Wielder of the Flame (14 page)

The blood stains gone, his body clean, and his thirst
quenched, he stood up, satisfied, put his shirt back on and picked up his
things in his arms.
I need to find a place to sleep
, he realized, for
his body suddenly felt exhausted,
seeming as I didn’t get much sleep last
night.

He left the bank of the river, entering back into the trees
looking for a place to rest. But he did not walk far because he wanted to keep
near the river, the sound of it was reassuring. He soon reached a good spot,
underneath a tree where leaves and small brush would serve as good padding for
a bed. He took off the rest of his armor and belt and lay down on the leaves,
with his pack as a pillow.

He was tired, not just because of lack of sleep, but he was
tired of the things that happened to him. It was as if he lost control of his
body, as if something else took over and he couldn’t ever remember what
happened. It did not always happen when Drake fell asleep, in fact usually not,
but last night was different. Usually Drake could feel himself become dizzy, or
lightheaded, and it was then he would tie himself up, or find a place where no
one was, so that nothing would happen, nothing like that first time.

He remembered the sharp contrast of red blood all across the
snow, the torn bodies, the broken buildings of the village.

He remembered the skeleton in his lap and his desperation to
get away from it. He remember the blades, two of them, and his need to hold
them, his inability to separate from them.

But he could not remember anything before that.

I need help
. Drake thought. He was at the edge of his
endurance. He could not take much more, running, hiding in fear, not just from
those around him, but fear of himself. A tear fell down the young man’s face.
I’m
so tired of this!
His hands began to tremble from all the anxiety that had
been built up inside him.
I NEED HELP!
He began to cry, countless cycles
he had held his emotions in and he just could not take it anymore.

“I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS!!!” He yelled at the top of his
lungs, pounding his fist against the ground, letting the hot stinging tears
pour down his cheeks. He did not care if his pursuers, if there were any, heard
him. He did not care if they found him and killed him. He did not care at all,
he just wanted to be done, he wanted whatever was wrong with him to be gone.

His sobs of exhaustion and anger eventually turned into
quiet whimpers of sorrow, and at long last, as the final tear trickled down his
cheek, he finally fell asleep.

In his dream he remembered the face
of that young man. He felt an urge that he should seek the young man out.
Somehow, he knew, he felt, that if he found this boy, he would be able to help
him. There was hope again.

With the dawn of the new morning, came new life and new
hope, as birds chirped and the green, beautiful, forest, was cast in the
brilliant rays of early sunshine, making everything sparkle and glitter.

Drake opened his eyes and looked around, nothing had
happened while he was asleep, that was a good sign. No blackout.

He sat up, remembering his dream. With the image of the
boy’s face in his mind there came a new resolve. Drake promised himself that no
matter what happened he would find this boy, and hope that he could find out
what thing was going wrong with him, and that he would fix it.

Sklan stood on a large balcony
overlooking the progress of the robed figures below and the dark hex that was
being created by them.

Although he should have been paying more attention than he
was, Sklan had more important things on his mind and trusted in the
capabilities of the mages inferior to him who were also below, watching the
black magic in the making, to take care of things if they got out of control.

It was in the middle of such deep though that Sklan was
suddenly interrupted. He straightened from where he had been leaning, and moved
his free hand to clutch the center of his chest. A throbbing, pulsing, magical
force poured over Sklan, starting from the middle of his torso outward until it
reached his furthermost extremities, The Master’s Call. Tremos had returned. Sklan
knew the other Luminaries were also experiencing the same thing.

Next Sklan moved his hand from his chest to his forehead,
covering his eyes, as Tremos’s deep booming voice filled the grahk emperor’s
thoughts. Sklan could sense the mental presences of the other Luminaries in the
communication as well, listening to Tremos. “The nearest one of you come to my
private transportation chamber. Bring with you your most powerful apprentice,
able to maintain a blind power channel. Come immediately! I have arrived.”

“Master,” Sklan replied through the mind bond which Tremos
had activated with all of the Luminaries, including Sklan, the same familiar
bond he always activated when he spoke with his servant, “I am nearest, I shall
be swift.”

As soon as the magic had come it was gone and the reptilian
Luminary had already left the balcony, hurrying down the nearby corridor to
heed his master’s call.

Finally, the hour has come when He has returned.
He
thought as he hurried down the hallways, through doors and up stairways in the
direction of the Great One’s private transportation chamber.

But why has He arrived so differently this time?

Usually the Master heralded his return in great displays of
power and glory, showing off his most recent prizes of victory. There were feasts
and celebrations, sacrifices and rituals, all according to the different races
and species, but it was always a spectacular display accompanied by an
elaborate speech from the Master himself transmitted as per usual through the
orb system in the great city, never so discreetly like now.

