Bound by Fire

by Ronald Craft

Epilogue

  The widowed tower it was called. It stood tall against the horizon, and seemed to drink in the light from the setting sun. Blackened stones soared up into the sky above him. There had once been a twin tower, pearl white, and brilliant to behold. The tower had stood to the east and glowed with the beauty of the rising sun.

  However, it had fell long ago to a forgotten war. And thus, the remaining tower had come to be called the widowed tower.

  It wasn't the tower that concerned him. It was what lie beneath it.

  He grabbed a torch from the wall, and began his descent into darkness. Darkness was something he felt at peace in. A man might be unmade in such a place, but he relished the feeling of relying on his other senses for once. Eyes were convenient, but they often played tricks on you. They were a weakness that slowed your reactions, and brought forth doubt and fear when you could no longer rely on them.

  His foot passed over a familiar dip in the stairs where pieces of stone had eroded, and fallen away. A rodent pitter-pattering across a ledge caressed his ears, and the smell of burning coals greeted his nose. He could taste the moldy air on his tongue, and feel the damp stones as his fingers ran across them.

  These things told his body all it needed to know when passing through the darkness.

  At last, he rounded a corner, and stepped into a circle of light. His eyes watered, and he blinked against the sudden brightness until his vision adjusted.

  A small fire burned in a brazier, and some simple furniture was laid out in the room. A great wooden chest, plain in nature, but filled to the brim with devices from the past. A sturdy wooden chair with a rotting cushion, and wide arm rests sat in the back.

  In the center of the room stood a man, bent-backed, and ruined from age. His skin was cracked, and his remaining hair was white as snow, growing in small patches across his head. Only the beard that hugged his face remained from his younger days. The man's eyes had long ago become sightless.

  Yet, he saw everything.

  His hands stroked, and caressed the ball beneath him as a lover might their hearts' desire. The ball was larger than a pumpkin, and glowed with an inner light.

  “I have been expecting you, Thal,” the withered man said.

  He stared into the white eyes that were now fixed upon his own. “I was too long in coming, Lord Vicarat.”

  The man smiled a toothless smile. “I'm no lord anymore.” His expression turned grim. “You lost the boy,” he said flatly.

  Thal knew better than to lie to this man. “I did, my lord. It was not my intention—”

  “To fail me?” Vicarat said. “No, I would hope one did not intend to fail. Nevertheless, a failure is a failure.”

  “My keep was attacked by an immortal giant of a man. How was I supposed to defeat him when I lacked the power to do so? It was there, within my grasp. I could feel his heart in the boy's chest.”

  “And now it is lost to you once more.” Vicarat dropped his hands to his side, and shuffled over to the chest. After what seemed like hours of him rummaging through it, he pulled out a queer looking device.

  Vicarat shuffled over to Thal, and held it out to him.

  It was shaped like a fist, and was hollow inside. Around the edges of the opening were spikes that made it look like an open, hungry mouth. The fist seemed to sparkle even in the dim light.

  “What is this?” Thal asked as he took the object from Vicarat's hands.

  “It's an artifact I recovered from the old ones.” He shuffled over to the chair, his feet dragging across the ground with each step, and slowly lowered himself into it with a groan. “My body isn't what it used to be.”

  Thal turned the device in his hands, and studied it. It was light and cool to the touch, but seemed ordinary otherwise.

  “What am I supposed to do with this hunk of metal?”

  “Wear it,” Vicarat said.

  The old man has never lead me astray in the past. But, perhaps his mind is at its limit as well...

  “Put the thing on your hand, you fool. I haven't lost my wits yet.”

  “I'm trusting you, old man.” He slid his hand inside, and curled his fingers into a fist to match the shape of the device. As soon as he did so, the opening closed abruptly, and the spikes around the opening bit into his flesh. He howled, and tried to pry it off, but it was stuck fast.

  “W—What is this thing?” He stuttered.

  Vicarat smiled. “The old ones used technology to accomplish things that we could never fathom in this age. It was their greatest triumph, but also their undoing.” He tapped his hand. “What you have there is one of their greatest, and most dangerous creations. It's both a weapon and armor tied into one. There's potentially unlimited power inside that device.”

