Prophecy Of The Guardian (Guardian Series Book 1)

by J. W. Baccaro

  The Loreladian archers, still dressed in the smelly Cullach armor, now stood upon the castle walls with their crossbows.

  Yet, besides seeing a triple rainbow in the sky which was the after-effect of Olchemy’s spell… all within the city had yet to realize what’d happened, and continued along their way.

  The archers looked in the far distance and at the front lines of the forest saw the yellow shine of Mirabel’s sword. The signal was given. The archers fired Sythra arrows upon different sections of the city, and explosions erupted everywhere.

  The Cullach scattered, trying to see where the shooting was coming from. Since the fires were so chaotic and smoke so thick, filling nearly the entire city, they became blind and confused, running around aimlessly.

  Darshun, still on top of the walls next to Olchemy, couldn’t believe the mayhem before him. Destruction reigned everywhere. He’d never seen anything like it, and never before did his blood boil with such excitement. “When do we charge? When do we charge?” he asked, like a little anxious child.

  Olchemy gave him a puzzled look, for everything had already been explained. Surely, Darshun couldn’t have forgotten so soon? He ignored the question, for an archer signaled the Sythra was used up. The Wizard searched deep into his essence, focusing a great deal of energy. Then with a swing of the staff, he cast an extinguishing spell. The shadow-like wave bombarded through Zithel, decreasing enough smoke before it disappeared. Otherwise, the demonic flames may have burned the entire city down, and that wasn’t the goal.

  Captain Alaric blew the horn of Loreladia. The second signal was given.

  Mirabel and the others charged out from the woodlands.

  “Now, Darshun!” Olchemy commanded, and they both slid down the grappling rope in time to join the front lines.

  Like ravaged beasts, they charged over the gate and into the city, the Loreladian archers shooting their common arrows of steel, covering the ground force. For Darshun’s first battle involving a charge, it felt exhilarating, fighting alongside his father and uncle, Mythaen and Captain Alaric, his new found ally Olchemy…who was quite good with a sword—and even Nayland. Though for a short time only—he disappeared during the onslaught while taking down enemies left and right, tearing through them like a wildfire; now he too, could share in war tales.

  The Cullach weren’t putting up much of a challenge, mainly due to their confusion, and in no time at all three-quarters of Zithel had been retaken.

  “Captain Alaric of Loreladia,” Olchemy called. “Take your men and reclaim the rest of Zithel. We’ll take the tower.”

  “As you wish,” he replied and commanded the men to follow his lead.

  After twenty more minutes of sword-hacking bloody onslaught, all became quiet. Olchemy and the Nasharins crept up to the tower and were standing beside the entrance door.

  “Strange,” Olchemy observed. “I was sure the sorcerer would’ve done something by now. Yet—it is calm.”

  “Is he in here?” Darshun asked.

  “Oh, he’s in here. I can feel it. Ready?”

  They nodded, braced themselves, firmly gripping their weapons, then thrashed open the door and stormed in, but halted—before them, lay dead Cullach scattered across the floor.

  Nayland stood over the corpses, holding his bloodstained axe. “They thought they were coming in here for safety,” he quipped, his tone as mundane as could be; “little did they know—they were walking into their own deaths. This level is now secure. But the sorcerer hasn’t moved. He speaks repetitively in the demonic tongue.” He motioned his eyes upward.

  They listened carefully and could hear the sorcerer speaking from the top level of the tower.

  “He’s conjuring up spells of darkness,” Olchemy explained. “We must be careful. There’s no telling what he has in store for us.”

  They climbed the spiral stairs until finally reaching the top. At the end of a small hallway, the doors to the sorcerer’s lair were open and they entered.

  The sorcerer kept his back to them, gazing out a window. “I must admit, I never expected this,” the sorcerer said, acknowledging their presence. “Well planned, I commend you.” He turned around to face them. His red robe shined in the morning sunlight, his dark brown eyes calm and static. “It’s been a long time, Olchemy.”

  “You know this heathen?” Darshun asked.

