Wielder of the Flame (63 page)

It was over.

Omech touched the skin of his new
face almost absent mindedly, as he followed Sklan down the corridor.

He was still somewhat mystified by the transformation he had
undergone. He was no longer grahk, and yet not quite human either. His fellow
pupils, already distanced somewhat by Omech’s level of excellence in his class,
were further estranged by his alteration.

He was an outcast.

But that did not matter now.

Now he had been given a special assignment, a mission from
the Overlord himself. Sklan had told him only a select few would accompany
them.

Omech knew why he was going, it was because of the
transformation. He could feel the Overlord sometimes, an ethereal presence
within his conscious. That connection made Omech special to the Overlord. In
that, Omech felt a sort of safety, a safety that both comforted and frightened
him with its implications.

Sklan turned a corner, Omech followed silently and
obediently. His shoulder bag thumped rhythmically as he walked. Sklan’s pack
similarly bumped back and forth with each stride of the grahk Luminary. They
were not headed to the stables now, it was clear. They had already traveled
several staircases below the main fortress near where the great dome lay. This
confused Omech, upon arriving to retrieve his pupil, Sklan had told Omech that
they were meeting now with the others, to depart. But if they were not headed
to the stables to mount up, then where were they going? Would they travel on
foot? Would they head to the stables after they met with the others? Who were
the others chosen in any case? Omech wondered, but did not ask aloud. Sklan
seemed to be particularly focused and not in the mood to be interrupted with
trivial questions.

After descending yet another staircase, and marching down
another long stone corridor, Sklan paused briefly before a set of giant double
doors. The grahk Luminary took a moment to compose himself after their brisk
walk, and then pulled one of the doors open with a resounding creak of large
hinges.

Sklan stepped in, Omech on his heels.

The room was vast in height, but relatively narrow, and
dimly lit by rows of fiery sconces high along each wall.

Omech’s attention was quickly grabbed by the immense stone
archway dominating the further half of the hall. It stood upon an equally
commanding pedestal, with steps leading up to it. The whole construct was
carved of a dark but smooth stone with hairline cracks like spider webs
covering its surface. The cracks seemed to almost glow with a sickly greenish
hue. A single stand, almost like a slanted table, was positioned on the dais
near the archway. It’s tilted surface was flat except for a large indentation
in its middle, as if a piece of it was missing.

After a sufficient glimpse of the arch had been established
in his mind, the young sorcerer turned his attention to the figures standing
near the base of the structure.

The Overlord stood, most prominent among them, adorned in
his dark, extravagant chalta robes, hood, and mantel. Even as he glanced at the
Great One, Omech felt the presence of the almighty sorcerer.

But I know the truth.
Omech thought immediately,
you
are not almighty
.

Omech buried the thought, banished it away, and mentally
punished himself for thinking it.

Omech immediately recognized the other figures.

The Luminaries of each race, except for the gnomes, stood in
a semi circle, with Tremos at their head. Each Luminary was accompanied by an
individual, two individuals for the trugs. Standing next to Duwar, the human
Luminary, was a figure garbed all in black with a long, slightly curved blade
attached to his back because the length of the blade made it impossible to be
carried at the waist. Kalkra, the macji Luminary, conversed with a spotted
female of his kind who stood near to him. She was dressed in light and supple
armor, with small pouches attached at easy-to-reach areas. Nuib, similarly
conversed with a simply dressed goblin located next to him. The goblin was
small, and wore no armor, only tight fitting plain leather garb.

Kirgor and Frilug, clan-brothers, stood next to Guag, the
trug Luminary. They were dressed in their full battle armor, both wielding
deadly axes.  

All conversation ceased when Sklan and Omech entered the
room.

The group turned at the approaching newcomers.

“Last to arrive,” Duwarr muttered as Sklan and Omech passed
the human Luminary and approached their Master.

Sklan said nothing.

“Everything is in order,” Sklan said, bowing in front of
Tremos.

