The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla

by Scott D. Muller

  “Well, either way, if the Keep has fallen, it will not be long before the veil also falls. We must be ready! I can already feel the ebb of the magic curtain.”

  “Ze’rel can be a bit over anxious to action. Are you sure he is the best choice given the need for stealth?”

  “Maybe not, but who else? Maybe we should lay this at his feet… with explicit instructions. He won’t act against the council’s wishes.” Lor’rel replied after careful thought.

  “Have you sent word to our brothers to the south?” D’rel asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No, not yet. They remain… bitter since the last time they joined us at the battle of Ror.”

  “Bah! They were foolish, going in without waiting for our clan to show for the battle as we planned.” D’rel remembered back to that day. Over a thousand strong had died as they pushed the last black mages to extinction.

  “None the less, they lost almost half of their warriors and that deeply hurt their pride. Ce’dar still holds us responsible. He wasn’t too pleased with our salvaging the win and making him look… incompetent.”

  “We were lucky and he was grandstanding.”

  “So, instead of a quick victory, the day ran rich with all of our blood…” D’rel cast his eyes down remembering that he had lost many good friends and loved ones in that battle.

  “That doesn’t change the loss or the way he feels. Unfortunately, he still has clout with the council of elders,” Lor’rel commented quietly.

  “Well, do we invite them, or just inform them of recent developments?” D’rel asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet. There are risks with each decision. Once they know, they will want to be involved and will demand leadership over any force we muster. If things turn sour quickly, they will want to know why they were not told.”

  “If we tell them, we may have to bring in the dwarfs too,” D’rel stated under his breath.

  “They are good allies, able warriors” Lor’rel nodded. “Have you contacted your father?”

  “Toulereau has his own agenda.”

  “Regardless, he has resources we may need.”

  “I will send message.”

  “You fail to give him credit for what he has accomplished.”

  “He has broken all of our rules.”

  “Yes, but he has not been entirely wrong in doing so!”

  D’rel was surprised at her admission. He looked into her eyes, but saw that no further comment was forthcoming.

  “What about the half-elves? Will they travel across the divide if we need them? The trip takes close to a month in the summer. Deep winter will soon be here,” D’rel asked, concerned. It was easy to get stranded in the high country this time of year, and crossing the divide was treacherous.

  Lor’rel chortled, “Likely. Not like them to miss a good clash. They live for the fight.”

  “Indeed!” D’rel smiled for the first time in the conversation.

  “I suppose I should draft a message. Something fairly vague. We don’t need too many sticks in the fire for now. Something like this could easily get out of hand.”

  D’rel nodded. “I guess that I will return tomorrow and start the training. I will do my best.”

  “Of course you will. Now come here and kiss your wife!”

  D’rel was more than eager. He had been away a long time. His wife met him with a strong embrace and the passion soon overtook the both of them.

  Later, after dinner, D’rel asked his wife how she thought Bal’kor should be trained. “D’rel, I think you should train him on stealth, weapons and subterfuge. Maybe you can engage some of your associates to give you a hand, “ Lor’rel suggested.

  “How will we train him in the arts? D’rel asked his wife.

  “I think you should see if Galena would help.”

  “Galena?” D’rel asked surprised. “She has no reason to help us. She has been as reclusive as the mages have been these past centuries.”

  “Ask her, D’rel. I think that you should venture to the Needle Moor swamp and ask her… in person. You can be quite persuasive you know.” Lor’rel laughed as she shot him a big smile.

  “She hates uninvited visitors. I’ll be lucky if I make it to her doorstep.” D’rel replied sarcastically, shaking his head. He was beginning to wish he were not the husband of the Council Head. He always seemed to get pulled into whatever unpleasant task needed to be done.

  D’rel spent the night with his wife and the following morning before dawn, packed his satchel and made his journey plans. Maybe he would detour and see what his friend Feyra was doing. He could probably rely on her help… for a price. His wife was still in bed when he left. He went to her bedside and bent over giving her a warm kiss.

  “Goodbye my love,” he said, running his hand through her blond curls. “I will return as soon as I can.”

  Lor’rel rolled over and opened her eyes. “I know you will husband! I prepared a letter for Galena from the council. It’s on the table. Maybe it will help. I wish you a safe journey.”

  D’rel gazed lovingly at his wife. It always seemed that he was off on some quest or adventure. “I will miss you,” he quietly said.

  She just smiled back. He turned and headed to the door, taking one last glance over his shoulder.

  He found the letter on the table where his wife had left it, the large gold seal in place. He wrapped it in a cloth covering and stuffed it into his pack.

  He pulled the heavy curtain away from the doorway, quickly tossed the rope ladder down and without hesitating, climbed to the valley floor. He turned east and started his trip to the boundary waters, with lakes so large you could not see the other side. He would find his friend there, probably drunk in some small village inn.

  It could be a difficult trip this time of year. D’rel hoped that the weather held and that he could count on two or three more weeks of fall before the snow really began to fly. D’rel loved this time of year. The leaves were changing colors and the days were still warm. The air was crisp and most of the bugs were gone. He sped down the valley, jumping over rocks and logs, ever wary of predators.

