It seemed odd to him that the Chosen would come now. What were the wizards of the Keep thinking? It was very early spring, the snow had yet to melt and the mountain would be extremely dangerous, covered with snow, ice, and hidden crevasses. Worse yet, spring brought the great thunder-falls of snow that could sweep trees from their roots and kill everything in its path. He had seen it once, from a distance as it swept down the mountain, clearing a wide path of destruction. When he visited the same place later in the summer, he found boulders the size of houses and complete tress stacked like kindling at the bottom of the valley. Nothing could have survived being caught in that monster.
Most of the Chosen came midsummer, which was the wise time to come. Only the foolish would trek the mountains in the early spring…or the desperate. That was how he remembered it from when he used to help his father.
Brock grinned and scratched his palms again, imagining that there must be many stepping through the portal gate, for it had been a very long time. Surely the wizards had trained many since the last Calling…surely they had. He dropped what he had been doing and ran off down the path back to his lodge and began packing.
Ja’tar practically leapt out of the tunnel, startling both the Floormaster and the demon. His friend had gathered everything together and sorted the items into piles. He had even made small packs from the scraps of material he found on the goblins and ghouls.
“I found a couple good knives and a small sword,” Rua’tor said, pointing to a small stack of steel off to the side of the packs.
Ja’tar took a breath and nearly choked on the smell, the bodies were starting to decay; the first steps before they seeped back into the underworld. The demons dissolved almost immediately when killed, but these creatures—they were not pure demons—they would ooze slowly before the dark lord reclaimed them as his! The Floormaster had heaped the bodies in the far corner of the room, but the smell was permeating everything. Ja’tar wove a clever spell to cover the odor and watched as the rose colored mist crossed the room. In a matter of minutes their eyes stopped watering and they were working comfortably again.
Ja’tar took a look at Rua’tor’s stash and nodded his approval.
“What’s next?” Rua’tor asked.
“I have found another gate!’ he enthusiastically bragged.
Rua’tor’s jaw fell open. “Another gate? What are you talking about?”
“Yes! The gates of my father’s father, before the large gate in this ceremonial room was built. I had forgotten all about it, but the demon said she used an old gate to send Bal’kor to Bar’haan. It triggered the old memories of my childhood.” Ja’tar stated excitedly.
He turned toward Mica. He knew she had one of the rings. He didn’t know how she came by it or whose it was, he didn’t really care. “Give me the ring!” he said, holding his hand out.
Mica fought the compelling urge to comply, but in the end, her hand thrust out as if it had a mind of its own. Ja’tar pried her fingers open and slid the opalescent ring from her thumb and slid it over his own ring finger. He dropped her hand and turned to walk away.
“Damn you,” she swore, shaking a fist at him. Someday, she thought. Someday!
Ja’tar looked back over his shoulder at Mica as she stood there steaming and fuming. He watched her closely; he wasn’t absolutely sure that he had all the controls in place he needed. She was very bright, and mischievous.
His friend patted him handedly on his back, congratulating him on his achievement, and overly chipper to the point of annoying. Sure, they would be able to leave, but would they survive and live out the day.
Ja’tar paused and listened. He could hear the methodical scraping sounds coming from the rock wall. They were getting closer, there wasn’t much time left. Ja’tar wove his staff in the air, faster and faster. A dark mist appeared at the end of the staff and followed its every movement. Ja’tar threw the mist at the closed gate, it clung as it hit and filled the void with a silvery swirling cloud. It would serve its purpose, an illusion to confuse the Warvyn.
Mica watched as the illusion took place. She stepped to the void and pushed her hand through the mist and watched it disappear. It was a very curious and complicated spell; it would take her days to decipher. She had to give him kudos, it was very convincing. Rua’tor grabbed her chain and pulled her from the dais.
