Wielder's Awakening (2 page)

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Kadrak didn’t need to glance back at Azulk to know that the shaman was staring at him with murder in his eyes.  Shaman Azulk would serve his purpose of preparing the galdak army.  When he was done with his task, Kadrak would quietly dispose of him.  Kadrak had no thought of allowing someone as dangerous as Azulk to continue on living.  Even though Azulk was much weaker in the ambience than Kadrak, he had suspicions that the old shaman had many tricks.  Kadrak did not trust him, but it didn’t matter.  He was just another tool in Kadrak’s plot; a tool just like the human army and the galdak army.  Tools were made to be used and then discarded.

White teeth shone in the dark night as Kadrak approached the human camp with his lips curled back in a malevolent sneer.  Tonight he would take care of the last little setbacks in his plan.  He would send two of his best assassins to end the threat of another wielder trying to stand against him.  Soon the only wielders of the ambience left alive would be Azulk and himself.  He then would have nothing to stop him but ordinary human armies.  There would be no wielders left to rally and lead the people.  When the time finally came, Kadrak would be the only wielder of the ambience left alive.

As Kadrak approached his tent, the two shady looking men standing guard pulled back the flaps to let him in.  The tent was illuminated instantly as both lamps on either side of his large desk sprang to life.  The large tent was just big enough to fit his bed and desk in it.  It was not very luxurious, but Kadrak knew that the time for luxuries would soon be at hand.  He slowly sat down at his desk and sent for his two best assassins.  Minutes later they slipped without a sound into his tent.  They were so quiet that even Kadrak almost didn’t notice them entering.  He glanced up from the maps on his desk to see them kneeling obediently on the floor.

“I have very important tasks for both of you.  When you succeed, you will be greatly rewarded.”

Kadrak emptied a small pouch of precious stones onto his desk.  The stocky man with short black hair slowly rose to stand before Kadrak.  It was no wonder he had taken upon himself the name of Shadow.  He had an extremely dark complexion and his eyes were almost black.  He was strong and deadly.  He preferred to perform his deeds with only the aid of his bare hands.  The other man who rose to stand beside him was known as Wraith.  If it was possible to be deadlier than Shadow, Wraith was.  He was tall and skinny with long black hair.  His grey, beady eyes took in everything around him in less than a second as he constantly searched for danger.  Unlike Shadow, Wraith enjoyed the use of weapons.  He was very fond of bows and daggers.  While Shadow let all of his victims see his face the moment before he killed them, Wraith disposed of his victims without them ever knowing he was anywhere nearby.

These men were undoubtedly the best assassins in Balthus and quite possibly the world.  Kadrak had met them several years ago when he needed someone to be quietly disposed of in his own house.  Kadrak had kept them in his service ever since.  They worked the jobs that he assigned them without ever questioning him.  They would do anything if the price was right, and Kadrak always had the right price.  The galdaks produced more than just army fodder.  They also produced an endless supply of silver and gems from the heart of the mountains they inhabited.  Kadrak never worried about spending money generously, and his assassins knew it.  Their silent deadliness was feared in Balthus by those who knew of them, and as far as Kadrak knew, they had never failed to the slightest degree at any of their jobs.  He could have killed everyone he needed to easily, by himself.  However, these assassins amused him with their disregard for life and saved him the time and effort.

“We are here to serve you master,” stated Shadow.

Kadrak deftly explained to Shadow his task.  Shadow was to take a small group of bandits south to Drathar.  Somewhere near the city there was a wielder.  He was to find the wielder and kill him.  Shadow was then to proceed down into Selba.  In some small village near Kalfa he would find two wielders and in another village nearby a third.  Each was to be disposed of quickly and quietly.  He then wanted the heads of each of the four wielders brought back to him.  Shadow would have free rein to have fun with his group of bandits on the way back, but not until the four wielders had been disposed of.  When he returned, Shadow would receive a king’s ransom in silver and gems.  Kadrak then produced one of the seeker stones from under his desk and handed it to the assassin.  After explaining its usefulness, Kadrak dismissed Shadow with a wave of his hand and turned his attention to Wraith.

“I have saved a special task for you.  You will not be sent to kill anyone specifically but to watch, listen, and be a burden on the citizens of Kalia.”

Wraith was disappointed that he was being used as a spy rather than as a weapon.  However, a smile slowly crept onto his face as Kadrak explained what all he had in mind.  Wraith was to take a small group of some of the best of Kadrak’s men and go west into Kalia.  He was to search with the second seeker stone for the disturbance that Kadrak had encountered in southern Kalia.  If he found a wielder, he was to kill him and bring back his head.  If he found a stone or other artifact, he was to return quickly with it.  If he found neither, he was to remain in Kalia and keep watching for anything that could have caused the disturbance.  While he was searching, he could do anything he wanted to with Kadrak’s men. Whether it be highway robbery or pillaging towns, Kadrak did not care, as long as they did not attract too much attention.  When Kadrak finished, Wraith took the second seeker stone and bowed before leaving the room.

Part One: Leaving

1

Traven continued his slow and careful walk down the avenue of the large city.  The swirling mist at his feet gave the beautiful city an eerie feeling in the dark of night.  He shivered in the cold as the wind picked up.  Glancing back, he saw the thin tower rising in the distance.  It rose out of the billowing fog, standing majestically as a black void in the night sky.  Traven turned away from the dark tower and continued on.  Buildings stood silently on both sides of the avenue until they were stopped abruptly by a grand plaza.  He turned down a side street between two large buildings before reaching the plaza.  Something was pulling him along.  He had to find it.  It was important.  Emerging from the shadows in between the large buildings, Traven found himself in a small clearing.  In front of him rose a steep hill.  In its side lay the opening of a cave.  The cave pulsed, calling to him.  He walked towards it expectantly.  Just as he reached the entrance, a sound behind him ended the silence of solitude.