  Keeping a stern gaze fixed on the enemy, he answered, “His name is Morgh. The first sorcerer to join Abaddon after his resurrection.”

  “You’re a traitor to your master!” Morgh snapped.

  “I never held Abaddon to be my master.”

  “You know whom I speak of, Levieth the High Wizard! You betrayed the one who taught you.”

  “Levieth betrayed himself. There’s no honor in what he has become, no grace in evil.”

  “There’s evil in us all.” He laughed. “It is the side without weakness’ or limits.”

  “All mortals have limits.”

  “But I, you see, have been granted eternal life, to reign at the Demon Lord’s side when he rules the earth. For this time the Light shall not prevail.”

  “The Dark has said that before...and failed. So will it this time. Surrender.”

  Morgh squinted, pointing at the Wizard. “Do you think you’ve won this battle? So sorry to disappoint you; it has only just begun.” He raised his staff, the eyes of the serpent-shaped heads coming to life. A blinding red light flashed through the room and shot out through the tower windows. It seemed to cover the entire city. “Arise, creatures of death, arise!” he shouted his voice sounding like he spoke through a trumpet.

  Olchemy and the others looked around, expecting to see creatures of darkness ascend up out of the floor from this necromancer’s spell, but nothing happened. Then they heard screams and fighting within the city. Olchemy hurried to a window and couldn’t believe his eyes. “He reanimated every Cullach we killed, and they’re now attacking the Loreladians!”

  “Yes, Zombie Cullach make a great army, wouldn’t you say?” Morgh taunted. “Their blood flows within me. They were bound to me while alive, and remain as such…dead. Your people are finished.”

  What kind of power is this? Darshun thought. He’d heard of sorcery when he was young, how it could mimic certain spells of Wizardry, and much more. The ‘Blackened Arts,’ it was called—powers that come not from the Light, but from the Dark. Powers…causing suffering, torture, cruelty and death. Mirabel strictly warned him to never get involved with such magic. Besides the poor monk Borius who was reduced to a smoldering skeleton the day Elwin died, this would be the first time Darshun clearly saw it performed, and he felt curious to see what else this sorcerer could do.

  “Mirabel, go and tend to the men,” Olchemy instructed. “I will handle Morgh.”

  “Won’t you need help?” Darshun asked.

  “Not as much as the Loreladians. Go!”

  They stormed down the stairway, all except Darshun. He seemed cling to the Wizard’s side. “Let me help you. This heathen shouldn’t be a problem against the two of us.”

  Morgh grinned.

  Olchemy faced Darshun, his eyes shining red. “Depart!” he shouted.

  Darshun stepped back, but still refused to abandon him.

  Then Olchemy’s voice changed into something Darshun never heard before, a tone so fierce—so terrible, yet at the same time calm or rather, in control. “...Do not make me ask you again.”

  Finally, Darshun obeyed, rushing down the stairway to join the others.

  “Intriguing company you’re traveling with these days,” Morgh joked while laughing.

  Olchemy gave no reply.

  While not as challenging as what could’ve been, Darshun found some excitement at the bottom of the stairs, joining the others against the Zombie Cullach.

  The zombies moved slower than in their previous life, and their eyes were as blood shot as could be, but their strength increased three fold. This became evident by them aimlessly smashing their way throu
gh pillars of stone to get to their enemy, causing the ceiling to become unstable—their wounds vanished as if they’d never been slain.

  Mirabel, Seth, Darshun and Nayland cut them down, hacking off arms, legs, and then their heads, hoping this would cease their reanimation.

  After a few minutes of brutal bloody fighting, the last zombie seemed to stay killed. “Come, we must help Captain Alaric,” Mirabel commanded.

  He went to open the door, but Darshun grabbed his shoulder. “Father, look!” He pointed at a zombie they’d just slain. Its body was regenerating itself yet again! Then—they noticed that all of the Zombie Cullach were regenerating, spawning new limbs—even heads. They rose, grunted and moaned like brainless beasts, then attacked once more.

  “We cannot fight them in here!” Mirabel shouted, quickly stabbing a zombie then retracting his sword from its chest. “Let us flee outside!”