Ja’tar made a nearly imperceptible gesture with his hand as they left the room, setting a ward that would notify him when the room had been breached. He smiled; it would also make the mist disappear giving the appearance that the gate had just been used. He grinned maniacally, as a final touch he wove a spell to make the vines move and shrink back. As an afterthought, he wove up two more illusions; one of the Roceye, the other of the trap. He carefully materialized them in their correct places on the altar, but made them inaccessible to the demons.
Ja’tar, Mica and the Floormaster gathered up the supplies stacked neatly at the entrance to the tunnel. Ja’tar took the Roceye, the trap, and the orb, shoving all three into his pack. They headed back into the tunnel. He stopped just inside and set his pack down and waited for his friend. After Rua’tor and Mica entered the tunnel, he helped them out of the way, shoving them back from the entry.
“Stay quiet. I need to chant,” he warned.
Ja’tar began to shuffle his feet and hum to himself. Before long, he stopped.
“I’m a little rusty,” he admitted and he began anew.
He shuffled from side to side, trying to recall the steps.
“Oh, that’s right!” he mumbled to himself. He yanked his robe higher so that he could watch his feet.
“There! Now I have it…”
Ja’tar started reciting the Calling, and began chanting and dancing, calling forth the elemental of earth.
He wailed and jumped, his feet following an ancient pattern he had learned as a small child. The dirt at the mages feet began to gather and mound as the elemental formed from the rocks and clay that lay on the floor of the cave.
Ja’tar froze in place as the head formed and lifted from the dirt. He was concentrating hard on controlling the humanoid as it formed. It grew and took shape, its emotionless face and sparkling eyes shining in the dim light. Ja’tar stood absolutely still, focusing his energy through his staff, trying to control the free-willed creature. The creature rose up, fighting its bonds, testing for weaknesses, but then recognized the Keeper.
“What is it you desire?” it growled, its voice sounding like rocks scraping against each other.
Ja’tar spoke his desire to the creature. “Fill this tunnel with rock; seal it from the room, make it appear as if no tunnel has ever been. When you are done, and the wall is four spans thick, you may go and rest in peace.”
“What do you offer in payment?”
Ja’tar thought for several seconds. “I offer you freedom from future callings.”
The elemental nodded, “Your offer is accepted.”
Ja’tar nodded.
“But I hold that I may assist the Keeper in the future if I feel the need is great…”
Ja’tar smiled, “Your offer is most generous and is gladly accepted!”
Mica cowered and watched in amazement as Ja’tar concentrated; sweat pouring down his face, his lips quivering under the stress. He was indeed as mighty as the Dark Lord had said, binding the elemental without a single rune or containment being drawn.
It was taking all the energy he could muster to seal the opening with new rock. The mutated rock humanoid began to build and form the surrounding stone. Stones grew at their feet and were assembled together by the expert mason, the rocks growing and becoming one. Slowly, the tunnel narrowed. Soon, all light from the chamber was cutoff as the rock merged together and the wall began to thicken. All of a sudden, the elemental blended into the stone and was gone.
Ja’tar felt it leave and felt his will being released. The wall was four spans thick, almost twenty-feet, but no more. The elemental had kept his bond and performed as
was asked. Ja’tar hoped that the more than twenty-feet of solid rock that separated the tunnel from the main room were enough that even the Warvyn wouldn’t be able to feel through that much rock to find their escape path. He didn’t take any chances and spun a spell of cloaking over the wall, hiding it from the prying eyes of all magic but his own.
Ja’tar took a deep breath, his face was worn and his body fatigued, yet down the tunnel to the old Gate he led his small entourage. When they arrived, the room had cleared of the blue haze. Dust devils skirted around the floor on the backs of drafts as the castle breathed.
Ja’tar showed his friend the old gate. It would be just a matter of time before they could leave. The Floormaster continued his work of creating packs out of the tatters of clothes he had removed from the bodies of the dead ghouls and goblins. He had the old clothes unweave themselves and create thread. He then conjured up a needle and set it about sewing the packs closed as he held the material in place. He could have conjured the packs, but sometimes, making physical things was better. Magically created things tended to unravel at the most inopportune times. It took much skill, practice and experimentation to create things and for them to persist.
