Authors: Laszlo,Jeremy
Decided upon staying his course, Mordal ignored the image of the king as he disappeared down a side street and was lost as a target of opportunity, at least for the time being. For hours after seeing the king, Mordal led his stallion up to, and around, the castle compound several times taking mental notes of guard numbers and their spacing atop the castle walls, and making various calculations of distance from one object or landmark to another. Planning was nine-tenths of any job Mordal had ever undertaken, and this one would be no different. As afternoon grew into early evening, Mordal steered his mount to the southern gate of the castle compound, and though he watched as many went unchecked into the compound throughout the day, as he approached the guards hailed him and ordered him to stop. A large burly guard stepped in front of Mordal’s stallion, a dumb move by any account, in an effort to detain him, and rather than raise an alarm, Mordal resisted allowing the great black beast to trample the guard to death beneath its hooves.
“Halt!” the guard shouted in a demanding tone.
Mordal stared at the idiot guard skeptically.
“What is your purpose here?” the guard asked.
“I bring a message to Prince Seth, and I should warn you that he does not think kindly of my being delayed,” Mordal lied.
He had heard that the prince and his wife dressed all in black, so what better cover than connecting himself to one of his targets. Just as expected, the idiot guard looked over Mordal’s clothing and stallion. Creating a correlation out of nothing but the color of his garments, the guard stepped aside, allowing the assassin to ride in as if invited. This job was going to be entirely too easy, and the pay, well, it was adequate enough that Mordal imagined he would have undertaken this simple mission for less than a tenth of what he had been promised.
Instead of heading to the castle, Mordal spent the remainder of the evening, until just before dark, riding around the castle complex. He memorized the location of every building, tower and tree. Each of the tiered courtyards he circled at least once, committing the dimensions of each one to memory. Then, returning to a stable near the outer wall of the complex, Mordal walked in as if he owned the place and handed the reins to a stable boy. He told the boy that the beast was to be groomed and fed, but must be ready to leave again at any moment. The boy nodded and turned to lead the animal to a stall. So easy was this job going to be that his horse would look better after the mission than it had before. Mordal actually chuckled at his great fortune.
Leaving the stable as the sun dipped below the castle wall, Mordal clung to the shadows of the stable. Then, calling upon his blessing, he camouflaged himself to blend with the stone of the castle wall. Slowly, as darkness overtook the castle complex, Mordal made his way to the palace itself, thinking to hunt within its walls without having to so much as slit a single throat to gain entry. Entirely too easy.
* * * * *
Seth began laying out the first of the patterns upon Sara’s long daggers. This was a magical chain of symbols he had tried earlier in the day, so he already knew that the outcome would be favorable. Completing each symbol twice, once for each dagger, Seth then moved on to the next symbol. Each dagger would only need four symbols. The first two, infused with power enough to encompass the blade, were the symbols for ‘absorb’ and ‘physical realm’ respectively. These two were then linked to a third and fourth symbol, whose auras encompassed the handle of the weapons. These symbols meant ‘release’ and ‘infuse’. Simply put, any life the blade came into contact with would be drained during the duration of that contact, and the life force would then travel through the blade into the bearer. More or less, in a battle with other humans, as was anticipated, the blades served a dual purpose. First, if Sara sustained injuries in battle, because of her amazing healing ability her life aura would be consumed to mend her wounds. Her new blades would recuperate that lost power each time she struck an enemy. Secondly, since Seth did not know exactly when he would be able to complete Sara’s transformation to restore the rest of her humanity, the blades would consume a small portion of that humanity each time she struck down a human. That force would be melded with her, performing the job for Seth in his absence. Brilliant by any standards.
Next Seth enchanted Sara’s small armored boots. To these he affixed the symbols of ‘absorb’, ‘contain’, ‘command’ and ‘release’, exactly as he had done with his breastplate earlier in the day at one point. He applied the word ‘jump’ to the magic, creating a command Sara could easily recall. Next, Sara’s breastplate was infused with the symbols of ‘contain’, ‘command’ and ‘shadows’. The command added to her breastplate was ‘hide’, another easy-to-remember command. This piece of armor would not be able to sustain itself, and as such Seth poured a great amount of power into the symbols; enough he imagined, to keep the enchantment alive for many lifetimes of use.