  It didn’t take him long to reach the river. D’rel figured that it would be easier to follow the river than to make trail through the forest. It would be an added bonus that he wouldn’t have to worry about unfortunate run-ins with…the many threats the forest held.

  He followed the river for a couple hours before he began looking for a safe place to spend the evening. D’rel found a nice sized tree to climb up. He pulled a small finely woven hammock from his pack and lashed it to the branches. He made himself comfortable and ate a few strips of jerky and some dried nuts and fruit.

  He pulled his særaffe tightly around him to keep out the cold. The særaffe was of the finest elfin weave, so tight that the wind couldn’t blow through and wrapped tightly as it was, it held in body warmth.

  Collar of the Cursed

  Quinn looked over at Killoroy, who was still sound asleep after their nightlong lovemaking. He was lying on his stomach and snoring loudly. She looked at the scars on his back. In a different life, she may have even liked the man. In this life, she used him like a tool.

  She slipped out of the bed and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. She had to admit that she enjoyed the night, it had provided much needed distraction to the events she was orchestrating. Killoroy had his kinky side, and she was more than happy to oblige his fetish. She knew she had to push these thoughts from her head. From this moment on, there would be little time for such distractions. Once she completed the bond to her master, she would have limited time to complete her work. She doubted she would care for things of this world any longer.

  The rock floor was frigid and course, as most castle floors were. She stepped to the dresser and picked up a cloth to wipe herself down. Her toes felt the thick fur of the bearskin rug that sat in front of the dresser. The water in the porcelain basin was cold and she waved a hand over the pool, warming it. She turned and stared out the wi
ndow as she wiped off the sweat of the night.

  Her hair was down; that was the way he liked it, but with all the rolling and jostling of the night... She winced as the comb caught, causing her to curse and raise her hand, filling it with magic. She caught herself and let the magic go. Her hair had been neglected these past few days, even the shell comb struggled to find a clear path. She pulled the comb free and fished out snarl from the tines. She flinched again as the comb caught again, but was hesitant to use magic. As of late, there was temptation to use magic for everything. She found herself fighting the urge all the time.

  She dried off, slipped on her blood-red leather pants and laced up her top. The image in the looking glass was pleasing, but she adjusted her top to expose a bit more cleavage just the same. She put her hair up in a bun, winding it around the silver and leather catch. Tall leather boots, sitting by the edge of the bed, were the last things she retrieved before quietly sneaking out of the room and hurrying down the empty stairs in bare feet.

  Her group of wizards had already gathered in the dining room and had been waiting on her arrival, albeit with little patience. She stepped to the room, grabbed a honey bun from the table and after ripping off a corner, popped it into her mouth. The members of her cadre failed to notice that her tongue was now forked, and she quickly covered her mouth to hide the fact out of habit. She had noticed the change and had used magic to hide the fact, but there seemed to be little reason to do so now. She knew the change was coming. All magic had its price.

  She was late by several hours, but none dared say a word.

  “Are you ready,” she asked, as she sat down and slipped on the boots, lacing them tight.

  Her request was met with nods.

  “Then we shall leave immediately!”

  “Shall we take supplies?” the thin man with the sagging eye asked.

  Quinn looked up, “Don’t bother, Doldum. We will not be gone for long.”

  Doldum nodded and looked away, but not before admiring her fine figure..

  She turned to Taz, a muscular man and one of the first she had chosen. He seemed out of place compared to the others. She had been surprised when he accepted her offer. He held no grudge, and had grown up privileged. As best she could determine, he was just bored.

  “Are the cages ready?”

  “As you have commanded,” he said, with a curt bow.

  She smiled thinly. “Good.”

  Quinn led the group out of the castle and down the road in the direction of the plains. The guards were hesitant to let her go. She had expected that and quickly cast a spell that caused them to black-out. They would remember nothing of their encounter and would assume that they had fallen asleep at their posts.

  They had not traveled far when she stopped in front of a stone marker post, nestled in a small sheltered glen. She held out her hand and chanted as the ancient gate began to glow.

  Taz’s brows raised. He had heard tell of such things, but had never witnessed them in person. The others seemed to not care one iota. A mist gathered at her feet and swirled around the columns. Soon, a shimmering sheet of silver formed in front of her. She filled her hands with magic and felt the sickly green and purple tendrils as they snaked around her fingers.

  “Prepare yourselves!”

  She watched as they obeyed.

  “Come,” she said, as she stepped into the mist and disappeared from sight.

  Quinn and her five dark mages stepped through the gate into the land of ice and snow, their hands were filled with Spellfire and they had prepared evil wards that would twist a man, killing him instantly with great suffrage. They had not expected trouble, but it paid to be prepared just the same.

  As soon as Quinn stepped off the platform, she sensed that a wizard had already been there. Even though she did not know by name who it was, she felt their presence in the cave. It lingered like a foul stench that soured her stomach.

  So, the wizards of the Keep know I am, she thought to herself, knowing full-well that it was the only explanation for them violating the treaty. She sensed their desperation.

  “Do the dragons know we are here,” the eldest asked.

  Quinn nodded. “—and if they know, then the wizards of the Keep will soon know too.”

