by Tiger Hebert
Duroc stopped in his tracks, but he didn’t turn back. “Not until I’ve had my bath and supper.”
“Now,” demanded Theros with a growl.
“I’ve already told you, I will need my full strength to restore your friend’s mind. Taking a bath and getting some food gives me time to recharge,” said Duroc, his voice was a sail dying as the wind escaped it.
“Very well,” conceded Theros with a grunt of displeasure.
The old king resumed his departure toward the exit at the back of the sanctum where he could find the bathing cavern. Something caught Theros’ eye though. Something was different. The king’s gait had become stiffer and slower, remarkably slower. As he watched Duroc walk away, he noticed that he was not only slower, but he appeared to be having a hard time walking. It wasn’t just that though, something else was different. The king seemed to somehow be... smaller, and his hair looked like it was starting to turn white. The king hadn’t only changed, he was still changing. The king was aging right before their eyes.
Theros watched as the old king slowly crept out of sight, then he turned to Kiriana and said, “I need eyes on him.”
“I don’t want to watch him bathe,” she protested with disgust in her voice.
“I understand, but we need to see what else he is hiding, and you’re the best we’ve got,” he said.
She was not eager to explore the promise that spying on an old man’s bath offered, but she couldn’t argue. Although Duroc had done nothing but help them, she still didn’t trust him; he just had too many secrets. So with a nod, she trailed the king in silence.
22
Secrets
Hatred is often born out of fear, and it is an impossible dilemma whose entire existence rests far beyond logic or reason. And that is precisely what the Darklight spoke into the hearts of men and women and children. The truth was that the dragons rarely had conflicts with any of the peoples of the worlds in those early years. However as the fear of them grew, the hatred did as well. To be fair, most of the dragons steered clear of the conflict even still, until the hunting began. As the peoples of Aurion sought to cleanse the land of the wyrms, they found something much, much worse than their fears. They found out the brutal, savage truth about dragons. In retaliation, the dragons crushed the armies that sought to exterminate them...
In hindsight, the dragons of that age were quite merciful. They were ruthless in their retribution, but it was swift and decisive. Once they put down the hunters, they returned to their lairs, leaving the people alone once more. Unfortunately, the Darklight repeated this cycle for centuries.
War in the Heavens, Jazren of the Seraphim Order
KIRIANA WALKED WITH the quick, stealthy stride that only a master slayer could. She didn’t worry about weight distribution, or the angle at which her feet met the ground, and she didn’t have to think about controlling the sound of her breathing; it was all second nature to her now. Years and years of training will do that for you. Her training was about to be used to watch a crusty old king bathe, and a dwarf at that. Eww. Little did she know now that what she was about to witness was worth the training.
From the heavily shadowed passage, she was able to observe Duroc and all his doings. His once proud frame was now hunched and bent over and his movements were slow and methodical. In the span of less than ten minutes, the dwarf king had aged drastically. It appeared that time was finally catching up with him. It was quite a strange experience watching someone age like this. She was just glad that she couldn’t see his face from this angle.
Duroc had reached the center of the room and he eased himself to a standstill. Taking his time he scanned the room and then he turned back the way he had come. Kiriana’s heart began to pound inside her chest. He was staring right at her. Then his eyes moved past her to the left and then to the right. He must not have seen her, because he gave a satisfied nod, and then he did something that she couldn’t have anticipated.
The king lifted his feeble hands into the air before him and his lips began to move. The not too distant running water was too loud for her to hear what he was saying. She was a fair lip reader, but his words were incomprehensible still. Then she understood. The faint glow of swirling magic illuminated the cavern as the king worked the spell. The spell seemed much like the one they had witnessed him perform before. As the winds of magical force whipped around the frail little king, a small hole in the world was pried open by unseen hands.
