by Tom Liberman
It took the High Priest of Ras more time to notice the presence of Oliver and even when he did, he barely glanced up as he placed glowing icons all around the Staff of Naught now exposed to the direct morning sun and ringed by strange symbols painted onto the White Marble. “What is it?” said the high priest as he finally paused in his work with sweat on his brow. “This is particularly fine work and requires all my attention. Your hovering is not helping matters.”
“They approach,” said Oliver and pointed to the base of the hill.
Seymour shook his head in agitation. “Hold them off until I complete the ceremony then. Do I need to explain everything to you?”
“I understand,” said Seymour and slipped his unadorned sword from the loop that served as a scabbard. “Good luck.”
Seymour resumed his work and did not look back.
Oliver walked down the hillside and arrived at the base of the trail at about the same time as Lousa, Unerus, Shamki, Humbort, and Ariana.
“Oliver,” said Lousa as she dismounted from her horse and walked to within ten feet of the man. “We don’t blame you for what happened.”
The paladin merely stared at her and brandished his sword.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” the woman continued her green eyes seemingly changed from light to dark green like fast clouds that passed in front of the sun on windy day. “But, Shalalee has to be answered for,” she concluded.
“It is always this way,” said Oliver and he spoke in an accented Dorian that he apparently knew all along. “I have no wish to harm the children but if you choose to go up that hillside and interfere with the Chosen One of Ras he will kill you all. Stay here, wait for him to complete the ceremony and then we will settle this among the adults.”
“No,” screamed Ariana as she climbed down from Humbort’s shoulders, shook her finger at the warrior, and ran at him. Humbort reached forward his long arms covered the gap in an instant and grabbed the girl by the collar to pull her back. “Let me go,” she shrieked, flailed her arms and legs wildly, but was unable to pull loose from the firm grip.
Shamki came forward his own sword drawn, held in his unbroken left hand, and made a feint towards the paladin who flicked out his own long blade in reply. The warrior of Tarlton looked at Shamki, his blade in the left hand, and with a quick move paralleled the half-orc. “I do not wish this to be an unfair fight,” he said with a little bow of his head. In this battle the half-orc warrior only moved forward when Oliver retreated, stayed well away from the quick blade of his foe, and never made an aggressive strike.
Lousa raised her hand and uttered a few magical words but the fiery darts that came out of her fingers seemed to burst into little flames as they got near the paladin and caused him no discomfort. Unerus drew his own little blade and started forward but Humbort grabbed him as quickly as he had Ariana and pulled the boy back. Ariana used the moment to tear loose from the gangly man and sprinted around where Shamki and Oliver probed each other’s defenses and up the hill.
“Ariana,” shouted Lousa as she spotted the movement as she prepared another spell. The beautiful woman stopped immediately and went after the girl.
Oliver looked over his shoulder and Shamki made a quick lunge that forced the paladin to dodge to the right to avoid the blow. Rather than follow up and press the attack the half-orc took a step backwards and raised his sword in defensive position.
Oliver nodded his head and smiled at the half-orc, “You have learned a valuable lesson,” but he spoke in his native tongue and without Sutekha’s spell craft the words meant nothing to Shamki; however, he gathered their intent without any trouble whatsoever. He nodded his own head in return and then took another step backwards and away from the blade of the paladin.
Oliver stood silently for a moment, surveyed his foe, then began to move forward in the attack with aggressive blows aimed towards Shamki’s sword arm, and forced the half-orc to slowly back away in a circular motion each time to the right of Oliver. The two continued their slow dance for several minutes as Oliver moved in a more and more aggressive fashion that forced Shamki back in increasingly sharp movements. Shamki’s breath came loud and fast and Oliver’s brow showed beads of sweat even in the cool air of the morning.
The battle continued for many long minutes as Oliver continually forced the half-orc backwards and probed for a weakness in the defense, but neither of two combatants managed to strike a heavy blow. Without any prior indication Oliver suddenly changed his movements and charged directly at Shamki who had to throw himself violently down and to the right to avoid the sword aimed at his head. He rolled over in the dirt and flung out his sword with a kill strike but Oliver was not there and when the half-orc rose to a knee he knew he was beaten. The Paladin of Ras was at his right side away from his sword arm and a searing pain in his leg told him that the wound was deep.
Oliver wiped his brow and again nodded to the half-orc. Humbort and Unerus who stood nearby their own arms at their side found themselves unable to move and Oliver took a moment to glance at them before raising his sword.
Chapter 35
All was in readiness. Seymour looked down at the thing that lay in the center of his circle and smiled to himself and chuckled aloud. “After all these years, the token of the Queen of the Darklings lay before him, exposed and weak. A dozen of his most precious holy items lay arrayed around it casting their holy light upon it and the clawed hand seemed to shrivel before the onslaught. The High Priest of Tarlton finally unleashed his most Holy Relic, the Icon of Ras and stood above the thing ready for the final ritual.
