The Gems of EL - Separate Paths

by Bill Mays

  The Gems of EL

  Separate Paths

  By Bill Mays

  Prologue

  The ancient races felt the presence of another great disturbance threatening their world for months now. Actions were being taken, discretely. Would they be enough to prevent another disaster like the one over a thousand years earlier? Only time would tell.

  Vantar, Speaker of the Nar, placed his scaled chest and face to the warm, stone floor, his arms outstretched with palms facing upwards. His three, clawed fingers and thumb spread wide. He sat on his knees with his reptilian tail flat against the warm stones as well. It was a position of utter submission. Vantar hated this position. Obedience went against every ounce of his being. He hated feeling vulnerable, but that was the intention here. The Nest Lord demanded it of all his underlings. The Nest Lord, being the ruler of the nar, saw everyone else as an underling, even the mighty speaker of his people. The Nest Lord stood taller than the rest of the nar and physically stronger, too. His bulky stature rivaled that of the ogre chieftains spread throughout the surface world. Strength ruled their society. He walked behind Vantar, beside Vantar, and in front of him. Occasionally, the ruler let his thick-scaled tail brush against the prone speaker. He kept this up until Vantar’s scales shifted from a dull brown to a sickly yellowish-green color. The shift meant that his goal was accomplished. Fear was instilled in his subject. Among the nar, it was not unheard of for a submissive member to be savagely assaulted by his superior. After a long moment of silent pacing around the prone elder, the Nest Lord decided to speak. His deep, hissing voice echoed loudly in the vast subterranean chamber that was the center of the nest. It was a central cavern in a maze of connecting tunnels and hollows joined to other complex labyrinths beyond. Located near an active volcano’s pit, the air was hot and the very stones kept warm always. The nar preferred the extreme warmth. They enjoyed the heat. Temperature and the labyrinths kept unwanted visitors far from their secreted domain.

  “Tell me what you have learned, Vantar,” the Nest Lord spoke in an excited, hissing rush. Patience was not a virtue of the nar, not even their leader.

  The Speaker was relieved to hear the larger elder address him directly. It meant he could rise again. The prone position was not only degrading but also quite uncomfortable.

  Vantar twisted his thick neck from side to side in an effort to work out the kinks. He cleared his throat before answering, “My Lord, as we had d’scussed several formants were recruited from de lesser races of de surface. All were dealt wit witout revealing our true identity.”

  Vantar explained everything very carefully. The Nest Lord was known for his explosive temper. Because the strongest ruled among the nar, one did not dare upset his or her superior. It was not necessarily the most intelligent or practical of arrangements, but it was the way of things among the ancient race. They kept a strained sense of order.

  “Enough of de formalities!” The Nest Lord snapped. “What have we learned? What do we know?”

  “Yes, of course, My Lord,” Vantar turned his slanted eyes to the ground. The slit, snakelike pupils narrowed in irritation. “We have learned dat two of de gems have surfaced. Only one is in use now. De udder is also in a lesser being’s possession, but we don know where at de moment. At lees he don seem to be able to use it at de current time.”

  “How much time has passed and dat is all you can tell me?” The Nest Lord was not pleased with the report. “We already knew dat much! What of de udder races? How are dey dealing wit dis news?”

  Vantar shifted his thick tail nervously. His scales were darkening from yellow, returning to a dull brown, but that question halted the color change. It was true he had not found much new information to report. The speaker hoped that his roundabout speech might detract from that fact. “De frail creatures called hu-mans dominate de conflict for now but many of de udder lesser creatures are involved. Dey gather in droves like insects.”

  “Not de lesser beings, you fool!” The Nest Lord’s scales shifted from a deep violet to a vibrant orange-red. Vantar could nearly see the heat exuding from the large elder.

  Vantar’s own scales faded from yellowish-brown to lime green. He was getting very nervous. “Forgive de mistake, My Lord. Of course, de lessers are unimportant. De verinions are still hidden away in der cloud city. As for de sath, dey are keeping watch over everyting as usual. We tink dey might know where de next gem to awake is. Dey are a sly group, My Lord.” Vantar dared a glance at his ruler’s face. The Nest Lord seemed pleased with this part of the report.