  They exited the tower and the zombies pursued.

  The city became a battle zone once more. Only this time, a plague of death the zombies seemed to be everywhere, and the hacking of bodily limbs ran high. Even so, Captain Alaric and his men were suffering heavy casualties from the endless fighting.

  “I’ll burn these things away,” Darshun growled, preparing to transform.

  “No!” Mirabel said. “There’s too many. You’ll only drain you energy and leave yourself defenseless. Our survival is better by the sword.”

  “Then how are we to win?”

  “The sorcerer said they were bound to him in life, and so they are in death. Olchemy must defeat Morgh and break the spell. And we must protect one another until he does!”

  “Then...why am I wasting time here? Father, please, let me go and help him crush that foe, so we can end this mindless slaughter!”

  “You’ll only get in the way. Morgh’s power is beyond yours, greatly. You must trust Olchemy. Besides, each zombie takes a few minutes to re-spawn; therefore, our best strategy is remaining down here with the Loreladians. They need us more than the Wizard.”

  Feeling annoyed and helpless, Darshun nevertheless submitted, taking his anger out on a few dozen zombies clustering around them.

  Just then, a surge of pure energy flowed from the castle tower. Olchemy’s magic became so great that Mirabel and Seth both could feel it from outside—it even caused them to halt for a few seconds and glance back at the tower.

  ~~***~~

  Olchemy and Morgh stood still, their eyes fiercely bent on one another, like two gladiators about to unleash a fury of power.

  Then Morgh broke the silence. “Olchemy, you could be fighting for a power much greater than the Light. Why do you choose the path that leads to death?”

  “You are deceived if you think the Light is weak. And the side you follow cares nothing for the earth; the powers they’ve given you are only to accomplish their will. Once the Demon Lord gets what he has longed for, he’ll kill you and everyone else. One race Abaddon doesn’t want around, good or evil is the Human Race. Their will is too strong to underestimate. You could very well come back to the Light. It is not too late. Why are you so blind?”

  The sorcerer's eyes flashed. “You’re a brainwashed fool! I’ve given my soul to Abaddon, and I will soon rule at his side. I’m afraid you just do not understand the powers of the Dark. Your kind never does, until it is too late.” He grinned. “But I will show you.” He stepped forward and held up his black staff. The eyes on the two-headed snake lit up red. “I’m going to enjoy every moment of killing you, traitor.” Blackness flashed through his eyes and the lair became dark for a few moments.

  Olchemy could feel unnatural energies surging within the room.

  Then the light returned and a black mist—a mere display of Morgh’s energy—hovered around his body.

  Olchemy seemed at ease, and then he smirked. “Now it’s my turn.” He plunged his staff down onto the floor, causing the sound and light of an explosion which shook the entire tower.

  After the smoke cleared, Morgh gazed upon his opponent in awe, for Olchemy was not the same Wizard he’d remembered. This Olchemy possessed fire which fused or intertwined with green energy swirling around his presence like a whirlwind. The elements looked clear, powerful, focused.

  “So, you’ve learned a bit of Earth Magic I see,” Morgh concluded. “Interesting. No matter, I will still defeat you.” Moving his weapon side-to-side, he formed a black ball of negative energy, which had the ability to draw the aftereffects of evil deeds of men, merge them into a single concentrated sphere, and attack with it. The result would be a deadly—often catastrophic—explosion. With the black ball complete, he shot it at Olchemy.

  The Wizard called up a green energy barrier and blocked the attack.

  Morgh formed six more, each one stronger than the first, and fired all together.

  Again, Olchemy called up a barrier, and the sorcerer’s spells could not break through. His ability to counter proved well.

  Looking somewhat annoyed, Morgh cast red lights out of the snake eyes of his staff and they struck a dozen rocks which broke apart from the floor when Olchemy originally summoned his power.

  The lights changed the rocks into venomous serpents and they surrounded Olchemy, hissing, preparing to attack.