Flipping around, his eyes widened as they fell upon a huge serpent.  As the ghastly beast rose to its full height, Traven realized that there was no chance for escape.  The beast was too close.  Traven stared numbly into the glowing eyes that shown out of the darkness twenty feet above him.  The beast’s jagged teeth dripped with anticipation of fresh meat.  Traven knew if he tried to run, the beast would instantly fall upon him, devouring him in a single, effortless bite.  He slowly reached for his short, but sharp, hunting dagger and unsheathed it silently.  If he was destined to die, he would at least sting this horrible beast in a last act of defiance.  As he contemplated whether he should run toward the beast or wait for it to strike on its own, his hand slowly crept to the small blue gem that hung from a leather cord around his neck.  At last he would join his sister, mother and father in the afterlife.  Mockery, sickness, and hard work were not all that wonderful.  Perhaps death wouldn’t be so bad.  Filled with these thoughts, he made his decision and crouched as he readied himself to rush the horrid beast.

There was suddenly an acrid smell in the air, and his icy cheeks were abruptly warm as flames leaped from the black lips of the beast, illuminating the tops of the majestic buildings for a brief moment before the city was once more bathed in the darkness of night.  Traven smelled the sickly stench of burnt flesh as he focused on the blazing eyes of the beast for the last time.  Pain pierced his chest.  The realization suddenly came that he was smelling his own burnt flesh.  Traven was dumbfounded as he glanced down at his bare chest.  His gem was no longer a calm blue but a pulsating bright orange.  He screamed in agonizing pain as it seared through his skin and into his breast bone!

The world suddenly erupted in heat and pain, and Traven bolted upright in his bed.  He was drenched in his own sweat and the cool breeze that passed through his room gave him goose bumps.  His heartbeat slowly began to return to its normal rate as he lowered himself back onto his stiff mattress.  Traven could feel the gemstone on his bare chest.  He was relieved that it was still cool and soothing against his skin.  He welcomed the cold breeze that came through his half-opened window as it helped to erase the memory of the heat and terror of his nightmare.  He had had this dream several times in the past few weeks, but this was the first time he had been burnt by something other than the beast’s flaming breath.  If these nightmares did not stop, he wondered if he would be able to get a good night’s sleep ever again.  Why must he be tormented in the solitude of his dreams?  With the smell of burnt flesh still lingering in his nostrils and the despairing conclusion that he would never feel true peace, he slowly drifted back to sleep.  He wondered what he had ever done to deserve disruptions at night after a hard day of work.

Traven woke several hours later with sunlight streaming through his window, still tired and sore from yesterday’s hauling.  He slowly pulled on his tattered pants and scuffed boots and stumbled down to the stream behind his grandfather’s cottage.  After splashing his face in a vain effort to fully wake up, he lowered the iron kettle he was carrying into the water and carried it back inside.  After starting a small fire under the kettle of water, he retrieved his hunting knife and a large knob of wood.  He slumped down onto his stool as he continued to whittle away at the knob he had been slowly working at for a week.  He was just finishing smoothing the outside and was wondering what to make out of it.  He patiently waited for his grandfather and grandmother to wake up as he wondered what shape the knob would eventually take on.  His grandfather soon came out of his bedroom looking fresh and cheerful, closely followed by his wife.         

“Up early this morning!” his grandfather exclaimed as he stopped to rustle Traven’s dirty blonde hair as he crossed the room.

“The sun’s been up for an hour already Pops.  It’s just that you in your old age slept in,” Traven threw back with a grin on his face.

“Well, well.  Is that so?  I should have known that you would never rise early to get a jump on the day’s work.  And the only reason I slept in was because your grandmother and I were up late talking about your future last night, not because I am old.”

Traven went back to whittling the wood with a sigh as his grandmother began to prepare breakfast.  His grandparents were always discussing his future.  They apparently had great plans for him.  He was going to become a wealthy merchant and live in a large mansion in Calyn.  At least that is what they had been stuck on recently.  They were always talking about how he was so smart and could do anything that he wanted to.  Traven did dream of doing great things and becoming wealthy, but he wasn’t sure that he could live up to his grandparents’ expectations. 

Maybe it would be better to stay in the village and continue as a woodcutter like his father had.  Traven wasn’t afraid of trying new things, but he was afraid of failure.  The other boys of the village always made fun of him for dreaming of a life beyond their small community.  He constantly lived with the fear of leaving to make his fortune only to return as a failure with nothing.  Then all of the village would mock him, the dreamer who thought he was better than the rest of them.  His grandparents told him not to worry about the villagers because there was no way that he would ever fail.  He was afraid nonetheless.  What was wrong with staying in the village anyway?  The lumber business had supported their community for as long as anyone could remember and had always been a source of pride.  Everyone knew that the best oak in the land came from the village of Oak Tree.  The village’s very name proclaimed it.  The village had gotten its name because it had been built around a massive oak tree that was so majestic nobody dared to fell it.

He was sure he could make enough money as a woodcutter to support his grandparents and a family if he worked hard, but he also knew that he would never become wealthy.  He also knew he would never be satisfied living in one place for the rest of his life.  He wanted to see all of the things that the merchant caravans talked about when they came to Oak Tree.  He wanted to see the Great Sea and the sparkling white towers of the royal palace in Calyn.  He wanted to visit the gold mines of Arcad and see the amazing . . .