Lusam: The Dragon Mage Wars Book Three (7 page)

Buoyed by their sudden and unexpected success, the Empire agents immediately intensified their bombardment of Lusam’s position as he knelt next to Renn trying to work out what to do next. He couldn’t leave him here to die, but he didn’t have the strength to heal him either. He couldn’t make his mind work past the point of not leaving Renn behind, so he picked up Renn’s shield with one hand, and with his other hand he grabbed Renn by his belt and levitated him off the ground. It must have been a very strange sight indeed for anyone watching, as he pulled a weightless Renn along at his side, dodging and weaving down the path towards the cave entrance.

When Lusam came within hailing distance of the cave, he noticed Neala peering out from within, and his heart sank. He knew he was no longer able to protect even himself for long, let alone Neala, Alexia and a now-unconscious Renn; they would all die very soon, and there was nothing he could do about it. He staggered the final few paces to the temporary safety of the cave. Neala attempted to leave the cave entrance to come and assist him but she was forced back inside by another barrage of missiles. Lusam carefully manoeuvred Renn inside the cave, then took the opportunity to see how far behind the Empire agents were. What he saw didn’t make him feel any better at all. They were now no more than five minutes behind him, and still running towards his location. The Empire agents had also noticed Lusam’s stationary position and tried to take full advantage of it by sending seven missiles directly at him. Lusam dived into the safety of the cave only a split-second before the missiles impacted on the rockslide outside the cave entrance.

“Get back!” Lusam shouted. There was a series of huge explosions just outside the cave entrance, and everyone inside tried to protect themselves from the flying debris as best they could. Temporarily deafened by the explosions, they could neither hear anything or see anything through the thick clouds of dust that now filled the small cave. Instinctively they all wanted to run from the cave and gain some fresh breathable air outside, but each knew their fate if they tried to do so.

“Is everyone okay?” Alexia asked, coughing through the dust cloud. A strained laugh came from the back of the cave, barely recognisable as Neala.

“No, I don’t think I am okay,” Neala replied weakly. Lusam’s heart leapt into his mouth when he heard her words.

“What’s wrong, Neala? Are you hurt?” Lusam asked desperately. No reply came. “Neala!” he shouted. Still no reply. Panic gripped him as he struggled to think of a way to clear the air in the cave of dust. He had to see Neala and find out what was wrong with her. He tried to magically pull some fresh air through the cave from the other side of the rockslide to clear away the dust, but was unable to do it for some reason. Instead he chose to push out all the dust-filled air within the cave, allowing clearer air to take its place. When he turned to find Neala his world stopped. She was lying against the wall at the back of the cave unconscious, holding what looked like a stone dagger protruding from her chest. Blood pooled around her legs, and her face looked deathly pale.

“NEALA!” Lusam screamed.

“Oh Gods!” Alexia said seeing both Neala and Renn clearly for the first time. Alexia almost retched at the sight of Renn’s twisted and bloodied leg; she was sure she would have done if she had eaten more that day.

Lusam bolted to Neala’s side, placing his hand on her, and instantly fell into his mage-sight to ascertain the extent of her injuries. She was very badly hurt, and if he didn’t stop the internal bleeding immediately she would not survive more than a few more minutes. Lusam screamed loudly in frustration, then a heartbeat later he was laughing like a madman.

“What’s so funny?” Alexia asked, unsure if he had actually gone mad or not.

“Look,” Lusam said, pointing to the back corner of the cave. Where there used to be a gap leading to the far side of the rockslide, there was now a huge boulder blocking the way.

“Aysha have mercy on us all,” Alexia whispered, instantly knowing the certainty of their imminent demise. Alexia watched helplessly as Lusam spent the last of his strength attempting to heal the one he loved. She witnessed the sharp stone seemingly eject itself from Neala’s chest, and the wound close up behind it as it did so. A few moments later Lusam blacked ou, and simply collapsed onto the ground at the side of Neala. Alexia was now alone. She had no idea how close the Empire agents were, or how long they all had left in this world. She swiftly went to the entrance of the cave and stole a glance outside towards the approaching Empire agents. They were no more than a few hundred paces away from the cave, and closing fast. One noticed her appearance and sent a missile her way, but she managed to retreat inside the cave just before it struck the wall outside.

Alexia knew her time in this world had come to an end. Strangely she felt no fear, only peace within. She calmly knelt down within the cave and thanked Aysha for her life, and the lives of her friends beside her. She asked that Aysha would take their brave souls, and that their deaths would be as swift and painless as possible. Then she stood up, removed her bow, strung an arrow, and exited the cave to meet the oncoming Empire agents.

Lord Zelroth entered through the two huge doors that dominated the eastern wall of his immense throne room. Each door the height of ten men, and weighing more than a hundred. The chamber was huge by any comparison, and the vaulted ceiling rose high above him, to impossible heights. Painted on the ceiling were works of art beyond anything else in the known world. Centuries of incredibly detailed work, by scores of now unknown men and women, their names long ago forgotten through the passage of time. As incredible as the ceiling was, it paled into insignificance compared to the artwork that adorned the walls of the gigantic chamber. The entire history of the world seemed to be recorded here, all in painstaking detail. Everything from the story of creation, to the final battles of The Dragon-Mage Wars.

One mural, however, seemed to stand out amongst all the others. It depicted the God Aamon opening the great rift to the Netherworld, releasing its dark creatures upon his enemies, and his eventual imprisonment there. Next to this image there was a half-finished mural. A mural that depicted the re-opening of the great rift and the release of the God Aamon. ‘
Unfinished, but obviously a work in progress
,’ thought Tristan.