  Raising his own staff, the Wizard shot great waves of heat and melted them into black ooze that sizzled on the floor. They never stood a chance.

  One remaining serpent he missed—one that must’ve been creeping behind him the entire time spat saliva onto his leg.

  Olchemy turned around and blasted it away with flame, but then felt numbness below. He glanced down and saw his leg had turned to stone and the stone spread up along his body. Speaking quickly in his native language, he cast a healing spell and greenish-yellow light illuminated his being like a star.

  The stone spell disappeared.

  “Seems you handle your new earthen powers well,” Morgh granted. “But enough of this, I will hold back no longer.” He closed his eyes and spoke in the demonic tongue, and a thick fog filled the room.

  Olchemy sensed an even greater power within Morgh, and then the fog cleared. Now Olchemy saw six figures that all looked like the sorcerer himself. He multiplied himself. But how? I’ve never heard of such a spell, he thought.

  “We can see you’re confused,” they said, speaking and moving in unison. “This is what you can do when you take on such powers from the Dark.” They spread out before him then attacked without warning, casting black lightning out of their eyes.

  In an instant, Olchemy created a mirage of water rushing at them through the air and disrupted their aim. The lightning just missed. This silly technique wouldn’t work a second time and Olchemy knew this as well. His energy barrier wasn’t strong enough to guard against these spells. They were too powerful, and he hadn’t yet become a master of Earth Magic, only Fire.

  They attacked again, this time from different directions, and caused their spells to encircle the room many times over to distort the Wizard’s vision. Then they came, just as Olchemy formed his body mass into rock, a defense against lightning. Except this was black lightning, not natural, and the rules applied differently. Olchemy figured this, but it remained as the only defense he could think of, and it didn’t work. His body struck by all six bolts as he flew off his feet, slammed against the wall, and then tumbled to the floor. His head spun and chest burned.

  “Perhaps we should slow our attacks down for the Wizard?” they mocked in unison.

  Olchemy rose up, focused his power, formed a massive wall of fire and shot it at them.

  Rather than despair, all six countered with a heavy wind, blowing the fire back at Olchemy.

  At the last second, he called up another barrier, and it withstood the flames.

  “You cannot defeat the six of us. In the Spell of Separation, as you can see, the power of one multiplies by six. We haven’t decreased our strength, but increased. There’s no way for you to win. You are outmatched.”

  No. The spell must hav
e a weak point, Olchemy pondered. And I think I know where. I must strike the true Morgh to defeat them all. For he is the source of the power. But which one is he?

  “We’ve had enough diverting for one day,” they said. “Now we’re going to end your existence, as it should have ended years ago, squeamish traitor.” The six raised their staffs, combining all their powers, forming a black ball of negative energy. There was no telling how enormous this one would become.

  Olchemy could hear the battle outside the tower and the desperate cries of the men. He knew they wouldn’t last much longer. He must discover the true Morgh. Closing his eyes, he remained still and focused. He could feel the energy ball reaching its full potential. There came something else—a faint, slight difference in the presence of one of the six. It gave off an aura of life and not cold, empty darkness as the other five exuded. All in all? Morgh’s spell reminded him of something else. A physical separation, how about...a soul separation? I know I mustn’t—it is warned never to use this—I have no other choice.

  “Goodbye, Wizard,” said the enemies as they fired the massive ball.

  The spell struck…a great explosion resounded. Rubble scattered everywhere and smoke rose. Victory belonged to the sorcerer, so it seemed.

  When all the smoke cleared—there Olchemy stood, completely unharmed. Or, is he? His presence seemed like a ghost, pale and misty—then he faded away to nothingness.

  “What does it mean?” the six asked.

  One particular Morgh, now dreadfully afraid, sensed a strong heat coming from behind him. He turned around.

  Olchemy stood before him in solid physical form, except his eyes were spheres of fire and his staff consumed in flames. “Be gone!” the Wizard shouted and cast the flames directly against him.

  The real sorcerer disintegrated while the other five faded from existence.

  The battle was over. Olchemy, direly exhausted, collapsed to the floor like a dead man.

  ~~***~~