Mica assisted him as bid by Ja’tar. She knew there was no way for her to gain her release, save Ja’tar’s destruction, so she might as well help. Truth be told, she had to do as he asked. It really wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t as if the old man was abusing her or making her do unpleasant tasks. He was actually very kind and good; the kind of goodness that made her skin crawl.
She could not change the nature of her being, and she had lost all moral sense when she voluntarily elected to forfeit her soul in exchange for a lifetime of beauty and power. It had cost her dearly. Who knew that her life would last only a short decade past the date of her agreement? In the end, the price seemed too high. A part of her soul was in the control of the demon Warvyn, for eternity. A tear slid down her cheek.
Ja’tar glanced over at the two working and noticed the tear. He raised a brow; demons didn’t have feelings of sadness or remorse, they only had feelings of lust, greed for power and destruction. That tear meant something, but he was too preoccupied to think on the subject and returned his attention to his work at hand.
Ja’tar settled down and attacked the more difficult task ahead of him. He sat on the stone floor, the orb nestled in his lap, and went into a trance. He tapped into the raw power of the orb and a yellow aura formed about him as he charged his body with pure magic.
He knew he would not be able to risk taking the entire orb with him. If he were captured, the Warvyn would have control of the two items he needed to rule all worlds, the Book and the Orb. Ja’tar knew he would have to shatter the orb and send its pieces to different realms. When and if he were ever safe again, he could retrieve them and remake the orb. If not, at least humanity would be spared the ruthless vengeance of pure evil. It would buy him some time.
He stood after a long time and bid the Floormaster to assist him.
“When I tell you to, hit it with the flat of your sword.”
“What?” Mica screamed, as she dashed to protect the orb.
Ja’tar threw up his hand and swept her off her feet. She landed with a thud and was unceremoniously shoved to the back wall by the magic, as she slid on her rear across the rock and dirt.
Rua’tor just stood there staring, unable to fathom what he was being asked to do.
“I must break the orb and scatter its pieces so that the Warvyn can never gain control of them.”
“But you can’t…” Mica moaned.
Rua’tor grimaced and nodded weakly, understanding the need.
They set the orb on the stone floor and Ja’tar chanted and danced. At the last minute, he fell to the floor and grabbed the orb.
“Now!” he yelled.
The Floormaster swung the flat side of his sword down upon the crystal orb. A loud crack shattered the silence of the cavern as the orb was split into seven pieces. For a second, the entire room filled with energy and the purple and blue web of power danced across the walls of the cave before fading away.
Mica cried out in horror at seeing so valuable an object being destroyed. She fell on her knees and crawled across the floor, picking up the broken pieces in her hands one by one. She looked up at Ja’tar, her eyes filled with loathing and hate.
“Why?” She cried, tears flowing down her cheeks. Why had he destroyed such a perfect thing? The power! Gone! She had sacrificed her soul for less than what any piece of the orb held and he destroyed it as if it were…nothing.
Ja’tar looked at Rua’tor and shrugged. There was that emotion again.
“She’s crying...” Rua’tor mumbled.
“I know...go figure. Do you understand this?”
Rua’tor shook his head, “No, do you?”
Ja’tar’s look spoke volumes.
She had her face in her hands and was sobbing uncontrollably. Ja’tar walked beside her and took the pieces from her lap, handing them to the Floormaster. He didn’t say a word. He was too perplexed. He had never seen a demon express any emotion other than hate or fear. He believed that for some unexplainable reason, she was truly upset and saddened by the shattering of the orb.
