Amashanae - Book 1

by Timo Kettunen

CHAPTER 2

  Lieutenant L’moen was parading nervously in the throne room of the Thraewyns palace. He was trying to ease his mind by presenting himself as noble and important in front of the handful guards and servants present. It helped little: he was very worried and could not hide it, no matter how hard he wished. He kept constantly glancing to the shadowy corners of the large room, as if afraid that at any moment someone might shoot a poisonous arrow through his body from the darkness surrounding the room. His full plate mail seemed to weigh heavier and heavier by the minute and his sweaty hands crawled down to finger the grip of his long sword. Examined the rich tapestry on the stony walls and the high, narrow openings that let only a little light sneak into the room, he was not really noticing any of it, his mind busy with other thoughts; failing a mission given to him. In Thraewyns failure was not ligthly look upon. He was frantically pondering about various ways of breaking the news, but time was running short. Things had evolved in too rapid a succession – where there had been simple tasks and plenty of time before, he now felt he was constantly under-prepared for the development of the situation.

  Yet, in all fairness, none of this was his fault, after all. No, he had followed the instructions to the letter, it was the cursed Orcs that had went ahead and done it. Yes, Raelia Elvenkiller, the mistress and the high priestess of the Firnaraee-cult had especially underlined that no one beside her were allowed to open it. No one. And those damn, brainless, useless, stinking Orcs had gone and done just that! L’moen tried to come up with something more he could use as an explanation to her, a lever he could employ to tilt the scales of justice in his favor, but he could not. He knew that when he would tell the bad news to Raelia, there would be no such powers that could protect him from her anger. He could have tried to escape but there was his honor. Furthermore, he was afterl all one of her highest-ranking lieutenants and maybe, just maybe, she would consider that in his favor. He would go straight to the issue, tell her straight away that he had done everything in his power in order to avoid this wrongdoing, and that it had been the damned Orcs that had disregarded his strict instructions and done what they always did the best: made a great mess out of the whole situation. Even the human captains had apparently not been able to prevent the Orcs from ruining it all. He would present his case proud and sure of himself. That might well be his only salvation.

  L’moen swept drops of perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. A door opened.

  “Her majestic mistress Raelia Elvenkiller has arri …”, a servant begun, but was cut short and pushed harshly to the side.

  “Shut up you fool, you maggoty bag” Raelia snapped coldly and scorned him, not making a slightest effort to fake any respect for her lackeys. Who basically included everyone expect a select few in her innermost circle. ”I believe L’moen knows very well who I am”, she hissed between her closed lips and looked straight at L’moen who immediately fell on his knees and pressed his forehead on the floor in an eager salute.

  “Stand up and look at me, liutenant”, Raelia spat out arrogantly and with a dry laughter in her voice.

  As always, Raelia did enjoy her underling’s plight and anxious servitude, but this time the urgency of the matter kept her from enjoying the situation. For the time being, at least. L’moen peevishly looked up to Raelia and pondered how anyone so beautiful could be so evil and unsympathetic. Beautiful she was, indeed, with clear features and a noble profile. And the luxurious gown she wore alleviated her fair appearance even further. There might have been other, younger priestesses able to rival her when it came to beauty, but none could enjoy the full effect of the gowns in her possession. And, understanding the standing and the nature of Raelia, not one would probably even dare to try and outshine her if one respected one’s life. The precious stones that circled the neckpiece of her gown shone a cold beauty that reflected on her face and hair and L’moen once again found himself thinking about what might happen if she had been on his level in the hierarchy.

  ”Well, did you find it or not?” Raelia interrupted his dreaming, already starting to look impatient. L’moen faltered, caught off-guard once again, even though he had had plenty of time to prepare. It was something that often happened to men when faced with the cold beauty of Raelia.

  “Um, yes, but…”

  ”Excellent!” Raelia yelled out spreading her hands and looking thriumphantly around the room. “Finally it has been found – and I, Raelia Elvenkiller, am the finder of our long lost destiny” Her eyes blazed as she reveled over the prospect.

  For centuries the Firnaraee-cult has been searching for this treasure, this ancient grave that so many had already believed to exist only in old wives’ tales. Indeed it was a secret so old that even the original scriptures that had once formed the basis for her cult had long since been eaten away by the wear of time despite their efforts to preserve the precious fragments of their origin. Generations after generations of high priestesses had dreamed of this day, and all the former high priestess had held the same purpose in their life – to find the source. Now Raelia finally had done it. She had found the grave of Firnaraee, the ancient bringer of devastation, the demon of terror.

  “Do you see it? That grave – or what lies still within its crypt – is the final instrument in dominating all the men and beasts of this realm”, she went on. “And now I have found it.”

  “…but the Orcs, you know, they aren’t…” L'moen tried to cut in, sweating more profusely by the second.

  “Now we can begin the preparations for the grand plan.” Raelia knew that she would need to hold on to her wits, because the opening of the grave would require great powers. She would need to close herself in her chamber and prepare for several days to build up her strength. Magic was very powerful in her, it was a given for her kin, but she would not want to take any risks whatsoever. She had not searched this long just to end up a tidbit for Firnaraee. Her most loyal warrior and her veritable right hand, Il’sharat, would be immediately dispatched towards the site to begin the preparations there and to ensure everything would work as planned.