Her armor completed, Seth looked to Sara’s secondary, oddly designed set of blades, still undecided as to how he would enchant them. He wanted to increase Sara’s magical arsenal, but only if it seemed to build upon the skills and abilities she already had. Thinking for long minutes, Seth finally came to a decision. These were blades designed for use in two situations; either a confined space, where long traditional swords were useless, or when you were overcome and your enemy was close enough for hand to hand combat. That discovered, Seth’s choice of enchantment seemed both perfect and brutal. To each of these blades Seth affixed the symbols for ‘absorb’, ‘physical realm’ and ‘release’. The weapons would be devastating should an enemy get near enough to be struck by one. Basic logic told Seth that with this combination, any living being that was cut with these blades would have a portion of their life siphoned off, just as with the other blades. But this time, instead of that power being given into the bearer, it was then released in a torrent of pure power in all directions from the blade. Essentially, if you were stabbed with one of these blades, it would drain a portion of your life and simultaneously explode forth with the power it siphoned off, like a small bomb going off within your wound. Messy, but lethally effective.
His work completed, Seth explained how each piece of newly enchanted steel worked and warned Sara not to try the boots until she was outside where no ceiling would cause her to break her neck!
“So if I kick someone with my toe, or my heel for that matter, and pierce their skin, my boots will recharge their energy?” Sara asked.
“Exactly,” Seth said, nodding his approval of Sara’s understanding.
“So only my armor needs commands, and the weapons work on their own,” Sara stated more than asked, simply reassuring herself.
After a few more minutes, Sara was suited up in her armor, as well prepared as Seth could manage for her first lesson in weapons training. Just in time too, for evening was upon Valdadore, and within the hour darkness would fall. It would be the appointed time that she was to meet her instructor at the knights’ sparring field within the castle complex. Kissing her amazingly talented husband goodbye, Sara strode from the room, where her bodyguard, Jonas, fell into step beside her.
“You seem excited to train, Princess Sara.” Jonas stated the obvious.
“The training is just a means to an end, Jonas,” Sara replied. “During the last battle I was a liability, and useless at best. For this battle, mark my words, I will be ferocious and, I assure you, I will make a difference,” Sara said both defiantly, and matter-of-factly.
“It shall define the future of the kingdom for sure,” Jonas responded in reference to the impending battle. “You will indeed make a big difference in helping Valdadore rise from the ashes, ferocious or not. Prince Seth will be proud of your actions. Keep your mind about you while you train and while you fight, though it is just as important that you trust your instincts and let them guide you,” Jonas added, both happy to be giving battle advice and leery of what kind of killer he might be giving it to.
* * * * *
Linaya and Zorbin had ridden hard all day, only stopping once to rest their mounts and fill their bellies. The task they were burdened with was vastly important but most likely a fool’s errand. Unfortunately for both of them, it was a necessity for them to at least try, though their chances for success were slim by the most optimistic reckoning. They had talked very little throughout the day, their only real conversation being when Zorbin first went to collect the lady. Immediately she had informed him of their orders in their entirety, and with little more than an added introduction, the pair gathered their horses, mounted, and began riding east towards the Rancor Mountains. Though the mountains were only a week’s ride from Valdadore, it was where they had to go to enter the mountains that was the problem. Boulder Gate was the only dwarven city that the other races of man knew about. It was a massive subterranean structure that encompassed an entire city beneath the mountains. There were nine entrances to the stronghold, one for each of the ruling clans of the dwarves throughout history. Though there were nine ways into the dwarves’ domain, only one was open at a time, and was chosen at random. Each entrance was no less than a day’s travel from the next entrance, and even if someone knew the locations of all nine, like Zorbin did, they could spend weeks traveling from one to another, never being at the right entrance on the right day that it was opened. And given the random nature of the way the entrance location was chosen, it occurred from time to time that one entrance might not be chosen to open at all for several weeks on end. So simply selecting an entrance and waiting was not particularly a grand option either.
