Draconic Testament (54 page)

“Damn you.” Tundra said. “Damn you, hear me?”
“Too late for Damnation, I'm afraid.” The man laughed. “Adda’Gorath saw to that when he cursed you.”
“I am no-“ Tundra began.
“No? You’re not? What do you call this?” He said, smiling, outstretching his arms. Grave worms dropped from the man’s sleeves and hit the ground with a light thud. The thuds seemed a lot more harder than they should be, though the worms were long and thin, their wet looking skin’s glistening even in the dim lighted alleyway. Tundra’s mouth opened and eyes widened when she saw them, wriggling their way into dirt, dirt clinging onto it’s skin. She grabbed her Arcana, hands shaking, and pointed it at the fiend in front of her, but her eyes were still locked onto the worms. She was terrified, images of her grim past flashing in front of her. The worms were the one thing she couldn’t get over. She could kill thousands of men and women, face demons of the Null and Void, exorcise curses made by Warlocks and slain Wraiths, but she could never get over the grave worms. They seemed to multiply, and creep towards her, constantly growing in numbers. “Wh-What are you doing?” She asked him. “Why? Why?” No answer came from the man’s bloody lips. He chuckled, teeth closed, and grave worms squeezed their way through the gaps in his broken, destroyed teeth. She tried to back away, but her legs were heavy. She tried to scream as they crept towards her, getting closer by the second and seeming to speed up, but her voice caught in her throat, and no sound exited her mouth. Her body and legs felt heavy as she backed away, eager to turn and run, and get away from her fears, but she couldn’t. She slowed down, and her trembling increased, to the point where she all but halted in her tracks. The grave worms reached her, and her fear broke the locks on her voice, and she screamed and wailed. They crawled up her legs, underneath her robes, wriggled between her toes and underneath her toenails. They seemed to bite her somehow, and the wounds they left oozed blood. Some even got inside her body, wriggling inside her legs and feet, slowly creeping up inside her womb and beyond. She screamed, and fell backwards, and the worms crawled onto her from the ground beneath her. She screamed, flailed, beat the ground, and cried as the worms enveloped her, and the little light that was let into the alleyway ceased to exist, and her eyes were eaten out.
Something tugged on her waist as she came to, groggy and drooling from her ordeal. She was sat up against a hard wall, and she felt no wriggling on her body. She knew what had happened almost instantly. She blinked and looked around with what little strength she had inside her to find that she was still in an alleyway, but there were two exits plain and clear at either side. She looked to her left, where she saw an urchin pulling at her belt, trying to get her pouch of Tix. When the kid saw her, he gasped, and tugged on the pouch as hard as he could till it snapped away from her clothes. Then, he took the heavy pouch full of hard, metal coins, and swung it at her, hitting her over the head and knocking her to the ground where Tundra lay, listening the fast paced patter of the Urchin’s footsteps as he ran away. She spat the dirt that had entered her mouth out onto the ground, and quickly scanned for grave worms, images of her little scenario unwillingly re-entering her head. “Damn you, Adda’Gorath.” She moaned. She sat back up and looked around, examining her body, looking to see if she was hurt anywhere. She was weak as anyone could be at that point, and barely had the will to live. She turned out to be unharmed, apart from the ache in the side of her head where she had been struck by the Urchin. “Huh...” She pondered. “The child has more courage than all these Cazrians in this cesspool combined. My kind have been ravaging their streets, their homes, their women, and they simply pass by an important, Warlock looking Domini as if it were none of their concern. I would have cut this Domini’s throat, if the shoes were switched.” She wiped her eyes, sleepily as her senses and strength slowly came back to her. She looked a mess, and was in a sorry, pathetic state for someone so high in the ranks of the honourable Inquisition of Dusk. She pulled herself to her feet, patting away the dirt that had cloaked her sleeve and her robe bottoms.  “This is my fault. I let the image get to me, and I secluded myself in a small spot.” This had happened often to her. It was like living a nightmare, being cursed like she was. After a certain period of time, the ghost of her past would haunt her when she was relaxed and calm, and drive her into a frenzy. Then, it would reveal itself in an area where nobody would snap her out of her ordeal, and drive her insane. It took a major toll on her psyche when the ghost of her past succeeded. Living in total fear, on the precipice of insanity, looking for the hooded, crack teethed man and his grave worms. This was Adda’Gorath’s doing, when she had come to him in the middle of the Domi-Cazrian war to put him and his underlings down. She had got him alone, and soon realised she was outmatched when he had her on the ground, mouth full of blood, arms and legs broken. But he didn’t grant her the release of death, no, he cursed her. There are many curses, and many ways to curse a single person, but Adda’Gorath’s was high level, and very deadly. He created of seal on her stomach, around the area the umbilical cord used to be, and infecting her Magic Pool with the curse called ‘Guilty Tribunal’. The Embodiment of her past would haunt her, and she would eventually fall to insanity and a slow death. Nobody knew of her curse, but her. She was alone, isolated, and she trusted nobody. One of the many reasons most of her apprentices died. She had spent long nights, staying awake with the candles on researching old tomes on strong curses looking for a cure for the Guilty Tribunal, but most of what she found that was on the curse ended up making her feel worse. She didn’t know how to break the curse that had been inflicted on her Aura, buried deep inside her magic pool. Whenever she dreamt and went to the haven of her Magic pool in her dreams, it would slowly shift into a graveyard, and the totem of Adda’Gorath’s clan would stand in the middle, above an empty grave full of Grave worms. Though, as she found out, sometimes, it was not always empty. The way she was now reminded her of the way she first woke up after the curse was placed. She awoke that one night, and her memories were gone. One name resounded in her head. ‘Tundra’. She felt sorrow when she thought of the name, and that was when memories flowed into her. An odd selection of memories. It was as if her whole life was a tapestry, and she had been given small pieces of it, as if it were but a puzzle. As if it were a game, and Adda’Gorath no doubt thought it was. The memories didn’t feel real, as if they weren’t her own. It confused her. “I can’t remember anything...” Tundra said. But there was one thing that reminded her that she was a person, and reinforced her belief that Tundra was real. Her ring, on her marriage finger. She pulled her hand up and looked at it, stroking the ring. “Draynar.” She said. She nearly blushed at the name when she was looking at the ring. Her perspective of the person changed entirely. Love choked her body as if it were a snake. Why did she feel this way? It felt wrong. Not because she was part of the Inquisition, or she tried to kill his father, or she hated warlocks... it was something else. Something she couldn’t place. All these things contributed to the madness of the being in the cloak. “What do I do?” She asked herself. “Nothing makes sense... All I have is the Inquisition... When evil has been vanquished, when I follow my heart, will my memories return?”
She pulled herself together, and travelled back to the Vigil, in a foul mood with the headache that had been inflicted by the Urchin. She entered the Vigil, only to be harassed the second she set foot inside the Vigil, making her sigh and grit her teeth. “Mother Tundra!” An Initiate shouted as he ran up to her. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you!”
“You must think highly of yourself, to presume to pry such answers from me.” She hissed at him.
“O...Oh. Apologies, Mother, but Matriarch Tyria has come here to see you. It seems she’s in a hurry, and she came as fast as she could.”
“What does she want?” Tundra hissed. Tundra didn’t like the Covenant at all. Even though she was resentful of the people in charge of the Inquisition at times, she loved the Inquisition. It stood for everything she believed in, that Forbidden Sorcerers caused wars and suffering, and that they needed to be snuffed out in order to save the lives on innocents. However, while she loved the Inquisition, she hated the Covenant, who hid their members and did not allow the inquisitors close to do their Duty. The Inquisition also used to have a place in each of the Councils of the Kingdoms of Cazria, but when their numbers dwindled over time, and the Covenant overtook them after the events of the Metholian Civil War, they were dropped out of the councils. Much controversy surrounded them and the bandits that emerged among the Domini population after the war, as they forced their way into homes, sometimes even brutalising innocent Domini to the point of them running to the Covenant for protection, so they were kicked out. Tundra didn’t think it was the Inquisition’s fault, even though she wasn’t around for that time. “Why should I care what she has to say?” Tundra asked.
“Mother, please.” The Initiate says. “She wants to speak with you. She’s been in your room pacing around for hours.”
