by Chad Corrie
“Why?” Gilthanius weakly forced through his pale lips.
“Why?” Dugan growled and kicked his former owner in the side. “You stole my life and ask me why?”
Dugan slowly lowered the blade into Gilthanius’ heart. He let it slide in inch by horrible inch so Gilthanius could feel every bit of his life leeching out amid his pain-filled convulsions and anguished screams. Finally, the sword plunged through the other side of the elf’s chest, pinning him to the stone wall. Gilthanius jerked wildly, pushing more screams and bubbling blood out of his lips before he lay still.
Before Dugan could let this moment of victory wash over him, his sword began heating up, causing him to jump back. He watched the weapon turn white hot before bursting into copper flame. Retreating a few more steps, he witnessed the sulfur-scented fire scorch Gilthanius’ remains into a powdery ash before dying away into its own pile of lifeless ash. When the fire had subsided and the stench of the sulfur descended around him, Dugan finally realized the gravity of what he’d done, and what now awaited him. As the full price of his deed dawned on him, a clamoring of guards echoed from the tunnels and side corridors honeycombing the arena.
They were coming his way. He could already see the bobbing torch light behind the portcullis off to his left. The echoing shouts were in Elonum, the language of the Elyellium, but he could understand their implications well enough. There, in that darkened arena, the sweetness of revenge turned horribly sour as he saw the rest of his life unfolding before him . . . and it frightened him.
Chapter 6
Dradin may have given magic to the dranors
but it’s been left to mages to truly understand and master it.
—Loral the Lovely, Patrician wizard queen
Reigned 220 BV–114 BV
Valan rubbed his tired brown eyes. He’d been searching the timeworn tome for hours. The yellowed pages were scratched with a black script that had once been the common language of the land, before falling into corruption and becoming nearly forgotten. While the ancient dranoric tongue was the entrance into the wondrous world of magic, the tome Valan currently studied carried something just as great, if not greater. He’d become convinced since finding out about the Transducer that the book was the key to properly deciphering the device’s long-hidden secrets. With the Transducer fully mastered, he could gain levels of power and ability undreamt of by even the greatest of wizards. It was all just waiting for him.
The scrolls and tomes he’d gathered from the priests hadn’t brought him any greater insight. There were some simple observations and a few items here and there they’d found on older scrolls discovered in the rest of the ruins. However, none of that shed any more light on what he’d already learned from his previous research.
One small comfort, he supposed, was that he had a secure area in which to carry out his experiments without any major disruptions. He also had access to a near-endless supply of test subjects. And then there was Hadek, who had proven true to his claims. The goblin had shown himself quite a help in Valan’s studies, even informing him of the tribe and its history, not to mention being the mage’s translator when needed. It might not have been ideal, but there were always sacrifices if one wanted to master greater power.
The seven bookcases from above had also been added to the chamber as he’d ordered. They were placed between the fence and the mosaic wall in what he’d made his personal study. The lectern from the temple was also there, facing the Transducer. Valan always wanted to have it in his sights. Before the bookcases were a small table and two chairs. He and Hadek used these for their studies. In the far corner of the room stood a simple bed, but the thin layer of wool and hay saw little use. Valan wanted answers, and they wouldn’t come while he slept.
“What am I not seeing?” Valan snarled as he paced toward the fence guarding the Transducer. The floating orb of light followed him. He almost always had it in use, even though some torches had been added on the side walls and by the stairs. Hadek made do with a couple of candles in an old candelabrum—just enough light to read the aged texts but little else. Of course, there were also the Transducer’s glowing runes, to which each had grown accustomed.
“Tell me again about what the priests did when they found it,” he ordered Hadek, stopping just outside the fence.
“They didn’t find much.” Hadek rose from his seat, making his way to the mage. “They just tried to make sense of the symbols but didn’t get that far with them. After a while, they gave up and left it alone.”
“No prayers or curses of any kind?”