  “So de verinions are staying out of it dis time? I doubt dat. De skinny lil flyers are probly using scouts of der own.” The large elder cracked his knuckles loudly as he contemplated this news. “An what of de vortexes an de quethu?”

  Vantar flicked his long tongue out in anticipation. He had been awaiting those questions. It was the only piece of his report that he felt confident about. “De quethu are silent, as we expected, but have no doubt dey are watching. De bold hu-man who uses de one gem has only a basic standing of de power witin. De vortexes are feeble an have slowed much. No doubt, de lesser being is too weak of spirit to use dem more frequently. Likely, he drained his pitiful energy away. Dat will teach dem to play wit de power of de ancients. De outer gates have been kept to a minimum, My Lord.”

  “Good, good,” the Nest Lord hissed, “Keep me updated on any new finds. Dos fishes will show dere sickly scales soon enough.” The larger elder placed one clawed hand firmly on the speaker’s broad shoulder. “We mus not let anodder crises occur. Remember dat Vantar. You are my voice and arm dat will crush dis tret.”

  Vantar accepted the Nest Lord’s honorable words with a simple nod. It was clear to the speaker that his life was on the line here. He had a delicate balancing act ahead. He was to manipulate the lesser creatures without the knowledge of the nar’s involvement leaking out. The ancient pact among the original races demanded no less. This would be no easy task.

  - Chapter 1 -

  Wanderings

  Another chill and damp day greeted the pair of wanderers. It had been like this for weeks now. The season was growing colder and the tangled forest they struggled through was not the easiest of paths. The gladiator and tremlin skirted the borders of a dank marsh. For once, they were in agreement. Neither thought it wise actually to enter the wetlands. The Acid Swamps were a large, desolate area just northeast of the Merchant Kingdom of Merintz. Why they had come this way originally, they did not know. It was an urge or instinct perhaps. There had been little direction to their journey since leaving the town of Pearin far behind. Venturing from one settlement to the next, they found a semblance of a course. Their only lead on finding an actual direction in purpose had come from the parchment of strange rune writings concealed in the scroll tube. The parchment surely tied to the mysterious blue gem in some way, but for now, that tie eluded them completely. A couple of months lapsed with the two being each other’s only company. Basically, they were sick of one another.

  There had been brief stops in several towns and small villages in the merchant domain. Word spread quickly of the war between their neighbors, Kandair and Drackmoore. It was obvious the countrymen of Merintz were afraid the battle raging on their border would swell to include them. The general feeling towards this prospect was one of opposition. These people did not want any part in a war. Merintz was not a warrior kingdom, and her people did not want to get involved. The four ruling Merchant Kings were not eager to join in the battle either. In the long history of the Merchant Lands, they had always used hired mercenaries to do their fighting when necessary. The people had no problems with supplying much-needed goods to their neighbor Kandair, but that was as far as th
ey wanted to go. Their plan was to remain neutral in appearance to all, while doing what little they could to aid their friendly neighbor. The former ruler of the Kandairian Kingdom had come on a diplomatic mission to petition the Merchant Kings for support in the forthcoming war. The mighty Three-Empire League, which consisted of Kandair along with Villinsk and Flaren, had been on the verge of collapsing, or so the Warrior King suspected. His suspicions were correct and the petition went unanswered. The Kings of Merintz had been extremely reluctant even to hear the petition. They knew that their people would not be interested in challenging Drackmoore or its Dark Lord. It was no big surprise when the ever-cautious rulers turned the offer down.

  Ado sighed loudly and then spoke up again out of pure frustration. “Maybe we should just head back to Kandair. If there’s still a Kandair to go back to, that is. I’m sure that old man, Vergehen, would know what these runes mean.”

  The tiny gremlin held the rune-covered parchment at various angles. The parchment had been discovered wrapped around an artifact Tark now carried. It was an artifact that was the cause of all their troubles. It was the item that the Dark Lord of Drackmoore sought and King Airos of Kandair bade them to protect. They could only assume the runes held the answers to the item’s purpose or destiny or both. Ado was trying to make out something, anything in the alien writing. With another grumble of frustration, he wadded up the parchment and tossed it back into Tark’s pack.