He took the burning globe in his right hand and held it out over the circle and began to chant words of magic as the Icon of Ras began to hum with energy its brightness not increasing but somehow intensifying. “By the Holy Light of Ras!” screamed Seymour his ritual raced towards what could only be a fiery conclusion.
Ariana was the first up the hill to the site of the ceremony as her little feet found purchase in the steep hillside where Lousa only managed to slip which left her to fall further behind the girl. Ariana’s breath came in great gasps as she cleared the last rise and saw Seymour, his arms raised, the intensely bright ball grasped in his hand, the Staff of Naught lying on the ground beneath and, for a moment, she felt a terrifying sense of helplessness but then the voice came to her.
“Look at it closely,” said Shinamar and she knew that he was talking not about the Staff of Naught but of the Icon of Ras.
She didn’t hesitate to follow the instructions her eyes instantly went to the glowing ball whose intensity immediately made her turn her head to the side and begin to close her eyes as her hand came up to shield her face. “Do not look away,” said the voice. “All is not as it appears!”
Ariana shook her head and reopened her eyes wide, the pain of the light seared into her brain, and her entire body began to shake her vision consumed with light and then there was an image in her head.
She saw an orc and a young boy, in a ditch, the sound of hoof beats, a darkling with a black orb around his neck astride a unicorn, a beautiful woman with the symbol of Doria upon her dress. Her eyes saw as the darkling fell from his horse, the darkness of the orb as it skittered across the ground to the boy who grabbed it in his hands.
Shinamar’s voice pierced the vision, “Hidden where no darkling could ever find it.”
And then she could see again, what Seymour held above his head was not a blindingly brilliant ball of fire at all but the black sphere that consumed light, the same sphere that bounded across the ground to the orc boy.
“Now,” cried Shinamar. “Now shall begin the end of the false gods. By Elucidor’s wisdom, by the Sea King’s might, by the Gray Lord’s Black Sword, by the First Rider’s valor, for Caparal, for freedom, take the staff, Ariana, take the staff and strike!”
Ariana suddenly scrambled towards the High Priest of Ras and into the circle, she grabbed the staff its smooth wooden handle seemingly made to fit in her tiny hand and sp
un around to face Seymour.
“No!” screamed Lousa as she finally made her way to the top of the hill.
“Foolish child,” said Seymour with a smile and the light from his icon blazed down upon her although she saw darkness and felt a cool breeze.
She struck towards the icon and there was a sudden rush of air and sound like a fire sucking in the air from all around it in a great whoosh and then she held nothing, Seymour stood above her the Icon of Ras blazing, the staff apparently absorbed by the terrible thing.
“Now you die,” he said and then his Holy Symbol suddenly flickered, as if a great shadow passed overhead, and he paused. “What is this?” And then the Icon of Ras went suddenly and completely black. Darkness roiled out from it in a wave that covered his arms, his face, his chest, and then his entire body until he was enshrouded in darkness, beyond the penetrating light of the sun that rose in the eastern sky. The priest made a strangled sort of sound and threw down the icon, where it hit the white marble with a loud crack, and he stared at it for a moment his eyes so widely opened that they seemed ready to burst. His body began to shake as a trickle of blood emerged from first his nose and then his ears. His face grew red and the trembling seemed ready to consume him completely before he managed to grasp a hold of himself with some tremendous force of inner will.
He turned to Ariana and Lousa, who now stood at the side of the girl, and spoke in perfect Dorian without the hint of an accent, “I … must thank you for kindly showing me the … error … of my beliefs.” His body shuddered again and the look of malice, of pure hatred that he turned upon Ariana made the girl take a step backwards. “Perhaps … someday … I will be able to repay the kindness.” With that he staggered a little as his body gave another shudder and then he began to walk down the hillside.
Down in the plains Oliver stood over Shamki when the sudden burst of darkness exploded on the hilltop. The great warrior looked at the half-orc and frowned, “My master’s business atop the hill is complete I think. Your swordsmanship is admirable and if you continue to improve you might prevail should we ever meet again.”
He then turned and started towards the hill as Unerus and Humbort rushed over to staunch the flow of blood that poured from Shamki’s thigh.
Epilog
The pretty girl with long dark hair felt the sudden movement next to her on the bed and looked up at the powerful darkling who sat bolt upright his purple eyes stared fixedly at the window to their right. The heavy curtain that shielded the room from the bright light the darkling despised so much fluttered in the breeze.
“What is it Ming?” she asked, put her hand to his finely muscled back, and ran them over his wide shoulders. “What disturbs your sleep?”
He turned to her his eyes ablaze with an excitement she did not recognize, “A vision,” he said and his mouth opened in a narrow smile, “a vision of something that used to belong to me, something that was stolen long ago.”
“What does it mean?” said the girl as she rolled onto her back and stretched.
He looked down at her for a long moment before he replied, “It means something very good.”