“No.” Hadek had now closed in on the wizard.
“And so they gave up and left this place for storage, like you said.” Valan jabbed a finger at the scrolls in Hadek’s hands. “What are those?”
“You told me to search for anything in the scrolls that might be of use.”
“And?”
“Some of the priests wrote down what they thought some of the symbols might mean.” Hadek offered the scrolls to him.
“I thought I read everything they’d written on the Transducer.” Valan shot the goblin a curious eye.
“I just found them stuffed in a corner of the old temple,” said Hadek.
“Hidden away?” Valan snatched up the scrolls at once, unrolling one at random. “That could be promising.” While he was able to speak Goblin fairly well, the written form still wasn’t entirely clear. And he’d no strong desire to learn more of the language now. Not when there were more pressing priorities. Besides, there was always Hadek to help translate.
“Chaos . . . Change . . . Death . . . Life . . .” Valan read aloud flatly. “Nothing more than what I’ve learned already.” He rolled up the first scroll in distracted thought. “And this was all you found?”
“You have all that was in the temple,” Hadek meekly replied. “And now these and anything else that might be discovered.”
Valan shifted his gaze back on the Transducer. “But there’s still a part that’s missing. Something I’m not fully seeing. I know it’s there, ready for the taking. I’m so close.
“I think it’s time for another experiment,” he informed the goblin. “Go tell Boaz we need another volunteer.”
“Stay where you are, Hadek,” Boaz’s voice boomed across the chamber, alerting them of his presence on the stairs. Valan noted Boaz’s five subchieftains in tow. There was something unusually determined about Boaz’s demeanor as he descended. A flash of defiance not seen since their first encounter.
“Just in time,” Valan said in Goblin as he crossed the room. “I’m in need of another volunteer.” He added a sarcastic bite to the last word, knowing full well they were far from willing candidates. Once Boaz had run out of goblins to throw his way, the chieftain had constructed a lottery in which anyone’s name could be randomly drawn. As fair as it was supposed to be, he found it interesting that neither Boaz nor any of his subchieftains had ever had their names pulled.
Boaz descended the last stair and stood defiantly before the mage. “You’ve taken enough lives from us.”
“I can always take them by force,” he reminded Boaz without raising his voice. “At least with the lottery you can pretend you’re still in charge.”
Boaz locked his jaw. “I want to make a deal.”
“A deal?”
“You give the tribe rest from your experiments if we give you another for the column.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
Boaz eyed the Transducer with a resolute gaze. “Because I plan to live through it.”
“You?” Valan was taken aback. “You’d offer up yourself? Why?”
“I’m the chieftain. If I can’t protect the tribe from you, at least I can lessen your touch upon it.”
A quick study of Boaz’s face told Valan he meant what he said. Amazing. It was like the chicken coming to offer the farmer his neck—even laying it down on the chopping block for him. If Boaz died, then Valan would have an even freer hand in taking greater com
mand of the tribe. The subchieftains wouldn’t present the same obstacle as their chieftain. And, since none had made it through the process so far, having a chance at getting one or even two favorable results out of this was something he’d be foolish to deny.
“All right.” Valan jabbed a bony finger Boaz’s way. “If you survive I’ll have some information I can use to stop the experiments for a time—but not forever. I’ll master this column no matter how many lives it takes.”
One of the subchieftains spoke up from Boaz’s shoulder. “What about your own?”
“Kaden, isn’t it?” Valan gave a lingering glance at the other, noting his short black hair and solemn face. “Why don’t you help your chieftain into the Transducer.” A wave of his hand caused the gate to open.
“I can see to it myself.” Boaz boldly strode inside the fence and into the doorway at the column’s base. Another gesture from Valan slammed the gate shut behind him, making sure the invisible barrier holding Boaz inside the column was also erected. He didn’t want the chieftain getting cold feet at the last minute.
