The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) (6 page)

The unfortunate pig’s death cries faded as they left the gardens. They passed through an archway carved in swirling tails of the Phoenix, appearing to be in motion with a cursory glance.
Such craftsmanship.

They passed by the King’s throne room, power diamond marks were being used as lanterns and the walls were lined with jewels the size of Walter’s fists.
The bastard has all of this, yet he can’t send a crew to fix a few bridges to the south. I now see why Dad didn’t like him.

“It looks just like the paintings!” Nyset said, bumping Walter’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said flatly, mouth a twisted frown.

“Only much better in person. You should see it during the day, light passes through the jewels on the walls, giving a marvelous appearance,” Baylan said.

They followed Carver down hallways with beautiful paintings of scenery beyond the Wall. They made at least eight turns and Walter was starting to lose his bearings.
I think that is the point, a wise soldier.
Finally Carver halted the group before a nondescript door, much like the others in the same hallway.

“The King,” Malek said softly. “Wait here.” Malek entered the room and the door slammed behind him before Walter could get a good look.

“I can’t believe we’re in the castle. What will my parents think?” Nyset said, laughing.

“Shh,” Walter said, grinning from her infectious laugh.

“My Pa was right to send me with you,” Grimbald said, smiling. “I never seen anything like this before.”

Baylan snickered softly. He waved his hand towards the hinges of the door and they briefly glowed with a blue light. He deftly inched the door open and the rusty hinges failed to give him away.
Now, that is useful.
The muffled conversation could now be heard.

“Let me see your wound,” Malek’s voice said behind the door.

“We put the monster in the dungeons,” said a weak voice. “You said there was no need to worry, and then this happens. We need to do something. There is a darkness in the lands, I can feel it in my bones,” King Ezra said.

“Please turn your arm, my lord. It looks okay, it should heal without a scratch,” Malek said, jovially. He sighed. “Let’s not make any rash decisions regarding the Falcon.”

“This damn bed is too small and it feels like I’m sleeping on a bed of nails. There’s not enough light in here.”

“Yes, my lord, I shall have the servants replace the mattress and bring more candles,” said a harried voice.

“And bring me a different wine, this tastes like dog urine.”

Walter edged his eye into the sliver of light that came from the cracked door. A haggard looking man in a long gown sat on a bed of red and gold. Malek stood beside the king and a faint blue light shone in a waving line on his arm.

A man in jet black armor stood with arms crossed beside the bed, watching Malek with keen eyes. On his hips were a pair of short swords, also black, and around his belt Walter counted at least four blackened daggers.
The king’s Black Guard.

“Malek, you said you just increased our security, how could this have happened?” the king demanded.

“I don’t know. It will not happen again, I assure you my majesty. I will personally inspect the guard’s stations securing entrance to your quarters.”

“No, I shall not abstain any longer,” the king said, clenching his long fingers into a fist.
That fist is all wrong for punching,
Walter thought.

The king’s eyes glazed over and he stared into the crackling hearth. “Lajoy, tomorrow we mobilize the armies to the west and the east,” he said. The white unkempt beard covering his face did not move when he spoke. “I can’t believe it. It’s actually true, the reports spoke true. We must crush these monsters before they spread and breed and become too much trouble.” Ezra trailed off to himself, mumbling.

A hand gently grasped his shoulder, guiding him away from the parted door.

“Are you sure that’s wise, my lord?” Malek said.

Walter resisted the pull of Baylan’s hand. The king’s posture sagged and he scratched at his beard.

“Allow me to check for other wounds,” Malek said, gently placing his hand upon the king’s bald head. White translucent spines, segmented like the legs of a spider slowly materialized from the wizard’s hand and then stabbed into the king’s skull. Walter’s breath caught in his throat and he placed his hand over his mouth to block any potential sound.

“I think we should discuss this issue more before we take military action, don’t you agree my lord?”