  “How do you figure?” Tad asked.

  Quinn frowned. “Dragons have their ways…”

  Quinn stepped out of the cave and felt the icy blast of the wind and snow. She spun a simple spell to shield herself from the cold and took several steps forward.

  She twirled her arms and chanted. A travel gate opened, shimmering. “Quickly, follow me!”

  She stepped into the gate and the others obediently followed, still holding the spells they had prepared. Seconds later, they stepped out of the gate at the base of the tall cliff, a place she had been but once before—a long time ago. She felt bitterness rise like bile in her throat. She had asked the dragons for their support when she had returned from the dark, having been scorned by her lover. She wanted to make amends. In her youth, she had been stupid to think they would care enough to assist her.

  “Hurry,” she bade them. “We must catch them by surprise.”

  She looked up at the cliff and the cave entrance and cast another bridge. They stepped out at the entrance to the cave.

  The force that pushed back on her was substantial, however, she now had powers granted by the underworld. She lifted her hand and spun an intricate weave and watched as the dragon’s defenses fell in a jumble of magical threads to the ground. She anxiously waited in anticipation for their panic; dragons had long memories…

  Quinn turned down the passage and hurried toward the chambers.

  Brill felt the spell collapse, rousing her from a deep slumber. “Her eyes opened wide and her pupils constricted. “Dark Mage!” she cried, as an overwhelming sense of dread filled her.

  The red dragons snapped away and lumbered to the edge of the cliff; their lair was near the roof of the cave, hundreds of feet above the floor of the council chambers.

  “Quickly, follow me—prepare yourselves!”

  They spread their wings wide and one-by-one swooped down from above. They landed harshly, causing the ground to shake, cutting off Quinn and her party where the tunnels entered the chamber.

  “Leave,” they demanded, rearing up and spreading their tattered wings wide.

  Quinn chuckled to herself. “Silence, Brill! You have no power over me.”

  The large red growled, surprised that the intruder knew her by her name. She studied the woman standing before her and knew that they had never met. A name came to her, stirring memories from the dark times of Ror. “Quinn—the forsaken, you do not belong here. Leave before we lose our tempers.”

  “Ah, you recall who I am. Very good! But you need to listen and hear. I do not bow to you. It is you who will bow to me.”

  The large red’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “You are as arrogant as you ever were. You have learned nothing.”

  Brill ignored the five cowering mages who stood in her shadow. To her, they were inconsequential. But the evil one…she posed the threat.

  “Contraire, I have learned much,” she said, as she cast her demon spell.

  The dragons, sensing her evil magic attack, threw up additional shields and hurled dragon-fire at the dark mage. The fire encompassed the group, and melted the surrounding rock, but does no damage.

  Quinn cackled as she opened her bag and pulled free an artifact long thought destroyed; she held it high for all the dragons to see.

  “Come here, my pets! Look what mommy has for you…”

  The dragon’s eyes went wide with fear as they felt the vile presence of the collars, an evil long forgotten and pushed from thoughts.

  “Collars!”

  Brill shrieked out her warning, but it was too late. She sensed her wards collapse as she watched Quinn’s hand weave a spell known to but a handful of the dead. Ja’tar’s words haunted her and her feelings were shared with the rest o
f her defenders.

  Quinn raised her other hand that crackled with magic and walked straight in as the dragons blasted her with fire. They stomped, roared and clawed to no avail, her magic was too strong. Their feet stopped within inches of Quinn, as her protective spells held.

  Her eyes turned blood-red and her voice bellowed with a supernatural tone that sent shivers down the spines of her own cadre. They recognized the voice of the Master of the Underworld. Quinn crowed as she cast her spells, her tongue flicked at the air and her face turned a dull gray as the Master took over.

  Large rock hands grew out of the rock and grabbed the dragons’ legs and forcibly pulled them to the ground, preventing their escape. The reds shrieked and flapped their wings as hard as they were able, trying to free themselves.

  Brill sent out warnings to the rest of the dragon clan.

  Quinn laughed out loud as she watched the dragons struggle in vain. Although it was futile, Brill still yanked at her claws, which were bleeding as the rock hands dug deep into her flesh. She ignored the pain and continued her struggle.

  Quinn walked straight into the blast of fire. She pulled a collar from the small bag she carried and threw the cursed abomination in Brill’s direction. Brill watched in horror as it slithered in her direction and felt it clamp about her rear ankle. Her mind went numb and she felt pain shoot throughout her body as Quinn yanked on the other end of the chain and sent her thoughts of pain and suffering down into the collar.

  Brill thought that her head would explode as she heard a bellowing one word command, “Kneel!”

  Brill fought with all her might as her knees shook and stooped toward the floor. The searing pain blinded her and she felt her heart beating wildly. Her heart stopped, and then continued. She watched as Quinn stared her down, her hands glowing with the power of the chain.

  “You cannot resist…kneel to your new master, or you will die!”

  “I…I…will resist…”

  Quinn’s eyes flared and her forked tongue whipped wildly as she fed on the pain of the dragon and caused her heart to stop again. She gripped the chain in her white-knuckled hand and fed even more magic through the link.