the tundra once again in search of prey, doing his part to ensure the continued survival of the tribe. If there were a people made to thrive in a land most wouldn't dare to venture, it was the barbarians of the Blue Fold Mountains. Like the mountains themselves, they too were stoic and indomitable.
With the recent passing of his father, Jvard assumed responsibility of the four clans that comprise the Frostwrynn. There was relative peace among the clans residing in the Blue Fold range. Under the guidance of the Elders many disputes were settled before it came to aggressions between groups, and healthy-sized herds on the plains in recent years meant low competition for survival among the tribe. Jvard's father, Helstajvan had accomplished much in uniting the clans who shared this corner of the Blue Fold Mountains, as well as strengthening the bonds among his own clan.
Jvard began his descent through the footpath, bringing him away from the highest areas of the mountain, his reflections on his upcoming hunt, and back home towards Boldstone Ridge. This night Jvard and his hunting group would be on the move, and there were preparations to make and rituals to observe before departing.
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