The king stared off for a long moment, eyes unblinking. “Yes,” he whispered. “No,” he said louder, gray eyes hard with resolve.

“Warmaster, send the first battalion to the Nether and the second to Breden, and have them also comb the western coast up to the Great Retreat.”

“Yes my King,” said Lajoy. The Warmaster slammed his dark chest plate with his fist.

“These creatures, Death Spawn, shit of the Dragon, piss of the Phoenix in my house, my family!” Ezra shouted, standing with fists balled at his side. “Whoever did this will pay,” he said, sitting down on the bed, placing his hands in his lap. He stared into the fire again, muttering incoherencies.

He turned to Malek and the life returned to his eyes. He sputtered, “You, you wizard. How did you get here?”

“It is your advisor, Malek, my king.” Malek rubbed at the glowing crystal that hung from a chain around his neck.

“Ah, yes, yes that’s right. You are my advisor, that’s good, yes. Is that right? I don’t trust you, how can I if I don’t know who you are?” Ezra said, scratching a bushy eyebrow.

“My lord, you are clearly under a great deal of stress, perhaps you should think a bit more before deploying the Falcon.”

“Perhaps, yes.”

Lajoy hesitated before the door and frowned.

Walter’s gaze flicked into the black, angry, deep set eyes of the Black Guard Warmaster.

“We have ears,” Lajoy said, staring at Walter.

A hand dug into his tunic and pulled him through the door, stumbling on his feet. He came face to face with another guard decked out in midnight armor. He had long blonde hair that looked white against his helm. Walter felt the blood rush to the surface of his skin, burning and tingling all over his body.

“Who are you?” the king demanded.

The blonde Black Guard pushed him before the king. “No sudden moves,” he sneered.
Like you could stop me blondie?

“Your lordship sir,” Walter dropped to one knee. “I am Malek’s companion I —”

“Were you behind this?” the king roared.

“What?” Walter blinked rapidly and turned his head to the side. He saw the two guards meet each other’s eyes, waiting for a reason to use their weapons. Lajoy’s expression changed as he looked Walter up and down.
In all likelihood I’ve done something to give away my training. There was something about a warrior in the way they moved that always gave it away.

“Yeah,” the king groaned. “These monsters must be your friends.” Walter noticed that Baylan, Nyset and Grimbald had come in behind him.

“No sir, no that’s —” Walter shook his head.

“Please my lordship,” Baylan said. He turned, addressing Lajoy, “Can you see the king is ill?”

“Do not question his lordship,” the blonde guard snapped, hand on his sword hilt.

The king’s eyes wrinkled and the corners of his lips rose in a disturbing grimace. “You will find who did this or I will have your heads, all you. You have three days or your heads will roll into the guillotine basket. Do not leave the walls of Midgaard.”

Lajoy stepped close to Walter and jerked him to his feet, close enough to feel his breath. Walter didn’t find himself often intimidated by grown men. He found his body willfully complying with the Warmaster’s direction. The air of danger was heavy on this one. It was best to comply.

“Be gone,” Lajoy said, leading them out and slamming the door behind.

“This goes for you too advisor,” the king shouted from behind the door.

Malek snarled, “Well done you fools.”

I
n the Temple of Meditation
, Malek stood over his laboratory table, eyes shifting over the slew of curious artifacts. He grabbed a glowing scimitar with jagged teeth on one side and an eyeball that looked to be made of white glass.
The Plague Blade and a Basilisk’s Eye should do nicely,
he thought.

“There’s something I must do, stay here and practice what I’ve taught you. Baylan can guide you in my stead,” he said, eyes protruding. Walter and Nyset exchanged glances. She swallowed under Malek’s gaze and Walter’s brows knitted together.

“Where are you going? What are you going to do?” Baylan asked, rubbing his narrow chin.

Malek marched up the stairs to the roof and a circular portal snapped open, revealing a lush environment before the backdrop of the Midgaard cityscape. He stepped through and the portal closed behind him, sparks sizzling in the air.