She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but it was clear that he was barking harsh commands at the void, or perhaps into the void. The gaze on his worn and wrinkled face blazed with intensity and purpose, and he stared into the void. Then she heard it. It was groaning, like the wailing cries of a thousand voices cascading from that place into this world. Then she saw the many wisp-like fingers of smoke that tried to claw their way out of this other dimension. Kiriana was stunned with disbelief. These were the voices of the tormented, the voices of the damned.
Though she couldn’t make out what he was saying, she saw him verbally lash out at whoever was in the void beyond, and with magic he struck back at the many ghost-like hands that reached for him. The hands recoiled momentarily and the voices howled in anguish, and then the king reached into the void with his power and pulled one of the lost souls free and slammed the void shut behind it.
The ghostly essence of the spirit’s body was displaced by the force of the swirling winds that enveloped Duroc. Yet she could still see the ghostly figure of the frightened young boy. The youth kicked and screamed as he tried to escape Duroc, but the magic held tight and it seemed to squeeze. Tears streamed down the boy’s ghostly face. He screamed for Duroc to stop. Duroc’s expression softened for a moment, and sorrow and perhaps even shame seemed to fill his eyes for a time, then the king shook his head hard, discarding the emotions. He opened his mouth wide and inhaled. In one fell breath, the boy’s screams were silenced as his essence was devoured by the mage. Kiriana gasped in shock as she watched the rest of the scene unfold. Duroc threw aside his robes and closed his eyes as new life filled his body. His naked body began to shift and change as sagging, wrinkled skin grew taut over new muscle and fat as his body filled out. The dwarf’s hair and beard grew dark and thick once more. In seconds the metamorphosis was over, and a new, younger king Duroc stood before her. She shook her head dismissively. That’s impossible, I’ve got to be seeing things. There’s no way. Her thoughts continued to race as she tried to come to grips with what she had just witnessed.
As she wrestled with her thoughts, the king then proceeded to do what he said he came here for. For the first time in two hundred and twenty years he had a drink of water, he relieved himself, and he bathed.
Kiriana hurried back into the room and waved with urgency, gesturing for her companions to come quick. The group, save for the estranged Dominar, hurried toward her.
“What’d you find?” said Theros.
“You are not going to believe it,” said Kiriana as she shook her head, “I barely do, and I saw it.”
“What is it?” said Nal’drin.
“Duroc, he was... aging at a remarkable rate. It was like time was finally catching up with him, and then he used his magic,” she said.
“He used magic to stop aging?” asked Sharka.
“Not exactly. He grew younger again,” she said.
“Oh, that’s all?” Nal’drin’s voice and expression did not hide his disappointment.
“But you don’t understand, it was the way he did it,” said Kiriana in a fearful voice. “He used a spell to open one of those voids, what did he call those things?”
“Alcoves,” said Nal’drin. “He called them alcoves.”
“Yeah, he opened an alcove but the alcove wasn’t empty...” said Kiriana, her voice trailing off and full of implication.
Nal’drin was a bit confused. “Right... the whole point of the alcoves is that they are used to store power. He’s told us that several times. He’s said he had vast stores of power i
n his alcoves that—”
Kiriana grasped and squeezed his hand as she cut him off, “You don’t understand. It’s not just power. When he opened up that alcove, there were people trapped inside! Or at least their spirits or ghosts or whatever they are now, and they were trying to escape.”
“Magic is chaotic and deceiving, are you sure that’s what you saw?” asked Theros.
“I’d bet my life on it, Theros, and it gets worse. Those people, whoever they are, were screaming and begging to be set free. Then somehow he pulled one of the spirits from the alcove, a young boy, and then he consumed him,” she said, and the terrified look lingered on her face.
“He did what?” demanded Sharka.
“He like... inhaled the spirit. The boy struggled against him, but Duroc just breathed him in. It’s like the spirit gave him life or something, because he grew younger right then and there. It was horrible,” she said.
“So he just consumed the person’s spirit?” asked Nal’drin.
“As far as I can tell. He sucked the spirit in, then it was gone, and he grew younger,” explained Kiriana, as she tried to make sense of it to herself as much as the others.