Zorbin feared this seemingly simple task might well prove more difficult than the small woman was prepared for. Hers was a life pampered by servants and palaces, not sleeping in the outdoors and taking care of oneself. The dwarf was accustomed to surviving in the wilds. Though he had been trained in the ways of being a dwarf, learning to mine, build and smith, he was an oddity among his race as he had chosen to follow Gorandor’s path and not the path of Ximlin, the patron god of the dwarves. His choice to follow a different path made him a bit of an outcast as an adolescent, and so Zorbin had spent much time traveling the surface of his people’s mountain kingdom. He had memorized every mountain and every pass. He knew the wildlife and had befriended Zanth, his giant wolf, becoming as close to being a brother to the beast as was possible. None of this made his standing better among his own kind, yet here he was, on his way to his ancestral home to plead the case of a human kingdom, whose survival or demise meant little to the unworldly dwarven nation.
Such were Zorbin’s thoughts as darkness began to descend upon Linaya and himself. Though he and Zanth could see well enough in the dark to continue, Linaya and her horse would find night-time travel less favorable, and as such, Zorbin brought them to a halt for the second time that day. Dismounting, he began to set camp without a word. Linaya, taking the unspoken meaning, followed his lead.
Darkness had fallen upon the kingdom of Valdadore and, with the loss of sunlight, the night was quick to turn chilly. Garret had led his knights to their destination, west and north of Valdadore to the shore of Hollow Lake. By any standards the lake was not a large one, but was dark and deep, and remained cold all year round. Some believed the depths of the lake reached down into the center of Thurr, and that perhaps the lake itself was part of the world’s soul. It was said that any who drowned here never washed ashore, but instead rose again in the underworld, a place in the heart of the world, where most believed it was hollow. Thus the deep lake had been named Hollow Lake, and those who believed in fairy tales told stories that this place was an open portal to a world of living dead.
Garret had heard such tales of the lake as a child, though he had never seen the place until now. As far as he could tell it was nothing special. Tonight, as the sun sank in the sky and its last rays splayed across the surface of the dark water, Garret found the vision calming, if not a bit boring for a place that had been described as an evil portal. Watching the sunset, Garret and his knights tethered their mounts to a small tree at the lake’s edge, though most of the grass here had been washed away with erosion. Garret saw no help for it however, and figured they would let the horses graze free during the daylight hours when predators were less active. Knowing it would be several hours before Horace would catch up with the rest of them, Garret explained his plan to the men.
“I am sure you have been wondering about the shovels, but I did not want to speak of my plans before now lest prying ears hear it,” Garret said to his knights. “Hollow Lake is not only a vast amount of water, but it is also fed by the Glorian River. What makes it most useful is its higher elevation than that of the rolling hills between Westgate and Valdadore.” Garret added, watching realization dawn on the faces of his men. “We are going to dig a new river from here to the beginning of the first hills, though we will be leaving enough soil in place to act as a dam and contain the water until Sigrant’s army is in the water’s path,” Garret said smiling. “One of you will remain here until I send word to destroy the dam, and at that time, once the water is flowing, you will return to the rest of the army.”
“Sounds like a great plan to me, brother,” said Noah Brightblade, a knight only a few years senior to the new king. “It makes sense to let the army train and prepare while we dig. In our blessed forms the five of us can move as much soil as a few hundred men and probably in less time.” Everyone else nodded their agreement.
Without needing any more orders, the knights began their task. Each man stripped off his armor and gathered from his mount the pair of shovels he had been provided with earlier in the day. These were large shovels and well made in the fashion of Valdadorian farm implements, each of them having a wide, sharp blade and a solid oak handle. Garret watched as Noah prayed briefly and exploded in size with his shovel in hand. Noah was the largest of his size shifters. Though the knight and Garret himself were the same size in their normal forms, Noah was blessed with even more size and strength than the king, growing to five times his usual size in his blessed form. The man became a monstrous thirty feet tall, and now held a shovel with a blade wider than the average bull. Garret could not help but wonder how, with men such as these at his side, Valdadore could possibly fall to the likes of King Sigrant. Within seconds four more men exploded in size, including the king himself. Each of them was a giant mass of bulging muscles as they moved immense amounts of dirt, working methodically into the night. The comrades spoke sparingly as they worked, deciding instead to focus on the task at hand. All of them knew the dire position the kingdom was in, and each understood exactly how precious time was in their current situation.