“Darkthorne, you bastard,” he whispered.

Before Malek was the mouth of a jagged cave surrounded by a thick wood, seemingly impassable. Midgaard was a small hill from this, far south, Ezra’s castle a cream insect on the horizon. Two Cerumal soldiers stepped from the entrance to Snowden’s Caverns, blocking his entry. One breathed heavily and the other let out a low growl.

“Move,” Malek commanded. They responded by leveling barbed spears at him. “Alright then,” he said. He gently pressed his fingers against the white eye in his left hand and twirled the blade in his right. The white eye glowed with red light and Malek’s eyes burst alight with the same hue. The light spilled from eyes in the form of smoke, glowing and billowing over his head.

The soldier on his left lunged with teeth bared. Two beams of red light erupted from Malek’s eyes, cutting the Cerumal from shoulder to hip in a diagonal slice. Its body split apart with a lovely fountain of blood. He slashed with the blade and a green streak of light cut the air. The other Cerumal’s skin exploded with pustules, bursting and popping with sprays of blood. It dropped its spear and clawed at its lizard like face. It screamed as muscle, bone and tendons were exposed with each sundering bubble.

Malek strode into the cave, boot squishing on tattered skin. The light from his weapons dispelled the enveloping darkness. A group of Cerumal ran from the depths, armor clanging, skidding to a halt before him.

“You’re going to make this fun, I see,” he said, smirking.

A Cerumal roared, hurling its vicious spear. It went around Malek, unnaturally veering at the last second.

“Pathetic automatons,” he said, jaw clenched. The others emulated the first, spears hissing past Malek’s form and clattering to the stone or sticking into walls. “Looks like you boys don’t train the spear anymore.” Malek slashed with fury, cutting the air with green streaks of light. The Cerumal fell, screaming and rolling into one another in a pool of blood and bursting skin. A wedge of tissue hung from a stalactite, drops of blood pattering onto the floor.

Malek turned to the right at a fork. The screams behind him faded, swallowed by the impossibly high walls. The crystal around his neck sparked and a bolt of lightning arced over his shoulder into something behind him. He turned, a Black Wynch lay twitching on the ground with smoking, charred armor.

“Electricity and metal, not a very good combination, wouldn’t you say?” he said, frowning at the corpse. He brought the crystal to his lips and kissed it. He started down the path again, stepping around stalagmites jutting in the dank air. “Where are you coward?”

Three Black Wynches exploded from a nearby door, their bodies bobbing and slithering, bladed fingers reflecting the greens and reds of Malek’s weapons. Malek’s eyes pulsed and cut across them, effortlessly slicing and hewing their lithe bodies into chunks of bleeding flesh. Dismembered arms and legs twitched on the stony floor. The steel fingers of a severed hand clacked against a wall.

Malek put his hands on his hips, pausing to examine the gore at his feet. “I never liked those things, move too much like sea creatures.”

He looked through the open door and sauntered in, pushing his hood back. “What do we have here… you’ve been busy Darkthorne.” He gently closed the door and sheathed the glowing Plague Blade and stowed the Basilisk’s eye in a hip pouch.

The room was small with a round table at the center and a few chairs surrounding it. Up and down the walls, candles burned in various stages, frozen dribbles running to the floor. Maps covered the table of the Zoria realm. There was a highly detailed map of the Midgaard palace and of the treetops of the Great Retreat. Red circles were scrawled around Breden, a village in the Nether, as well as Midgaard and a few places Malek was less familiar with. He folded up the maps and stuffed them into his pouch.

He left the room and stopped to listen in the hall. Wind rushed into the cavern, blowing his hood across his mouth. He raised his hood and stalked further into the bowels, weapons at the ready. He came upon a large opening with torches burning on either side. A pair of malevolent eyes penetrated the darkness beyond, meeting his. He stepped forward and more eyes appeared, snapping open like stars in a black sky.