  “…that clever and what they did…”

  Yes, she would need the powers of a large number of magical books, symbols and liquids to prevent the beast from escaping, and she would have to memorize long spells in order to learn how to control it, once it had been exhumed.

  “This is exactly what I was born for…the reason I have lead such a devouted life, learned magic, become what I am now. It has all been towards this goal, this fate, no, my fate!”

  “…it … was out of my hands and I’m very sorry, but…”

  Raelia was too excited to listen to what L’moen tried to tell her, too busy imagining the ultimate reign she would create. Finally she would annihilate all the elves for good. For she hated the elven kin from the bottom of her pitch black heart, and a long time ago had earned the name Elvenkiller – she never thought twice when she was presented with an opportunity to dispatch one from the realm of the living. She had once been betrayed by their kind, or at least that was how she perceived it to be – and had nearly died. There was only one elf she could tolerate around her, Il’sharat, but he was another matter entirely. Il’sharat was a fugitive among elves, a cast-out, and she knew his heart to be nearly as dark and evil as her own. Furthermore, he was a formidable fighter and had saved her from a certain peril already. Perhaps the elf had been entwined by her cold beauty and power, perhaps he had utter reasons, but it did not matter. She just knew that he would die for her, and so he had slowly worked his way into her entourage as a veritable right-hand to wield as she pleased. In more ways than she would use a mere warrior, too.

  “…they opened the grave.”

  Now Raelia had acquired almost everything she had been searching for. Her quest was now almost over and… she suddenly froze on her tracks. It was as if she sucked in all the sound around herself, and silence fell over the room as a cold but fiery rage begun to boil within her. She looked at L’moen and
her presence turned into a dark gloom that spread from her engulfing the room. Suddenly there was such fury in her glance that it could have killed a weaker man.

  ”They… opened… the… grave?” She asked furiously, very slowly and with a stress on every syllable sharp as a knife. ”Do you mean, that all of the preparations and search has been useless and the grave IS open?”

  “Y-yes…” L’moen stuttered. “But your majesty”, he explained, agitated, “It wasn’t my fault, you see…”

  “It was not your fault?! Of course it was your fault!” She roared and a pair of lightning bolts struck from the vaulted stone ceiling above. It seemed for a while she could rip his head off with sheer willpower. She stared at L’moen for a long while, blue electricity trickling down her features, as the servants cowered behind her. Then finally she spoke again, but to L’moen’s astonishment, almost laconically.

  “Irrelevant. The grave is open and the beast will be released – uncontrolled.”

  She started paced back and forth on the tiling, apparently unable to decide what to say or do.

  “They opened it…”, and her voice almost broke uttering the words. But then again her fury got a hold of her, and she gestured with her hands and discharged her rage towards the walls, which shook and crumbled in places where fireballs of her rage hit, sending bits and shards of stone flying all around them. The servants shrieked and L’moen tried to dodge the falling debris of stones and he was suddenly almost witless from the fear of what Raelia would do to him any second now. There were far worse things to fear than death, he knew.

  “It was carefully explained to all of them…” he blabbered incoherently, but Raelia interrupted him:

  “Do not bother” in a voice as dead and cold as a graveyard. Her gaze swept the ruined room once more and then she suddenly took off on her heels. As she vanished down the corridor he could hear her screaming

  ”They opened it!” And the servants slipped out of the room to follow.

  L’moen let out a sigh and eased a bit. He had been almost certain that she would kill her. However, you never knew with her. Promptly he straightened up and turned to leave as soon as he could, to let things cool down a little before he would come back again, but was badly scared discovering someone walking from a corner towards him. He could have sworn there had been nobody else present, and instinctively his hand fell on the handle of his blade and her pose dropped a few inches, ready to counter any attack. It was Il’sharat who was casually tossing an apple from hand to hand,as he emerged from the shadows. The simple movement somehow lured L’moen’s attention and he did not know what to do.

  “You do understand, my mistress does not accept failure”, Il’sharat said with a voice as soft as velvet, seaselessly tossing the apple from hand to hand. It seemed to glide through the air so easily, and there was something very disturbing about it: L’moen could not take his eyes off the fruit, eyes now wide from fear. He swallowed.

  “You know what…” Il’sharat begun, but at the same time threw the apple towards L’moen, and just as he begun to raise his hand to catch the apple hurtling towards him he already felt how his innards splashed out from a gaping cut that somehow had appeared in his stomach between the sheets of his armour. He looked down at his guts splashing on the floor, his hand again returning to his blade, coughed dryly and started to fall, still with a surprised, child-like astonishment in his eyes as he returned his gaze to the elf. And that was the last thing he saw – Il’sharat standing in front of him, wiping blood from his blade.

  “…Failure… always leads to peril”, Il’sharat finished his sentence, gave him a big grin and retreated to shadows that suddenly collapsed on L’moen and shut his lights out for good.