* * * * *
Seth had bid Sara farewell only moments after completing her new armor and weapons as she left immediately to be trained in the art of combat. Seth was both happy for her and worried, though he knew she would be more than an apt student. With her sharp mind and newfound physical prowess, Sara was the perfect candidate for such training. As much as Seth wanted to go watch the session himself, his duties were piled so high there was no end in sight, and he needed to get back to work. However, unable to send the woman he loved to a fight on her own, Seth had dispatched Jonas along with her to, if nothing else, witness the training so he could tell Seth about it in the days to come.
Sara and Jonas were only a few yards down the corridor when two of Seth’s soldiers walked into the room, each holding jumbled armloads of armor. Seth quickly made the alterations needed for each soldier. Sending them on their way, he began again with the next pair as soon as they entered. Though Seth did manage to perfect the process, and complete each alteration in a more than reasonable amount of time, it was a long, arduous night filled with naught but repetition and more repetition.
* * * * *
Borrik, relieved of his duties for the night, had no idea what to do with his time. Seth had suggested he spend it with the men, but Borrik already shared every waking moment with them through his telepathic link to each and every one of them. What he really wanted more than anything was a little time to himself, not only to rest, but also to unwind his weary mind. So much had happened in the previous weeks that Borrik had not had the time to properly digest it all. Once a priest, he was now a fierce killer, and the second-in-command to the most powerful mage on Thurr. Where he once was a human, now he was labeled a werewolf: a hybrid creature of man and beast. Where once he was a solitary man, who spoke to few and shared with none, now his consciousness belonged to a group, and thoughts were shared with him that he would rather not witness at all. Though Borrik knew that fate was the arm that guided him, he could not be sure that this was what he was destined to be.
With these thoughts plaguing his mind, Borrik wandered the temple to Ishanya seemingly aimlessly. Lost to the material world, his worries and fears clouding his mind, Borrik walked by instinct through the building and before he even realized where it was he was going, he stood outside a small wooden door. The door had once been the entrance to his own personal chamber. However, with so many changes and updates to the temple, Borrik was sure the room would have been repurposed. He would not be surprised if the small chamber was now used as a broom closet, as it had been nowhere near as grand as all the newly discovered rooms. Sure as he was that he would find the room altered, Borrik could still not help himself but to shove the door open and peek inside. What he found was nearly unconceivable to him.
The small room that had once been his personal chamber sparkled and shone. Nothing had been removed and, for but one object, everything inside the room was just as he left it. The room had been cleaned, restored, repainted and the stone surfaces polished, but it was still his chamber none the less. Borrik stepped into the room, leaving the door open. He turned in a circle and admired the newly restored condition of the chamber. Everything was precisely as he remembered, only better. The only item in the room that was out of place was a statue of Ishanya, that had previously stood in the adjacent chamber. It had been at the foot of this very statue where Borrik had met Seth and Sara at the beginning of many events that would mold all of their destinies. Seth had said that first day, having just met Borrik, that having touched the statue, the goddess Ishanya had spoken to him. Borrik’s mind was so laden with questions, he could not help but to hope that he too could be so lucky. Deciding that he deserved the answers his soul was seeking, Borrik turned and closed the door, leaving himself alone in the absolute dark with the statue of Ishanya.
Kneeling at the statue’s feet, Borrik leaned and pressed his forehead to the goddess’s toes.
“Ishanya, goddess of power, goddess of wisdom, I pray for your audience,” Borrik whispered into the stone of the statue.
Many long and silent moments passed. As Borrik had sadly anticipated, no answer came. He thought to rise, then believed that if the goddess watched, this would be a sign that he was impatient. Self-deterred, Borrik remained with his head pressed against the feet of the statue.
“Do you intend to spend the rest of your days upon the floor?” a musical but demanding voice questioned from the darkness.
Borrik could not help himself but be startled at the unexpected sound. Rising to his knees quickly, Borrik scanned the room for the source of the voice, yet found that he remained alone in the room with the statue.
“Imbecile mortal, I am here.” The voice spoke again, irritation plainly in the voice.