Tremos placed a hand upon Sklan’s head for a moment,
acknowledging the Luminaries worship.

The Destroyer beckoned for Sklan to stand.

“What is this?” Tremos asked, fingering the strap of the
pack that was slung over Sklan’s shoulder.

Sklan looked confused.

“Did you think you were to accompany your pupil?”

“Master?”

Suddenly rage exploded across Tremos’s facade.

“HOW DARE YOU PRESUME TO KNOW SO MUCH!”

Tremos thrust a hand in the air, his fingers outstretched
and taut like daggers, pointing towards Sklan. Immediately the grahk Luminary
cried out in pain, falling backwards.

“Ma—m—aster?” Sklan struggled to speak through the pain. His
face twisted in agony.

No one moved to stop Tremos, no one dared to.

The Destroyer brought another hand up, strengthening the
assault. Invisible forces lifted Sklan up in the air off his feet.

Sklan let out a cry of agony and began to writhe
uncontrollably. His purple and green scales began to flick off one by one.

“You thought I did not know about the underwater tunnels?”
Tremos said to Sklan, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Ma—ster!” Sklan begged.

“You thought you could keep it from me?”

 Omech shivered at the display. If Tremos had performed the
same enchantment upon any of the other Luminaries, they would have been killed,
but Omech knew, as sure as he knew Tremos knew, that Sklan would not die from
the attack. The grahk Luminary would be able to regenerate his outer layer of
skin by the end of the day, but the pain was clearly still excruciating.

“Have I been gone so long that you suppose my authority ripe
for the taking? That any of you think you can challenge me?”

Tremos pressed forward, strengthening the hex. The pressure
made Sklan begin to sweat a byzantium colored blood. He screamed and tore at
his robes, as if in doing so it would alleviate his torment.

“Ple—ase! Ma—ster!”

Tremos dropped his hands and Sklan fell to the stone floor
in a heap.

“Behold,” Tremos said.

He stepped toward Sklan and put an arm around him, helping
the wounded Luminary up.

“I am not without compassion. Am I not your leader, to guide
you? I build you a kingdom, I unite your different races and house you in it. I
give you power. Do not be ungrateful.”

He paused and looked at each of them.

“And, so help me, do not forget your place.”

Tremos, Sklan still in his grip, slowly walked to the
largest of the Luminaries, Guag, and handed off the injured grahk.

Guag did not want to hold the Luminary, but did not dare
refute his Master in that moment, and took Sklan around the waist. The grahk,
almost unconscious from the pain, registered the action only enough to put his
arm around the trug Luminary for support.

Tremos returned to his spot at the head of the semi circle
and turned to face the group.

“Champions!” He said, addressing those whom the Luminaries
had brought with them.

“Your Leaders have chosen you because you are the best at
what you do. I have confidence they have selected wisely, for the consequences
of your failure will rest upon their heads. You know what you have to do, and I
expect you to get it done.”

No
, Omech thought,
I have no clue what to do. That
is what I thought I would find out here.

Tremos caught Omech’s eye in that moment and Omech was sure
the Great One had read his mind because Tremos’s voice suddenly came into
Omech’s thoughts.

You will know soon enough.

“Now go!”

The Champions gave short bows of their heads to their
respective Leaders and turned towards the archway. The Great One stepped up to
the podium and withdrew a rounded object from his robes. In an instant the
object began to glow with iridescent green light. Tremos placed the artifact
into the podium and the light emanating from the hairline cracks across the
surface of the entire arch greatly intensified. There was a rush of wind and
sound and the empty space underneath the arch erupted with an ethereal pulsing
substance of the same green hue.

The first champion, the human garbed completely in black,
stepped forth without hesitation and marched toward the green light. After a
few steps, the man disappeared with a whoosh. The two trug clan-brothers
followed after. Omech stepped in behind the goblin. The macji fell behind the grahk.
Omech thought,
to make sure that I go with them?

But of course he would go, he wanted to go.

The goblin was soon gone, and then he too was passing
through the portal Tremos had opened.