The reptilian sorcerer knew that Tremos used his private
transportation chamber frequently, which was not something unusual. What
was
unusual was that Tremos hadn’t gone from there to the public arrival hall,
summoning
all
of the Luminaries to his presence to prepare the
announcement of his coming. This time the Great One had simply called for one,
and the nearest at that, and for that one to bring an apprentice powerful
enough to maintain a blind power channel. What did it all mean?

Sklan shook his head, he didn’t need to think about it. All
he had to focus on at that moment was getting to his master’s side as quickly
as possible with all of the things the Great One asked for.

Suddenly Sklan felt the usual magic flow through him again
as Tremos opened another mind bond. This time, however, it was a personal one
between only himself and the Overlord, as his voice echoed through the
Luminary’s mind, “Bring with you my Chalta robes, hood and mantel as well as
what I asked for previously. Come using Ritual Glory Masks. Send a parchment to
the Master Forgers notifying them to prepare the Forge of Old, and to begin
construction on a new greater and more powerful set of armor for my personal
use, and that I will come to oversee their progress soon.”

Before Sklan could even respond, Tremos severed the bond.
The Luminary sensed that Tremos wanted to be attended to immediately. The grahk
emperor quickened his already rapid pace, practically running now. The black
staff in his hand tapped the floor quickly, matching the emperor’s long
strides. He changed his course then, with the new commands he had been given
and headed in the direction of his personal quarters to write out a message to
give to the Master Forgers.

The Luminary did not waste any time unlocking the inlaid
gold double doors to his study, or to look at his wall full of fine relics. He
pulled out a scroll of parchment, and wrote out the message for the Master
forgers. He rolled it up when he finished, melted some blood red wax and sealed
the message with one of his royal signet rings, of which only the Luminaries
possessed. Aside from his signature at the bottom of the page it was undeniable
proof that the order was written by his hand.

Tucking the message into his robes he hurried out of his
personal study, locking the door behind him and quickened his pace towards his
next destination nearby, the Armory of Rites.

After another few halls and stairways Sklan reached two
enormous black metal doors with large gargoyle heads as handles and without
hesitation grabbed one and pushed the door open. On the other side was a
gigantic room filled with countless shelves and on each shelf arrayed on fancy
dark maroon velvet, thousands of different types of ritual clothing and armor,
elaborate headpieces, staves, beads, armbands, and robes, each piece for
different ceremonies and uses. Short and stubby dark-blue robed keeper gnomes
walked from item to item, polishing and cleaning, keeping every piece upon the
shelves shiny and ready for use. An older looking gnome sat at a large counter
near the entrance Sklan had just come in. Upon the dark mahogany counter was a
gigantic, old, leather bound archive book, a large feather pen and several
bottles of different colored inks. The small gnome looked up as Sklan entered,
his long, pointy, oversized ears wobbled with the movement of his head.

The Luminary approached the counter without hesitation, “Two
Ritual Glory masks.” he stated simply.

“Two Ritual Glory masks,” The old gnome repeated loudly to
the other gnomes in his small but gravelly voice.

With quick and experienced efficiency he opened the gigantic
book in front of him, picked up the large quill pen, dipping it quickly in
green ink, and with furious scribbles wrote out the order. Shutting the book
again and turning it to face Sklan the gnome said, “Please place your palm here
to confirm the order.”

The Grahk emperor put his four fingered hand upon the cover
of the book and it glowed red in response for a moment, accepting all of
Sklan’s power and authority as Luminary for the request. Not but seconds later
two of the other blue robed gnomes arrived at the counter each with a Mask, of
which Sklan had asked for, in hand. They placed the items on the empty space of
the large counter and scurried away, returning to their duties. The masks were
metal, skull shaped in design, except the only strange thing about them were
there were no eyeholes of any kind, rendering the user blind while he or she
wore it, Ritual Glory Masks. These masks Tremos commanded to be used when his
glory and power were so great it would be death to look upon him.

It had been an extremely long time since Sklan, being with
such a rank as Luminary, had been required to use one but he pushed away his
thoughts and grabbed the two masks from the desk, placing them beneath his
robes. Without anything further to detain him he rushed out of the Armory, shut
the large doors behind him, and continued onward. He would have to interrupt a
possible spell in progress to do it, but he needed his most powerful apprentice
to assist him.

The Luminary knew his way around well and quickly navigated
himself through shortcuts to his next destination. Upon reaching a certain dark
hallway he turned, and showed no hesitation upon barging in. It was a fairly
large hall filled with lit candles and on the stone floor, drawn in blood, were
lengthy, complicated, symmetrical symbols, making up part of a complex spell.
Ten black robed and hooded figures sat in a circle around the symbols and had
been chanting rhythmically before Sklan had interrupted. The Grahk wizards all
turned as the door swung open to stare at the Grahk emperor, the long black
staff with the gleaming red jewel in hand.