Ja’tar took the pieces one by one and set them on the chantry as the Floormaster handed them over. He played with the controls and slid each one across the stone into the swirling void at the other end, each sent on a journey to a faraway place. He didn’t even know where they went. It was safer that way. He had two chunks left when the Floormaster stopped passing the clear crystal shards and interrupted him.
“I think you should send one into the Wild,” he said, looking up from his duties and catching Ja’tar’s eye, “the land is with untamed magic, has been poisoned and is guarded by the Myths. It is a perfect hiding spot. And most importantly, the Warvyn can never go there to retrieve it.” The Floormaster was correct, being a magical creature; the Warvyn could not battle the Myths. It would, he thought to himself; provide an added measure of security.
Ja’tar nodded in agreement at his companion across the altar and set the controls to the Wild. It was one of the few combinations on the panel he knew, having watched his father summon the Guardians for their periodic visits back to the Keep.
The next to the last chunk of crystal was placed on the bed and shimmered into oblivion. Somewhere, on the small desolate plane of the Wilds, a crystal shard appeared on a stone table, nestled deep inside a cave. There it would rest until its master came.
The ward went off as the demons broke through the wall into the Chamber of light. The Warvyn threw his weight against the thin rock remaining between him and his prey. The stone shattered as his shoulder hit, sending the small shards bouncing around the room. A small cloud of dust was rising from the pile of debris at his feet. He stepped through the opening, knocking a small goblin out of the way.
He stepped into the room and saw the mist swirling in the gateway and then it disappeared and the void appeared solid once more. He threw his hands into the air, tilted back his head and howled a blood-curdling moan that made all who heard it quake in their boots. His hands clenched in fists, he sent bolts of lightning shooting about the room. The thunder boomed and sparks flew from where the bolts landed. He had been bested by Ja’tar, again.
Ja’tar felt the ward go off, smiled to himself, and kept on working. He had decided to keep the last piece of the orb for himself. It would provide him with added strength.
He tucked it into his robe, grabbed his staff and the pack that the Floormaster had made, and motioned for his companions to step onto the platform. They gathered up their things and stepped onto the smooth gray slab of rock that led to the gate. Ja’tar pressed his ring into the Gatestone and selected his choice from the carvings. He opened the gate and he stepped up onto the platform. Together, they stepped into the shimmering mist.
The gate shut behind them and the room went dark.
Ravine
In the
woods northwest of the Keep a rag-tag group of halflings, the Seer and a grumpy dwarf struggled down a deep ravine, pushing aside the brush and dense growth that blocked their passage. They half walked, half climbed over the boulders rocks and dead logs that were scattered on the uneven floor.
The ravine stretched before them, wandering the side of the mountain. Tax had no idea how far they would need to walk before they exited. The ravine was like a serpent, randomly weaving and changing direction without explanation; it was impossible to see farther than the next bend.
Steep rock walls towered above them; they must have been over two-hundred feet tall, bulging with overhangs and riveted with deep cracks. Vegetation, trees and shrubs randomly clung to the sides above their heads, precipitously trying to survive in the most inhospitable of places. Errant seeds, blown by the wind, had found purchase in the cracks, sprouted after a rain, and eventually set roots into rotted rock. Tax was amazed.
The sun was near overhead, and yet the ravine was dark and shadowed and cool. They walked in what Tax thought must be an ancient stream bed, but from the amount of dense growth…it had been many years since water had swept down the skree and boulder covered floor. Tax was relieved that the sky wasn’t threatening. He had no inkling to climb the steep walls.
Tax Von Underling, halfling, servant of the Keep, and cleaner of the grand staircase, followed Brawn, the rogue albino dwarf he had met in the tunnels. Tax groaned. Brawn had been whining non-stop since they left the Seer’s cave.
He swung his blade angrily at the dense undergrowth, cussing and fuming. The one known as Warrior and the stockier halfling, who seemed to have no name, were several yards in front, breaking trail. The Warrior swung his oversized battle axe with ease, slicing clean through most of the undergrowth with a single swing.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 7