The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla

by Scott D. Muller

  Zedd’aki heard the part about the wizards being destroyed. Not much he could do there, but if there were others!

  “Twenty survivors?” Zedd’aki’s mouth fell open. “They’re here, alive and well?”

  “Here and alive…” Warvyn let the words hang in the air. “Some are…how shall we say…damaged.”

  Zedd’aki’s eyes narrowed. His hand was shaking, forcing him to set his wine glass down. He wasn’t exactly sure what Warvyn meant by ‘damaged,’ but he could use his imagination.

  Warvyn continued. “Let’s just say that some could not handle the shock of being here and having to service demons.”

  Zedd’aki understood his innuendo. The very thought nauseated him. His voice gave away his inner feelings. “And what of your Master? Did they service him too?”

  Warvyn frowned and scratched his ear. “My master has a different agenda…and different tastes. He doesn’t need wizards here and has no need to interfere in their world. Plenty join us here by their own choosing.”

  Zedd’aki scowled, flicking a small chunk of potato across the table. “If we do this, do you suppose he’ll agree to stop giving dark powers to those in our land?”

  Warvyn threw his head back and laughed at the naivety of the question. “No, probably not, but…the powers he gives come with a high price and are—how shall I say this—transient.”

  Zedd’aki reached across the table and poured himself another glass of wine. “Has this dark mage paid that price.”

  Warvyn nodded. “She has, but those she trains have not—yet! She has already started to show the signs.”

  Zedd’aki froze. “What signs are you speaking of?”

  “She loses herself as the Master takes over. She has a blood lust and is consumed with unexplainable rage. She will soon start making poor choices. The Master will see to it she fails, but she will do great damage between now and then. She will serve him in the Pit as one of the favored. That will be her future, but until then…” Warvyn shrugged and waved his fork.

  Zedd’aki closed his eyes and sighed, trying to absorb everything he was being told. “How much time do we have?”

  Warvyn tapped his fork on the table, “We don’t keep time here. It has no meaning. It could be weeks, it could be decades—but it most assuredly will be!”

  “You wish to load the dice...in your favor.” Zedd’aki’s eyes narrowed, “So what does this alliance gain us?”

  Warvyn grinned evilly. “For you, survival, return topside with your people, freedom from having to constantly look over your shoulders. For us—peace and independence.”

  “Peace?” Zedd’aki satirized. “You who have destroyed so much want…peace?”

  “You misjudge us! Sure, we destroyed, but we were summoned and bound to do so by men,” Warvyn growled.

  Spittle flew from Zedd’aki’s mouth. “You had a choice!”

  “No, we are compelled. We must obey! It is the nature of things.” Warvyn shot to his feet and knocking his glass from the table. It crashed to the floor and shattered into thousands of shards.

  The serving girl looked on in horror, rushing to the center of the room and spelling the glass to return. The shards swept together and reformed. She sighed in relief that none of the pieces had been lost, or the spell would not have worked. She would have paid dearly if she had not been able to fix the master’s glass. Ever so carefully, she set it back on the table and walked back to the door without uttering a single word. Warvyn ignored her completely, focusing on Zedd’aki.

  “But you have no qualms about what you do?”

  Warvyn shrugged and reseated himself. “We don’t care one way or the other.”

  “Why now? This seems far…too convenient,” Zedd’aki puzzled.

  “I sense that the balance of things is shifting. The dark one grows more demanding each day.” Warvyn shrugged and took a large mouthful of steak. “We…I grow tired of being summoned. In the old days—when I first arrived—there were few of us here from the realms, we didn’t understand. We thought what we did just was.”

  Zedd’aki raised a brow. “And now you think differently?”

  “And now we know that it is man that causes us to do most of the evil we do.”

  “You are a demon by your nature…”

  “We live just like you.”

  Zedd’aki’s mouth dropped open a little in surprise. “And you would be happy to just stay here and exist.”

  Warvyn considered Zedd’aki’s words before he nodded.