“Thoth ron heen ackleen. Lore ulter-bak ulter-bak . . .” Valan raised his hands as he felt the energy within the blue column spark to life. With that awakening came the now familiar hum that soon would increase in volume, eventually making all present feel like their bones were throbbing in unison. The purple glowing runes burst into a brilliant flash as Valan continued the spell.
Boaz’s grating bellow carried throughout the torch-lit chamber like a tormented wave. Gritting his teeth did little to ease Kaden’s rising wrath at what he and the other hobgoblins were forced to endure. Like the four other subchieftains with him, Kaden wore a chain mail shirt and carried a sword at his side. It was meant to convey a message of strength, but they all knew it was more for show than anything else. No one could successfully stand against the wizard.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not for their tribe and certainly not for their chieftain. Yet, here they stood, in this dank chamber that had yet to bring any good to the tribe since they’d inhabited the ruins above nearly half a year ago. Only a few weeks before they’d been prospering, but now . . . now they were slipping down a muddy hill toward inevitable destruction. All their lives—their very futures—had been tainted with Valan’s arrival. Even the chamber he claimed as his own had started taking on the human’s scent: a faint, musky tang reminding him of old shoe leather, mingling with the aroma of wood smoke and ash. It only grew more rancid with the increased humidity. Interlaced between this miasma and the musty note of old books and tomes was the subtle hint of death. It prowled the shadowy perimeter and slithered out of the corners, telling the true history of the place.
Focusing on his hatred for the mage drew Kaden’s attention back toward the brown-haired Telborian at his right. The mage’s silver robes had turned an incandescent blue in the purple light, which aided in producing an unsettlingly surreal nature in the chamber. Valan appeared utterly lost in his spell—arms raised with his voice as he continued to bring the full might of the column to bear against Boaz.
Kaden had heard of the mage’s habits when the spell was being cast—how he appeared to fall into a strange trance—seeing it firsthand was chilling. He could also tell it wasn’t really a trance. There was something unsettling and unnaturally cold behind Valan’s blank eyes as he worked his magic: a strange detachment mingled with a hint of madness.
The subchieftains hung their heads as Boaz’s screams grew more tortured. It would be over soon, as it had been before with so many others. Kaden drew a short breath when the growls and bellows stopped. The column’s purple light faded. The droning hum emanating from the column’s very stone was swallowed in silence. The sole light remaining on the cylinder glowed a soft purple and came from the strange runes and symbols carved upon its exterior.
Those gathered held their breath. So far, from what Kaden knew of the process, this had been the pattern of all those who were forced into the column before. The screams and then the silence. Silence which meant the victim had died, and horribly at that.
All eyes watched Valan march for the gate, which opened with a simple gesture from the mage. As he neared, the magical barrier blocking the entrance into the column’s base turned opaque purple then faded before vanishing altogether. Kaden barely took note—the real matter of import was what remained inside the column.
“Boaz?” Nalis, another of the subchieftains, approached cautiously. Unlike the others, Nalis kept his black hair long, letting it flow to his shoulders in a youthful manner.
Nalis edged nearer the gate, asking once again—this time with more strength. “Boaz?” He gasped at the sight of a dark shape crawling out of the column’s interior.
“He’s alive!” Kaden rushed for the column, the others fast at his heels. He noticed from the corner of his eye Valan had taken a few steps back, keeping a studious gaze fixed on the emerging form. But Kaden’s momentary joy at Boaz’s emergence quickly fell into fearful despair when he saw what inched its way out of the column.
“Khuthon’s axe!”
Boaz no longer resembled a hobgoblin. His pointed ears, long canine teeth, and clawed hands remained, but his skin, once the color of a ripe pear, had turned a deep red, and his formerly black hair gray. The worst, though, was the set of two white bull’s horns jutting from his forehead, curving to an arc above his head. What a price. But at least he still lived. A miracle if there ever was one.
The subchieftains hurried to help Boaz up. His flesh was warm to the touch, but there was still solid bone and muscle underneath it. Nothing else seemed out of place, nor did they find any sort of wound. This, Kaden noted, was not missed by Valan, whom he continued watching out of the corner of his eye.