“Hours...” Tundra pondered. She was usually out cold for a long time like that. She usually slept longer too, trapped in nightmares, which was common when she slept. She avoided them by not sleeping, but that was the trick of the curse. To succumb to fear, or exhaustion. Either one would drive you to insanity, and both were equally unbearable. “Alright. Escort me to her, will you?” She asked him. He led her up the stairs of the Vigil, and across the side bridges of the courtyard to her chambers at the end. In the courtyard were the grunts and shouts of her sons and daughters in the order, clashing wooden swords against one another. Most Inquisitors were Cazrians, and the ones that weren’t usually used guns for their work, so the courtyard was void of any participating non-Cazrians. Except one, which she was surprised to see. Polliver was fighting with shock rods with another Cazrian, an initiate that had joined a few days ago, training their sword practice. If they got in a hit, they would be delivered a nasty shock, though it wouldn’t harm the skin. She stopped walking, and observed as Polliver usually took many of his hits with dignity, and hardly showed any pain as he beat one Initiate after another. He made his way through most of the imitates one after the other, to Tundra’s shock, until one bested him when the fatigue from the shock rods proved too much for him. “The boy is brave to the point of stupidity...” Tundra thought. “Unbelievable. It took me months to achieve a feat like that... And he’s a Halfling.” She began walking again and entered her chambers.
She entered to find old Matriarch Tyria, member of the Council of Metholi. She was wearing her Matriarch robes, fancy robes with the design of a dragon going down one side and blowing fire around up the other. However, something about her appearance was off. “Elite Inquisitor Tundra.” Tyria said. “Pleasure to see you. You look... well.”
“I know how I look.” Tundra said, defensively, walking up to the mirror. She had bags under her eyes, and she looked as if she had just got up from a hangover. “I look dreadful.”
“What exactly have you been doing of late?” Tyria asked, suspicious.
“Having naps in alleyways.” Tundra said. Even though she had passed out from fear, she had gained some rest at least. Tyria raised an eyebrow. “You’re not joking, are you?” Tyria asked.
“Half joking.” She said. “Only did it once.”
“I see. The nightmares?” Tyria asked. “If there’s one thing I regret, it’s not having the power t-“
“Never mind that.” Tundra said, stretching. “What are you doing here? I heard you’ve been pacing round my room for hours, anticipated with my arrival. I know I'm awesome, but it’s odd to have such a busy woman like yourself on my case. So what is it?”
“It’s... Secret. I like you, Tundra, even if you don't like me and my Order. I don't know who I can trust with this information... We council members have been on edge over this since Draynar’s betrayal.”
“You needed someone you could trust, and your first thought was me?” Tundra asked. “What possibly gave you that idea?”
“Your ideals.” Tyria said. “If I gave this information to anyone else, they’d report it to the Circle.”
“Hold on.” Tundra said. “You’re asking me to betray my sons and daughters for you? And the Covenant?”
“No.” Tyria said. “I'm asking you to go behind their backs on a mission, for the Metholi Council, and for the good of the kingdom.”
“I'm not a Metholian.” Tundra said.
“No.” Tyria said, putting her hand on Tundra’s shoulder. “But you are a child of the Crusade and the dragons. You’ve served Cazria like no other Domini has. I need you on this.” Normally, Tundra would shrug away from her violently, but something about her eyes and voice soothed her into allowing it. Perhaps it was off of what she had experienced with the curse earlier. Then, she noticed what was odd about her. Her pendant. The bright ruby gem hanging from her neck. Tundra looked over at her own Jewellery box. It was slight ajar, and she could see the exact same gem. The one Tyria was wearing was a fake. Tundra had came to Tyria, a decade or so before, to ask for help from arguably the world’s greatest healer with her curse problem. When it proved to be too complex for Tyria to handle, she gave Tundra a unique gift as both as an apology, or a good luck charm. It was invaluable to Tyria, and Tundra took it so that Tyria wouldn’t feel the guilt of the fate Tundra was doomed to. There are no others like it... but this gem is the exact same as the gem in the jewellery. An exact duplicate. A feeling of dread and mistrust fills Tundra’s guts. “This needs to be done by someone able and with a strong will.”
“Is it an assassination?” Tundra asked. Tyria took her hand away, smiling warmly.
“It may be.” Tyria said. “But it cannot be done by Tundra the Inquisitor. It has to be done discreetly.”