  “We would,” he said, as he used his knife to pick at a chunk of food stuck between his teeth. “Causing destruction and mayhem can have its just rewards, but only when it is of your own choosing. Fighting someone else’s battles because of compulsion…is not!’

  “Why should I believe you?” Zedd’aki grunted, narrowing his brows.

  Warvyn leaned in and whispered. “We are almost like family. We were raised together. I am asking you man-to-man to help me.”

  “Man-to-man?” Zedd’aki rolled his eyes. “We are not family…”

  “You are like a brother to my brother…that makes us family.”

  “Ja’tar would argue that he has no brother.”

  Warvyn was getting upset. “A shortcoming on his part, I assure you!”

  Zedd’aki snorted. “And…you chose this life.”

  Warvyn pushed forward until his nose was only an inch from Zedd’aki’s face. Zedd’aki could smell the foul stench of his breath and see his pupils constrict. “It seems that this life chose me.”

  Zedd’aki’s face turned red as he was filled with rage. “You chose to learn the dark arts.”

  “No more so than you choose to breathe. You do not understand what you speak of. And I remind you that Ja’tar knows the black arts, almost as well as I do!”

  Zedd’aki was visibly shaken at his comment, pounded on the table, once for each word. “The Guild gave you a chance to give up the arts…like Ja’tar…and return to the Keep.”

  Warvyn brought his knife down hard, point first, narrowly missing Zedd’aki’s hand. “That wasn’t a choice. Who were they to choose what was right and what was wrong for me. They forced me here, and here I thrived.”

  “You would still choose to be here, even if allowed to return?”

  “I would,” Warvyn replied after contemplating for a few seconds. “Motives here are more transparent. Demons don’t scheme as much as you topsiders. Life is simple. Commitments are…transient.”

  Zedd’aki threw his fork across the room. “Bah!”

  Before it hit the ground, Warvyn raised a hand and the fork leapt back across the room to his palm. He set it down on the table in front of Zedd’aki.

  “We eat, sleep, kill and practice our arts,” Warvyn replied, ignoring Zedd’aki’s rant.

  “Ja’tar doesn’t agree!” Zedd’aki growled. “Ja’tar doesn’t—”

  “Of course he doesn’t, he views the world myopically. My brother is very narrow-minded and set in his ways. He bought into the bullshit the Guild was spewing. He was so enamored with the Ten, he couldn’t make a clear decision on his own.”

  Zedd’aki looked indignant. “There is right and wrong…”

  Warvyn swept up Zedd’aki’s fork and poked him in the nose with the butt end. “True, but dark and light are different…”

  “—So you say,” Zedd’aki replied, wiping his nose and grabbing the fork angrily from Warvyn’s hand.

  Warvyn sat back in his chair and pondered his response. “Magic in and of itself is neither evil nor good. It is the one who wields it who determines to what purpose it is used…”

  Zedd’aki threw his nose in the air, unwilling to entertain Warvyn’s argument. Warvyn pontificated the merits of the dark for nearly three minutes before Zedd’aki got in a word edgewise.

  “—then why do so many who practice the dark arts turn evil.”

  Zedd’aki’s hands turned to fists and he fought to control his emotions. He could feel his face getting red and
his lip turn up and quiver.

  Warvyn smiled. “That is elementary. They turn evil because they begin lusting for even more power…and they try to force others to think and act their way. Power is…intoxicating, as you know!. And for some—making deals with the Master—taking shortcuts is the only path. All magic has a price.”

  Zedd’aki scoffed and poo-poohed Warvyn’s commentary, laughing as if he were deranged. Warvyn knew it was bravado; that he had hit a nerve. He had been there when Zedd’aki had first been fully-filled by the source. He had seen his expression.

  “Let’s hypothetically say I agree with you…with regard to magic not being inherently evil. How do you propose to get Ja’tar to cooperate? He won’t be easily convinced.”

  Warvyn nodded slowly as a grin spread across his face. “Why, I’ll offer him something he wants, of course. And then promise him more should he promise to help. My brother is stubborn, but he is anything but stupid. He knows what the presence of a dark mage means—perhaps more than anyone alive!”