“Peace my brothers,” Darkthorne said. The sea of yellow eyes parted, shifting to the sides of what seemed to be a massive room. Dozens of torches burst alight, searing Malek’s night vision. He put a hand up to shield his eyes and winced.

“You always knew how to welcome an old friend,” said Malek.

“Friends are we? That’s not quite how I remember it,” Darkthorne said, voice like rocks grinding together. He strolled from a massive table, flickering flames reflecting off of his gleaming armor. In one hand, he clutched an open tome resting on his hip. His billowing red cape floated to the ground as he came to a stop in the center of the room.

Dozens of Cerumal, Black Wynches, Skin Flayers and their soulbound Blood Dogs circled Malek. Jaws snapped and spears beat against armor.

“Now this isn’t exactly fair, is it?” Malek said.

Darkthorne stomped with his foot, rattling the room. “Enough, why are you here?”

“You know why.”

“So the King is dead?” Darkthorne asked, dragging one of his pointed fingers across his neck. “That was long overdue.”

“You insolent prick, how dare you meddle in my affairs,” Malek said, eyes burning with glowing intensity.

“Your affairs? Ezra was about to mobilize the Falcon. You had one task and you failed. Why he lets you live is beyond me.” Darkthorne gingerly flipped pages in his book.

“No, no, no, my friend you have it all wrong. The King is alive and well and your Skin Flayers are quite dead,” Malek said smiling. “The King is still under my control. Your minions were slain by a few humans.” A Skin Flayer in the circle lunged at him, but stopped when Darkthorne raised his hand. It hefted its glowing blades, growling, its face a mask of sheer flesh except for the golden eyes.

“I know the Falcon is moving, I received a report from a trusted source today. You have indeed failed and you are also a bad liar.”

Malek’s face reddened and his fists tightened around his blade and boiling eyeball. “You know nothing!” Malek screamed. Beams of red death shot from his eyes, tunneling towards Darkthorne. Darkthorne pressed his arm forward, palm splayed. A green rectangle split the air, translucent before him. The red beam collided with the glowing shield and it vibrated, shattering into thousands of splinters of blue light.

Darkthorne fell back, tumbling down an unseen slope. The beasts around him screeched and roared. The red light that bathed his eyes winked out and the eyeball shriveled in his hand. He dropped the Basilisk’s eye and grasped the glowing Plague Blade in both hands.
Too many
. He twisted, dodging a spear in flight. He turned on his heels and sprinted to the room’s entrance.

The beasts followed, barking, jaws snapping the air, blades spinning, and clawed feet pounding. At the room’s entryway, a blue portal exploded to life behind Malek. Some tried to stop. Those at the back pushed harder, forcing those at the front through the portal’s entrance.

“Come on, come get me you stupid bastards!” Malek laughed, arms wide. Somewhere high upon the Mountains of Misery a portal snapped open, dumping a small horde of Death Spawn into its icy, notched peaks. They screeched and pushed, tumbling through the portal.

Malek allowed the portal to close, and finished the few that remained with deft slashes of his blade.

“The great lord will hear of this,” Darkthorne said rapidly, flipping pages of his tome. “Ah man iptus daman!” he incanted.

The floor begin to rumble. The ground under Malek’s feet cracked. He shuffled aside and a black tentacle rose from the ground. Its gelatinous form wound into the air as if scenting. It turned on Malek, rushing towards him. He slashed left, right, and diagonally sending three waves of light into it. The tentacle easily passed through the streaks of light and Malek rolled, barely avoiding its slam. The tentacle rose to strike again and paused in the air. Small creatures that resembled forest squirrels sprouted from its skin, skittering across its body. Hundreds of them began devouring its flesh, cackling wickedly. The tentacle rose and shot back into the ground.

“That was different,” Malek said, glancing at the Plague Blade.