“Omech,” Sklan pointed to the tallest in the circle, “Come
with me.”

The cloaked Grahk which Sklan had called Omech stood up
without a moment’s hesitation and crossed the room.

“Continue the lesson without him. We will not return for a
time,” Sklan instructed the others before shutting the door.

Without question, without even a single word Omech followed
the Grahk emperor. The two of them began to climb higher and higher up the building-city
and as they did so the halls became less populated. In one of the corridors
they encountered a slew of goblin slaves and servants. The Grahk emperor
stopped one of them and said, “Go to the Master Forgers and give them this,”
Sklan pulled the rolled up parchment from his robes containing Tremos’s order,
signed and sealed by his own hand, to the goblin slave, “report to my throne
room immediately after you have finished your duty. Now go!”

All races and classes recognized the immense power and authority
held by the Luminaries. Their title and status being just one step down from
the Great One, was quite substantial, and to deny or refute a Luminary was to
do the same to the Overlord himself. Thus, whatever task the goblin had been
doing before became insignificant in comparison to the mission the grahk
Luminary had just ordered of the creature and the slave left for the Master
Forgers, parchment in hand, as quickly as his little green legs could carry
him.

Though the younger sorcerer, Omech, was keeping quiet, and
would not speak until asked to do so, his mind had been working furiously since
the Grahk emperor had interrupted the apprentice’s lesson with the order to
come with his master. First Omech wondered where they were going, why
he
 had
been commanded to come, and now, why the emperor had just given a goblin slave
a piece of rolled up parchment to give to the Master Forgers. The Master
Forgers had not been awoken for a long time and the Forge of Old which they
used had been cold for even longer. To wake them now could only mean that
something big was going to happen soon, that they had been commanded to create
some sort of weapon or something of which only their great and ancient magic
could construct. What was going on?

At least one of the apprentice’s questions were answered
when Sklan, Omech at his heels, climbed a few more staircases, turned down a
certain hallway, and stopped in front of the flying chamber.

The flying chamber was designed by Tremos for his servants,
and currently was the only way to reach the Great Dark Lord’s personal
chambers. Sklan placed his scaly hand on the symbol unlocking the flying
chamber’s door. Acknowledging Sklan’s superiority as a Luminary, the door slid
open. The Emperor and his apprentice walked into the somewhat small circular
room, and the doors shut behind them. Omech sat down on the dark green velvet
covered bench that poked out of the circular wall and he looked out the window
to stare at the city below. Sklan placed his hand upon a sphere mounted upon a
pedestal in the middle of the room. The sphere and symbols aligning the room
lit up, activating the room, and it started to move swiftly along the metal
cable to which it was attached, leading to Tremos’s chambers. Sklan did not sit
down, instead leaning against the circular wall, but he too looked out the
window.

Towers and building passed by far below as the flying
chamber sped along. Beyond the gigantic walls of the enormous dome lay the
cities and dwellings of all the different races all aligned according to their
rank in class. Grahks, and macji, the most intelligent species, lived nearest
to the great dome. Orcs, goblins, gnomes, and all of the lesser races stretched
out farther into the distant surrounding Wildlands. The sophisticated,
elaborate structures making up the city of macji were built all the way up to
the domes walls. Near the dome, as well, was a vast and deep lake of dark
choppy waters with buildings constructed of coral and black seaweed poking just
above the top of the water, the grahk’s watery abode. Further from the
building-city was the dark and swampy forest and far into the distance, the
jagged heights of the Black Peaks could be seen poking out of the misty clouds.

Sklan absentmindedly stroked the black staff in his right
hand while looking out the window. After a moment he turned from the view and
spoke, “A half-kongra-underworld-hex,” he said, referring to the spell Omech
had been participating in before the Grahk Emperor had interrupted, “That is
quite impressive, reasonably dangerous as well, you have my congratulations,
apprentice.”

“Your praise is accepted,” Omech replied, turning from the
window and bowing his head slightly.

“You have grown much since your first day of Maruk-tuk-ja,”
Sklan was of course referring to a ceremony practiced in the grahk culture to
both test and welcome grahk wizards into the learning of the dark arts, “How is
your blind power channel?”

“The best as always Master, you know me better than all of
the other students.” Omech was not overly boasting of his abilities, but rather
stating the truth.

“I know,” Sklan replied, “That is why I chose you to come
with me. You will have to cast one soon so prepare yourself.”

They did not have much else to discuss. Omech had already
gathered intel and reported back to Sklan regarding the other’s knowledge of
the grahk’s underwater tunnels. Sklan had been correct in his suspicions, Nuib
had been the one to uncover the information, and had gained quite the leverage
in revealing it to a select few.

But that did not matter now, the Master had returned.