  Zedd’aki raised his brows, knit them together and tugged on his beard. “And your peers agree with your plan? They will help fight the dark one.”

  Warvyn didn’t answer.

  Zedd’aki cleared his throat and leaned closer. “Well, will they?”

  Warvyn frowned, almost imperceptibly. “They may, but I have not asked them yet! I can...how do you say…convince them.”

  Zedd’aki snorted.

  Warvyn stood. “Let me take you to see the others.”

  “Others?” Zedd’aki eyes widened as he recalled that Warvyn had mentioned that he had slaves from the time of Ror. He had thought that he had been baiting him and that the others he referenced were actually, Menzzaren, Staven and the wizards that had fought by his side at the Keep. After all, they were the survivors of Ror and Zedd’aki knew that Warvyn was a wordsmith and twisted things to suite his desires.

  “Those I captured from the battles at Ror. I’m sure they will be glad to see you!” Warvyn laughed, and then cryptically added, “Although some may be poor conversation partners.”

  Zedd’aki was speechless.

  Warvyn picked up the small bell that sat on the table and rang it. No sound came out, but within seconds two demons entered the room and stood at the doors awaiting commands. The Grimlocks razor sharp teeth chattered incessantly as they bowed to his command and left the room.

  “I’m afraid that I will need to leave you with my servants,” Warvyn said. “I need to go take care of the business of the realm and begin my campaign to get the demons to support fighting the dark one. Feel free to finish your meal and have another glass of wine. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Warvyn pushed his chair back, stood up and walked to the servants. He leaned in and gave what Zedd’aki assumed were instructions, although they were in the demon tongue. He opened the door and left.

  Zedd’aki stared at the demons guarding the door. One was the female that had accosted him earlier. The other he did not recognize. He picked up his wine and took a big gulp, draining the glass. A sparkle in the bottom of the glass caught his attention. He turned it over and saw engraved initials in the bottom. His thumb slid over the surface, rubbing it, cleaning the film off the bottom. The writing was small and faint and he had to hold it close to his eyes to read it. Surprise filled his face, he recognized them as having belonged to a minor lord from the north.

  In that instance, Zedd’aki understood what Warvyn had been trying to tell him. The goblets were brought back through a portal from that realm, but in order for the demon to have been there in the first place, it either had to be sent—or summoned. Zedd’aki understood that is was rare for a demon to be free in the Realms. That could only happen if a spell containment was incorrectly drawn, or one of the five rules had been violated. Demons didn’t have access to the topside.

  This wasn’t how he imagined his day going when he got up that morning. He finished the last slice of steak and pushed the plate back from the table. He considered palming the knife, but after considering where he was, he decided it would be of little benefit.

  “I’m ready to go,” he said.

  The shapely female walked over and grabbed the free end of the collar’s chain. She smiled—right before he felt an agonizing waves of energy flow over his body, forcing him to his knees.

  “That is to remind you that I have control. It would be unwise for you to try to escape,” she hissed.

  Zedd’aki got to his feet and nodded.

  “Good,” she cooed. “Now, follow me!’

  She opened the door and led him down the hall to the end. They reached a narrow staircase and started to descend. They walked down, flight after flight of stairs. As they walked, torches lit, although Zedd’aki could feel no heat from them. The ceiling was low, barely over the head of the demon. Eventually they came to the end of the stairs, which emptied out into a cavernous room.

  At the far end of the room were cages. Zedd’aki saw movement from the far side. They walked across the room.

  “Menzzaren!” Zedd’aki yelled as he recognized the man.

  The old man looked up and nodded weakly, but made no effort to rise from the floor.

  The demon took Zedd’aki to the nearest cage and let him look inside. He set his hands on the bars, only to discover that they were sticky and burned. He could not let go and he screamed in agony.

  “Another lesson for you,” the demon hissed. “These are webs from our spiders. They are toxic and burn the skin, causing it to melt. It is best if you do not try to hold them or lean on them.”