Two more tentacles exploded from the ground on either side of Malek. One snatched his leg and the other his arms, lifting him into the air. They pulled on his body, stretching him to his breaking point. His sword clattered to the ground, green light fading.

“Release me, now!” Malek screamed.

“You are in no position to make demands.”

Another tentacle sprouted between the two and enveloped his body in its crushing grip. It cinched and wrapped around his torso. A rib cracked and burst through his skin, tearing at his robe.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Darkthorne said, purple light emanated from behind the bars of his helm.
He is favored by the great lord. How could I have been so stupid and forgotten?

“You’ve ruined everything, everything.” Malek whispered. “I’ll have your head on a pike,” he said between breaths.

He reached under his entangled arm and retrieved the talon-like dagger from his sleeve, brandishing it between his fingers. He slashed at the tentacle binding his chest and at the one around his wrist. The tentacles withered and shrunk, releasing their grasp on him. He hung upside down from the tentacle that bound his ankle. It whipped him through the air like a doll, preparing to smash him upon the cave’s floor. His robe spilled over his head, exposing his pale body, a canvas of tattooed arcane letters.

The letters on his skin flashed and a portal sliced horizontally through the air, bisecting the tentacle and dropping him through the blue oval of light. A jet of blood shot from the remaining tentacle half, spraying like champagne. The top half of the tentacle flopped behind Darkthorne, followed by Malek through the other side of his portal. Malek reached his arm around Darkthorne’s helm, raising it and exposing his neck. In his other hand, he pressed the crescent dagger firmly against Darkthorne’s scarred neck.

“I told you I would —” A burst of purple light flashed from Darkthorne’s body. Malek was sent hurling into the wall. He fell to a slump and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. The spots of Darkthorne’s armor where flesh was exposed glowed with brilliant purple. His vision swam with white bubbles.

“You talk too much,” Darkthorne said.
The great lord’s favor. No, not like this.

Darkthorne raised his hand and a purple ball of light grew in size in his palm.
I must kill him. Slay one of the Wretched?

“You pathetic fools,” a booming voice resounded in the chamber. A humanoid like figure appeared of swirling mist and forking lightning. The violet ball of light in Darkthorne’s hand vanished as he turned to face the intruder.

“Who dares —?”

The misting electricity faded, becoming the form of Asebor. “You squabble against yourselves, undermining all of our efforts,” Asebor said. Darkthorne and Malek immediately prostrated themselves against the dusty floor.

“My lord,” Malek croaked.

“You will bring ruin to my house. The Tower works night and day, pulling the strings of the other realms, mounting their forces against us.” Asebor paced around them and the chains around his legs clinked against each other.

“I hear echoes from the historians of the Great Retreat, speaking of my former reign. The villagers listen, taking up arms.” The torches burned with increased intensity, brightening the room. “They do not trust the rumors we’ve spread. We are not prepared to withstand an assault from the realms. If they come to grasp our hold on Zoria…” He released a long breath. “And here are you two, my generals, obliterating each other.”

“Great lord,” Darkthorne said, raising his head from the floor. “Malek has failed you, master. The Falcon moves,” he stammered.

“How have you come upon this knowledge, my favored?”

“I, well— I sent assassins to Midgaard. They told me and I felt it necessary to take swift action, my lord.” He rose to his hands and knees, armor glowing with a faint purple light. “Before this bumbling wizard created more problems. He hasn’t been able to control the King. I was going to silence —”

“So you sent Skin Flayers to silence the King, did you? To ensure he did not send the Falcon?” Asebor interrupted, eyes burning. “You were to keep our presence quiet, not solidify its existence in the minds of the people!” He put his boot on the back of Darkthorne’s head and pressed it into the floor.

“And did you succeed in silencing our beloved King?” Asebor leaned forward, pressing his weight upon Darkthorne’s steely head. Malek bit his lip and the insides of his mouth.