“So he traps people’s souls in the archives, then he sucks the life out of them?” surmised Sharka, her voice was ripe with disgust. “What kind of sorcery is this?”
“It’s called necromancy,” answered a foreign voice.
The group turned with a start to find that the suddenly middle-aged Duroc stood behind them. His body, which was at least clothed again, suggested he was only a hundred or so years old, which wasn’t bad for a dwarf. There he stood casually, with a relaxed posture and his hands resting behind his back.
Duroc continued in a distinctly soft yet regal tone, “Yes, I do draw life from the spirits of the dead. That much is true, but I’ve trapped none of the living. They were lost souls, trapped here in this plane of existence, and I found a purpose for them. It is a foul thing, but a necessary one. I admit it, and I regret you having to witness it.”
“But you’ve imprisoned them, I saw them fighting to escape!” snapped Kiriana.
“You can’t make an argument based on the spirit’s fight or flight response. The wild stag that gets his antlers lodged in a thicket will fight against the person who tries to free it, and the drowning person will fight against the swimmer who comes to their rescue. It is a natural reaction born out of fear,” said Duroc in this new, easy voice.
“If you are not doing anything wrong, why should they fear you?” asked Nal’drin.
“The same reason the swimmer and the deer have fear, because they sense the end,” said Duroc as if it were the most obvious answer.
“Do you even hear yourself? How is that okay?” said Kiriana as her countenance twisted.
“You are missing the whole part about them being dead already,” said the dwarf king with no shortage of sarcasm.
“But their spirits are trapped until you devour them,” said Kiriana.
“Yes, but are their spirits really trapped, though? They clearly weren’t going anywhere. And depending on which theology one might prescribe to, I just might be doing them a favor.”
“How’s that?” said Nal’drin as he stood with his chin up, his shoulders back, and his arms crossed.
“Some religions claim that upon death the spirit of the fallen are immediately drawn away to their final resting place. Others claim that no one is righteous, so they must all pay penance in the afterlife to atone for their sins. Some religions claim that there is no redemption for any, and all will burn. While others still would suggest that there is no afterlife at all, and death is the end of the line,” said Duroc with a big smile, before continuing.
“If the spirits of the fallen are indeed granted entry into some grand paradise upon death, then the spirits in my alcove were found wanting. If the belief that one’s dues must be paid in the afterlife prior to their entry to said paradise, well then, I’ve delayed nothing. If it were true that redemption is a fool’s hope, then it was not I that doomed them. And as for that last belief, well, obviously that’s bogus, because we wouldn’t have spirits floating around if death was the end of the line. So no matter which of the common theological foundations from which a belief system might evolve, I have done no harm,” postulated Duroc.
“So what is your belief in all of this? What happens to the spirits after you devour them?” demanded Theros in a tone that offered more warning than curiosity.
Duroc’s cold eyes locked with the orc’s fiery gaze. “Nothing. I believe that whatever is to happen to the spirits of those poor souls is already etched in stone, and my efforts have no effect upon that. To presume that I’ve the power to deny the will of the gods is foolhardy.”
“And what if you’re wrong?” asked Theros.
“Well, I’d doubt that, but I suppose that if I were, then at least one of the many religions of the world would sentence me to damnation in one way or another,” said Duroc with a dismissive wave of his hands. “Now, do you want me to heal the dwarf, or would you rather waste our time on pointless semantics?”
Nal’drin snapped. “His name is Dominar, and he’s one of your own, shouldn’t you care?”
“I suppose he is; either way, it’s time to restore his mind, unless you’d all rather continue squabbling over petty things,” replied Duroc as he walked past the group toward the sleeping dwarf.
Theros’ fingers dug into the leather straps of his axe. “Restore his mind, but no tricks.”
“You worry too much, Hammerfist.”