Tristan was one of two men recently captured by the Empire. He didn’t know the name of the man in chains next to him, but he did know that he was also a fellow countryman sent from Afaraon to spy on the Empire. They had arrived at the fortress separately that morning and had momentarily seen each other in the courtyard outside the main entrance. The man had tried to escape when his prison-wagon door was opened and was brutally struck in the head as punishment by one of the guards sent to escort him. He had not regained consciousness since, nor did he show any signs that he ever would.

Lord Zelroth walked slowly towards his throne. A throne magically created from the bleached bones of dragons and men, it sat on a large solid gold platform at the top of three steps. Each step had intricately carved symbols set into it, none of which Tristan understood the meaning, but he could sense the power within the symbols even from where he was chained. At each side of Lord Zelroth walked five Darkseed Elite guards. Powerful and fearless magi, each in their own right capable of defeating even the strongest magi of Afaraon, but when combined, and their magic channelled through Lord Zelroth, they were unimaginably powerful. Tristan knew that if it were not for the defences in Lamuria, the capital would have fallen a long time ago to their evil.

Tristan knew he would not survive this day. He knew even before he volunteered for this mission that the likelihood of him returning to Afaraon would be very slim indeed. Spies sent from Afaraon were easily spotted amongst the general population and were often captured long before they were able to gather any useful information about the Empire, let alone relay that information back to Afaraon. It was however the only way to gain intelligence about their enemy, and so many brave men and women risked their lives to obtain such information, but most never returned home again. The reason the Empire found it so easy to discover the spies sent by Afaraon was simple: the Necromatic rings they wore were fakes. All it took was an inquisitive guard or a member of the public, and they were discovered for what they were.

Tristan had spent all his life as a fisherman in a small coastal village south east of Lamuria. He had been very happy there with his wife and two small children, and knew, or cared, very little for the politics of Afaraon or the Empire. That was until one day he arrived home from a long fishing trip and found his entire village laid waste by Empire forces. Desperately he searched for his family, hoping beyond hope that they had fled the attack in time. It took him hours to find the bodies of his two children amongst the mutilated corpses strewn throughout the streets and buildings of his village. Charred beyond recognition, only the small doll clutched tightly to his daughter’s chest gave any clue to her identity, and the charred copper bracelet on the wrist of her smaller brother, who still clung to his sister, even in death.

The scene Tristan discovered was enough to send any man insane with grief, but what he witnessed next, sent him further into insanity than any man should ever be able to return from. Lumbering slowly down the street towards him was a creature from his worst nightmares. Its shape was that of a woman. No longer alive, but still moving, and still making a hideous sound as it moved towards him. It was obvious by her injuries and torn clothes that she had been ravaged whilst still alive by the same men who had destroyed his village. Half of her clothes were charred to her skin, and half of her face blackened and blistered by fire. Tristan stared dumbfounded at the undead creature as it approached him, not knowing what to do. It wasn’t until the hideous creature came closer that he recognised it as his wife. He fell to his knees, all strength and desire to live fleeing him at that instant. He knew the creature before him was no longer his wife, but he could also clearly see the results of how she had been tortured before she had died, and that sent him over the edge.

To this day he couldn’t remember what he had done to that foul creature, or for that matter, anything else about the following few days. Maybe that was for the best, he had told himself many times, not wanting to remember his wife like that. He had no idea how many days passed before he was found by a travelling merchant on his way to Lamuria. He couldn’t even remember agreeing to go with the merchant, but found himself travelling with him to the capital nonetheless.

It was shortly after he had arrived in Lamuria that he heard about the opportunity to become a spy against the Empire. It didn’t take him long to decide that joining their ranks would be a good way to gain revenge against the Empire for the brutal murder of his family. He enrolled immediately, and with single-minded determination, completed the training in record time. The risks to his life were never withheld, and he embraced the dangers with open arms.

Many things about the Empire had been discovered throughout the years by sending generations of spies to Thule, but many things also remained veiled in secrecy. It was well known, for example, that the Empire had the ability to read the minds of any spies they captured. Part of the training Tristan had received consisted of shielding his mind from such attempts, but truth be told, no one knew how effective it was, because anyone captured never returned to Afaraon alive.

None of the spies knew, but for the past few decades some misinformation had been given randomly to various spy recruits. If they were captured and their minds successfully read, certain information would be obtained by the Empire that would make Afaraon seem more prepared for war than was actually true. Any information obtained by the Empire in this manner would have to be considered as truth, and therefore an intricate web of lies had been built up over a long period of time, all of which were aimed at gaining more time for Afaraon.

Tristan watched as Lord Zelroth slowly climbed the steps to his throne, the ten Darkseed Elite guards taking their positions, five either side of him. Lord Zelroth wore a long black robe edged in gold and silver around the hem, cuffs and hood. The hood of his robe covered his head completely and put his face in total shadow, making it impossible to see anything of his features. When he reached the golden platform, he took his place upon the throne. Tristan couldn’t see his face, but he could feel his stare burrowing into him, like a thousand insects in his mind, all trying to devour his brain.

The feeling subsided as suddenly as it arrived, and Lord Zelroth pointed to the man beside Tristan. No words were spoken, but one of the Darkseed Elite left Lord Zelroth’s side and approached Tristan and the unconscious man in the middle of the giant chamber. Tristan no longer feared death, and almost looked forward to joining his wife and children in the afterlife, but he had no desire to be tortured before joining them. The Darkseed Elite stopped directly in front of Tristan before stepping to the side and kneeling next to the unconscious man. He spoke several strange words of power and light erupted from his outstretched hand, entering the unconscious man’s body. Then—without waiting any longer—he simply stood back up, turned around, and returned to his position at the side of Lord Zelroth.