With the subchieftains’ aid, Boaz walked outside the fence. As they passed, Kaden made another quick inspection, noting no signs of blood other than a few sprays here and there around the collar of Boaz’s light brown tunic. So there might be internal injuries to deal with, but nothing that looked like it appeared life threatening. Still, he needed some rest and a careful looking over, and a healer to make sure all was well or at least on the mend. Boaz had other plans, facing Valan once he’d cleared the fence.
“I’ve survived.” It wasn’t delivered with his voice’s normal strength but was strong enough to get his point across.
“So you have,” Valan returned in the same tongue while coolly continuing his examination. Kaden noted Valan’s eyes trace the blood around Boaz’s collar then trail downward to the smeared blood on his inside right wrist and along the cuff of the sleeve—telltale signs of having been wiped away from elsewhere. The smile that followed was far from sincere. “And how do you feel?”
“I’ll live.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t mind me waiting a few days to make sure of that?” The smile remained plastered on the mage’s pale face.
Boaz’s red eyes narrowed. “Not if you hold to the agreement in the meantime.”
“I suppose we can.” Valan’s tone and expression turned businesslike. “I’ll need time to learn from this event, anyway.”
“Hadek?” Valan shifted his gaze to the collection of books and scrolls filling up the worn bookshelves to his right.
“Yes?” The bald goblin emerged from the shadows like an obedient dog. Kaden joined the rest of the subchieftains in an ire-filled glare.
“I’ll need fresh paper and my inkwell filled.”
“I’m holding you to your word, mage,” Boaz growled once more.
“I’m sure you are,” Valan said, making his way back to the stone lectern.
“You should get some rest,” Nalis offered as he took hold of Boaz’s right arm. “Let us help you up the steps.” Boaz allowed his men to guide him to the stairs. Kaden took Boaz’s left arm to assist.
Boaz spoke loudly enough so it reached Valan’s ear. “If Khuthon’s merciful, I’ll have that mage’s head on a spike.” His fingers found the new horns protruding from his forehead
and his expression darkened with anger and loathing. “Maybe I’ll even impale him on these for added measure.”
Ranak, who favored a clean-shaven face and head, spoke from close behind Boaz and Kaden in a low voice, hands ever ready to support his chieftain from his left shoulder and middle back. “You’ve bought us some time.”
“Just not enough time.” Boaz stopped as he neared the base of the stairs, turning back for another look at the mage writing at his lectern with Hadek at his heels. “I’ll have Valan’s body dead at my feet. That’s the only way we’re going to be free of this madness.” They began the slow procession up the stairs. If Valan heard or noticed the retreating group, he gave no sign.
“How long do you think he’ll wait until experimenting again?” Morro, the eldest and heaviest of the subchieftains, asked. He stood opposite Ranak, taking great care in assisting Boaz as they all climbed the steps together.
“I don’t know, and I don’t intend to find out,” said Boaz. “Kaden, I want you to take some men and search for anything we can toss Valan’s way. There has to be something in this jungle that will keep the wolf at bay—for a little while at least.”
“Lizardmen?” Nalis asked.
“Too hard to manage,” said Boaz. “And I don’t think Valan would be that interested in them. They’re more animal than man.”
“Celetors then,” offered Ranak.
“It wouldn’t be that hard to capture a few,” said Nalis, “not if what those old scout reports said still holds true.”
“If we press too hard we might risk a counterattack,” Morro cautioned. “Then we’d have two enemies to contend with.”
“And nothing really to gain,” Ranak added gloomily.
“But we’d be saving hobgoblian lives,” Kaden was quick to point out.
“At what cost?” asked Nalis.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Boaz’s statement brought an end to the debate. “Take some men, but gather only a few—we don’t want to cause any great stirring. Hopefully they’ll buy us time to think up a better solution.”