  Unlimited power? Why didn't he tell me about this before! I could have been whole. I could have had Bale's heart.

  “There is a price,” Vicarat continued.

  “What sort of price?” Drops of blood ran from the holes in his arm, and trickled across the metallic fist.

  “The power is limited to the life of its bearer. It consumes your life force with each use. Used too often and you'll soon look like me.”

  “That's a hefty price to pay, my lord. One I'm not so sure I wish to pay.”

  The smile faded from Vicarat's face. “It's one you're going to pay. I won't suffer another failure. If used in short bursts, the affect on you will be negligible. When you have need of its power simply call out to it. V'lac Toh.”

  He sighed.

  I've no choice it seems.

  “What would you have me do, my lord?”

  Vicarat leaned forward. “I need you to head to the Forlorn Marsh.”

  Thal's eyes widened. “The Forlorn Marsh? There's nothing there but poisonous insects, witches, and creatures none dare name. Nobody goes to the Forlorn Marsh.”

  Vicarat pointed a gnarled finger at him. “Nobody except for you. The marsh was not always as it is now. It was only time that made it that way.”

  Visits with Vicarat are always a test of my patience.

  “And what would I venture to find in the marsh, my lord?”

  “The old ones have shown me the way,” Vicarat said. “You must retrieve the remains of Zosimus, the God of Loam.”

  Fitting place for an earth god. He'd be right at home in a place like that.

  “You're certain he's there?”

  Vicarat's eyes were sightless, yet they seemed to know exactly where to find his own. “Without question. Retrieve his remains, and bring him back here. I need his power.”

  Thal nodded. “It shall be done.”

  He turned to go.

  “One more thing,” Vicarat said from behind him.

  Thal stopped, and turned back. “What is it?”

  “Our experiment failed. I saw his life extinguished within the crystal.”

  “That?” Thal sneered. “It was just a copy anyway. A copy that paled in comparison to the real thing.”

  Vicarat nodded. “Indeed. Still, it was a good test of its limitations.”

  He got a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You mean to create another one.”

  The toothless grin returned to Vicarat's aged face. “I shall. It will be more... robust this time around.”

  Thal shook his head. “You should be careful. This last copy had the potential to be dangerous. If one should get out of control...”

  “Pah,” Vicarat waved off his doubt. “It'll be fine. Chaerok was just a pawn. Nothing more.”

  He chuckled. “You named it?”

  “Of course I did. I couldn't send a nameless copy out into the world. It's not until you give them a name that they become real.”

  “So you say, my lord.”

  As he walked to the surface, Thal let his thoughts wander.

  What plans does Vicarat have for Zosimus's remains?

  The skin where the device had poked through throbbed.


  Blasted old man. Could've at least warned me first before I stuck my hand inside of it.

  He moved up the steps with practiced ease, and soon found himself greeted by the twinkle of the first stars in the sky.

  Thal looked to the south, and shook his head. “Seems I must play the fool for a while longer.” He took his first step towards the beginning of his destiny.

  Soon, he thought. I'm so close now. Wait for me, Father.

  Flame of Redemption

  Book 2 of “The Twin Flames” trilogy coming in 2012!

  Nearly consumed by the fires of dark and light, Ilian lies comatose. With only one hope of sealing Bale, Amaren and Karena travel to the last city in the world said to possess magic.

  Meanwhile, Lochien struggles to keep his sanity as the voices of his dead family torment him during his journey. Cursed with restoring the gods that he once helped kill, Lochien ventures into The Frozen Sea. However, he soon discovers that he is not the only one seeking the gods.

  Rodach returns to his kingdom only to find that his long-time friend, and trusted servant, has taken Rodach's throne for himself. With the entire kingdom against him, Rodach must fight against the man who was once like a brother.

  Even as each soul struggles against their fate, a greater threat looms before them. A powerful creature, born of greed, breaks the chains that bind it leaving a path of destruction in its wake as it searches for the only object in the world that can satisfy its hunger.

  The heart of a god.