 Omech felt a wave of nausea threaten to overtake him as his
surroundings twisted and melted away, fading into a single flat landscape of
shining silver.

Then he was being pulled through a tunnel of inexplicable
shifting lights and color.

Then he was suddenly landing on his feet against hard stone.

He tumbled and felt small arms grabbing him, breaking his
fall.

“It is unsettling a feeling.” The squeaky rasp of goblin
came to his ears.

The goblin champion had caught him.

Omech straightened up.

He was in a room completely different from the one they had
just been in.

Long pillars aligned the walls with twice as many sconces
both high and low, making for a bright room.

The other Champions were descending the dais upon which they
stood via a small staircase. A large archway just like the one they had
entered, rose above and behind them.

Crimson banners hung in-between the pillars and sconces. 

The banners depicted knights in full battle armor, black and
silver in color. Massive two handed claymores were displayed in front of the
knights, gripped firmly by two gauntleted fists. A kite shield and vines of
thorns and flowers, with a crown of thorns atop the knight’s helmet, completed
the insignia. Omech knew the symbol from books he had studied, it was the
Terragurion Crest.

“Where are we?” Omech finally spoke.

The goblin looked up at him.

“Tonnden, the Terragurion Capital.”

Omech was surprised.

Of course, he had known The Great One capable of walking the
Unseen Paths, but he had not known that that power was able to be transferred
to others, or to objects. If they were in Terragur, then that meant they had
traveled in an instant what should have taken several cycles to traverse by
aldom, several more on foot. Not taking in to account the Maw of Desolation,
the Sea of Fire, and the Black Peaks, all treacherous terrain, and practically
impassable without a guide or foreknowledge of a passable course.

“Terragur?”

“Sklan spoke nothing of this to you?”

Omech shook his head.

“Not a blunder for The Master to punish him,” the goblin
stated simply in response.

The goblin began to descend the steps, motioning for Omech
to follow.

“Why are we here?” Omech asked, taking the stairs behind the
small figure.

The goblin turned up at him.

“To meet the King.”

Zildjin opened his eyes when the
platform shuttered to a stop.

He had fallen into a dazed almost half-sleep. He was
exhausted from the fight, and from their escape.

Sylandria’s arm dropped, and Zildjin let it fall.

She was asleep.

Drake had stopped groaning, but he was still breathing.

Cydas’s blank eyes stared up at the ceiling.

Zildjin shivered at the sight of the still man, and the
sword skewering his friend played again in his thoughts. It felt like a
lifetime ago.

This was not the way the legends were told. The heroes rose
up and conquered evil, slaying monsters and receiving honor and glory.

Not this, not death.

Zildjin tried to stand but fell to his hands and knees on
his first step. His legs were wobbly and unsupportive, as if his body was a
massive boulder too big and heavy to sustain.

“Goodmother, Goodfather!” Zildjin called out.

Where are they?
They would have heard the platform
rising, or seen or felt the magic at work, Zildjin thought.

“Zania! Someone! Help!”

But no one came.

Zildjin got back to his knees, listening for movement in the
other rooms.

At first, nothing, but then he heard what sounded like
voices, coming from outside.

He half crawled, half dragged himself to the large colorful
window of stained glass next to the large double doors that made up the
entrance of the Fallhaven home.

He pulled himself up onto the ledge of the window and peered
outside.

Some of the colors of the stained glass were dark and
difficult to see through, but, after moving twice, Zildjin was able to peer
through a section of mostly translucent window.

Both of the elderly housekeepers stood near the front of the
house, with Zania at their side.

They were talking with a group of men mounted on aldoms.

It was not the men’s strange garb that caught Zildjin’s
attention, or their skin, light bronze, like Sesuadra’s. They were clearly
Kiohopians, blue-bloods as some of the dock workers in Kolima called them. But
the man at the head of the group, the one directly speaking to Goodfather and Goodmother
was the one that drew Zildjin’s eye.