The mage king stood over Dominar, and with an Elder Stone in one hand he began his examination. The others formed a circle around the two dwarves and watched in silence. Duroc closed his eyes, and began to search for the right spell, a spell of restoration. A moment of silence was followed by a nod. He had found one. Duroc’s mouth flew into a flurry of movement, spitting out a barrage of unknown words as he released the incantation. The Elder Stone surged with brilliant yellow light and yellow threads of magic lashed out from his fingertips and caressed Dominar’s head. The golden traces of magic lingered for a moment longer as Duroc punctuated a second spell with a loud snap of the fingers. At the sound, a purple seal formed purely of light was lifted off of Dom’s head and all the magic disappeared. The golden threads and the purple seal were no more. Dom opened his eyes.
The dwarf’s eyes grew wide in surprise and he jerked with a start. “What’s going on? Why are you all staring at me?”
“Do you recognize us?” asked Nal’drin eagerly.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”
“He’s healed!” shouted Nal’drin in excitement.
It didn’t clear up Dom’s confusion, but it didn’t stop the others from expressing their joy and relief. Theros placed a large hand on Duroc’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze and then patted him on the back.
“Thank you, Duroc,” said the orc. “You were a man of your word, and for that I am grateful.”
Duroc studied the relieved look in the orc’s teary eyes but said nothing. He felt he should say something, but he didn’t know what, so he remained quiet. But something inside of him stirred. He saw something in the big orc’s eyes that did something to him. He had no idea what it was, or if it was good or bad, but something had just changed. He missed most of the conversation that followed, as he pondered what had just happened.
“King Duroc... King Duroc,” repeated a voice.
Duroc blinked, then allowed his eyes to focus on the face before him. It was the face of a fellow dwarf, the one he had just healed. Dominar smiled at him with those old, sage eyes and said, “Thank you.”
“Just glad to have you back,” bluffed the king. Really? Glad to have you back? What else do I say?
Dom simply gave the king one of his all-knowing smiles, one that revealed an untold depth of wisdom. In that moment Duroc was exposed, his secrets, or at least some of them were not secret any longer. Yet Dominar just held him in his gentle, forgiving gaze
. Duroc forced a smile then was forced to look away. Foreign emotions began to swell inside of the king, and he felt a lump form in his throat. Damn these people!
Dominar continued to smile as the king walked away from the group. He had never trusted Duroc, not when he was haunting Theros’ visions and not now, but he knew that there was much more to Duroc than they had learned so far. The dwarf king had his share of secrets, but so did all men. Dom just hoped they weren’t ones that would kill them all.
23
Playing with Fire
Thousands of years ago in the city of Kinseth there existed a race of people, similar in many ways to the dwarves. That race of people were called the Anunaki. That was, until the Anunaki found a hidden source of knowledge and power. They found the Darklight.
The Darklight was a source of energy that existed beyond the mortal plane, and it was alive! There in the place between realms it waited until it was found. The Darklight opened the doors of the mind, and new knowledge and ambitions flowed through the minds of those that sought its influence. The Darklight promised protection, healing, and independence—and it delivered. It was not long before all the Anunaki were exposed to the Darklight in one way or another, and they—evolved. Infused with unnatural powers and cunning, the Anunaki way of life changed. The Darklight had become more than a source of power, it was a part of everything they did. This drew the attention of their jealous Maker.
The Almighty sent the Seraphim to the Anunaki. They warned the people to abandon the Darklight and to return to their old ways of worshiping and depending on the Maker. Out of fear, the Anunaki reluctantly accepted the treaty. In doing so, they accepted an oath, swearing that they would forsake the Darklight. They were thus named the Oathbearers. When the threat of the angels’ presence was gone though, the Anunaki leaders vowed to never let the Seraphim subvert them again. So instead of honoring their oath, they continued to study the Darklight, continuing their metamorphosis. The brave leaders of the Anunaki finally gathered the knowledge to perform their greatest feat; they would summon the Darklight into the mortal realm.