  She slowly walked to where a small container was resting on the shelf. Zedd’aki’s face was white and he was sweating profusely, on the verge of passing out. She grabbed the container and returned, sprinkling it over his hands, releasing them from the sticky web.

  She held his bubbling, blistering hands in her own and sprinkled more of the powder over them. They stopped dissolving, but the pain remained.

  “I am going to heal you,” she said. “And not only because the Master says that we need to band together to fight the dark one. You are mine. I bonded you!”

  She cast her spell and Zedd’aki felt relief as his hands began to mend. Now, because I have done something nice for you, you get to do something nice for me…”

  Zedd’aki’s face contorted as he imagined a myriad of horrendous things that she might ask.

  She laughed, causing shivers and quakes to travel up and down his spine. “The Master doesn’t usually give me a plaything. It has been a long time since my last.”

  She smiled and licked her lips, “I am much like Warvyn, in that I am also from topside. I have not been here nearly as long as he and still have…certain desires.”

  She yanked on the chain, pulling him to a room to the side. She led him in and closed the door. She grabbed his robe and pulled it wide open. Zedd’aki swallowed hard. She removed her thong and top, pulled the chain, yanking him close.

  She was not as he expected, more human than demon. Her flesh was surprisingly warm to the touch and except for the wings and the bone along her spine, she was of fine figure.

  She embraced him tightly, rubbing herself along his length and felt him stir. She leaned into his ear and whispered. “The chain can also provide prolonged pleasure.”

  Zedd’aki’s body quaked as she fed magic into the collar. His eyes closed and a smile erupted from his face. His hand shook as it slid up her side. He could no longer resist and gave in to the pleasures she provided. She pushed him to the table and had her way with him.

  When she led him from the room, his head was spinning and he was weak in the knees. She opened the cage using an incantation he didn’t recognize and shut him in. Before she left, she thanked him for a memorable time…

  Menzzaren and Qu’entza waited for her to shut the door before they rushed to his side. They each grabbed under an arm and helped him to the back wall. He collapsed to the floor, exhausted.

  “Are you hurt,” Qu�
�entza asked, patting him down, looking for wounds.

  Zedd’aki shook his head, embarrassed at his behavior. “No, I’m fine—just a little exhausted.”

  Menzzaren coughed, patting him on the back. “It is good to see you. We thought you were dead.”

  “As I you,” Zedd’aki said, smiling kindly into the ancient mage’s eyes. “How many are here?”

  Menzzaren scowled, “I do not know for sure, but we have counted over twenty.”

  “How did you escape?”

  Menzzaren snorted. “A cruel joke by the gods! I grabbed a Lich as it was about to attack Ja’tar and Rua’tor. I was gravely wounded and didn’t have the strength… Anyway, I wove a spell to end my existence.”

  Zedd’aki was captivated. “And?”

  “The Lich fought to escape and tried to leave the plane. As the spell triggered, I was thrown backwards and got caught in the Lich’s vortex. I was sucked into Darkhalla before my spell could do its work.”

  “The Lich?”

  “The spell threw it back into the chamber and I watched it vaporize. It is gone from the pattern.”

  Zedd’aki grinned at the news. “So you miraculously survived! How are you holding up?”

  Menzzaren smiled. “They healed me.”

  Zedd’aki nodded.

  “No, you do not understand. The sickness that was killing me is gone. I do not need the Tor root for the pain. I can breathe!” A tear filed his eyes and he began to sob.

  “Twenty! By the gods!” Zedd’aki swore. “That is better than I could have wished for!”

  Menzzaren looked confused.

  “Don’t worry old friend, I will explain everything. I’m thirsty, do we have anything to drink?”

  Menzzaren nodded and motioned across the room. A young girl brought over a ladle and Zedd’aki drank deeply. He looked up into her eyes and was greeted with a warm smile.

  “I know you…” he mumbled.

  “Hello uncle!’ the girl said. She fell to her knees and embraced him tightly. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”