Borrik, realizing his error, looked up to the statue itself and saw that it was no longer a statue but the goddess Ishanya in the flesh. Exactly as she had been depicted by the stone, Ishanya stood both tall and regal clad in armor of the blackest night. Were it not for his feral eyes, Borrik would not have been able to distinguish any difference at all between the statue and the now living and breathing goddess. If, in fact, she was living; Borrik was unsure how such things worked for an all-powerful immortal.
“Do not just sit there wasting my time, servant. What is it that is so important that would have you call me to this place?” Ishanya demanded, the annoyance in her voice becoming ever more obvious.
“I wish to know my path, Mistress Ishanya. I wish to know what future it is that fate has planned for me,” Borrik pleaded. “I wish to know what you would have of me now that I have broken my vows and laid my seed as well as killed.”
“You brought me here to question my plans for you?” Ishanya spat, her voice beginning to rise. “You want to know your future on this path, yet you whimper like a pup about the deeds you have committed,” she mocked. “Are you sure you wish to know the role I have lain down for you, servant?”
“I am sure, Mistress Ishanya, I must know if I am to follow the teachings of a priest, or the path of a warrior, for I fear it is not in me to do both,” Borrik replied, praying he would not invoke the goddess’s wrath. “I am forever your servant, mistress, only I know not what you wish of me.
“Here is your path, priest,” Ishanya said, accentuating the last word as if it tasted vile on her lips. “Follow my champion until his end. Serve me no longer, only him. Do as he bids, and become a warrior unlike any other bred upon Thurr. Murder, defile and destroy all that stands in his path and you will have followed the road to your fate, for your fate is tied to the mortal master you now serve. I suggest you serve him well.”
With her final statement, the goddess was gone. No flash, no bang, no anything; just gone. The statue remained as it had been before the encounter, and Borrik could not help but to wonder if the encounter that had transpired had been but a figment of his very tired mind. Even if it was his own head, however, Borrik believed the answer to be the correct path in any case. He would serve Seth and only Seth from here on out. He would become more fearsome than any other being upon Thurr, perhaps even more feared than the Death Mage himself. In any event, Borrik decided he would be much better prepared to serve his master if he was well rested. Climbing into what had been his very own bed, Borrik lay down for some much deserved sleep, and without so much as a stray thought disturbing him further, he slept peacefully throughout the night.
* * * * *
Sara approached the knights’ sparring field from the east, and as she did so dozens of torches were set ablaze surrounding the field. She had little to no more human need of such things since, with her altered body, she could see the world around her even when darkness swallowed it whole. Though everything looked unnaturally green at night, she could see plainly enough to navigate through the darkness. Yet she had to admit, even to herself, she still saw in much more detail when there was light. As she neared the field, she could see it was a healer clad in the white robes of her order, as well as a Knight of Valdadore, who lit the torches. Like herself, the knight was completely covered in armor, minus his helm at present. Much to Sara’s surprise, as she approached the knight, he took a knee, bowing to her higher position and station.
“No need for that, Sir Knight,” Sara said honestly. “Here you are the superior, hence the reason I come to learn from you.”
With that, the knight rose to his feet and extended his hand to his new pupil, which Sara accepted happily.
“Please call me Malik,” the Knight of Valdadore smiled. “I am not a man who cares much for titles and such.”
“In that case would you please call me Sara?” Sara replied while she appraised her would-be teacher.
He was not a massive man with bulging muscles like many of the other knights she had seen up close. Certainly he was nowhere near the size of Garret. Malik was shorter than the others, by several inches, though he was still taller than she was. Though his girth was not that of the other knights he was still well-muscled and well-toned. His hair was cropped short to his scalp, and appeared to be of a shade between blonde and brown, and his eyes were a strange hazel mix with hints of many colors. He appeared to be a man in his thirties, still within the peak of his life, and Sara could not help herself but to wonder what the blood of a man of this age would taste like. Would it be like a wine and be sweeter with more age, or more bitter, with a stronger tang of iron. She smiled again, more at her own thoughts than at the man.
“The king has told me to teach you arms and to prepare you for battle,” Malik stated. “Have you any previous training?”