  “I told you a long time ago, I’m not going back to Kandair,” Tark stated flatly. The glowing-blue gem he now wore tied on a leather cord about his neck pulsed beneath his leather jerkin. He figured that to be the safest place to keep the stone.

  “But we are just wandering around aimlessly! How many backwater settlements do you plan to visit?” Ado squeaked in irritation, “And, no one seems to be able to read that … that … jumble of scribbles! It probably isn’t even writing!”

  “Leave then!” Tark snapped, “I made it clear I intended to do this on my own. What is keeping you here anyway? Your wings do work, right? They aren’t just for show. Don’t you have some caravan or inn to pester? Isn’t that what gremlins do?”

  “I am a tremlin you big oaf! How many times do I have to …?” Ado stopped his ranting when he noticed the big man was smiling smugly.

  Tark knew calling Ado a common gremlin was one sure way to rile him up. The tiny man rolled his little red eyes and sat back down on the large gladiator’s broad shoulder. He fished the rune-covered parchment from the man’s pack and returned to scrutinizing the unreadable paper.

  “You are the most annoying human I have ever had the displeasure of dealing with,” the little gremlin grumbled as he pulled his green cloak about his shoulders for warmth. He folded up the parchment neatly this time and placed it safely inside his extra-dimensional, magical pouch. “This thing is giving me a headache, or maybe that’s just your stink. You could use a bath.”

  Ado meant what he said, but he had grown much closer to his former rival during these past months on the road together. Originally, Tark and Ado had trouble being in the same general vicinity without an argument erupting. Something had changed after the events in Pearin on their road to the temple known as The Council’s Reverie. The two shared a bond in their recently departed friend, Teevo. He was a young boy, an orphan, hired as an attendant by the fair Lady Dalia. The child met his end at the hands of a Drackmoorian ambush set by the Dark Elf Captain of Meiron’s elite troops, Kaith. Tark had slain the elf. More than that, he had mutilated the assassin beyond recognition. Still, he felt the strong sting of guilt over the boy’s death. Ado, too, felt that sting. The gremlin had made it his duty to watch out for the human child, yet he had been absent during the boy’s time of need. Both shared this bond of friendship and guilt over the loss of their young companion. Now they were alone together. The other people they had been traveling with were left far behind. It was the gladiator’s attempt at protecting the others. Even though he would not admit it openly, Tark was glad to have the pesky little mage with him, if for nothing more than to have someone to bicker with. Despite his boisterous claims, Tark did not truly want to be alone. His burden seemed so heavy and his journey endless. The big man doubted his sanity would last long in solitude. Ado always hated being alone and, for some strange reason, felt he owed it to Teevo to keep the big ox of a gladiator out of trouble. Someone had to have the brains to watch out for danger. Here they were, two unlikely companions marching together towards an uncertain future.

  Tark’s hand slipped beneath his leather shirt. He reached under the bottom hem of the jerkin. His big hand clasped the all-important stone hanging about his neck in a firm grasp. The large gem pulsed with a life of its own. He could feel the comforting rhythm of its beating. He had come to find solace in that pulsing rhythm. The magical energy helped him think. The gladiator still did not understand the importance of the glowing blue artifact of Kandair. He knew very little actually. He was aware of the basic facts of course. The item, originally housed in Talipax, the most fortified city in Kandair, was the thing the Dark Lord of Drackmoore, Meiron, sought. For that reason alone Tark was determined to keep the gem far from the old wizard’s reach. King Airos of Kandair, the famed Warrior King, had informed him that he was chosen by fate to carry the artifact to its destination, wherever the hell that was. There had been little discussion at that point since Airos was ill and Tark was furious. He wished he had asked a few more questions. The king failed to include an actual location. The big man still had trouble accepting that fate was targeting him. Tark never even believed in fate before now. He was still a little unsure on the topic. He always thought of it as something gods forced on the minds of their believers, their followers. He was neither religious nor especially faithful to any beliefs.

  “I should march right back to that temple and dump this thing in Airos’ lap. Let him find another pawn to send on this hopeless quest,” Tark grumbled aloud.

  “Not a bad idea for once,” Ado chimed in.

  At the least, maybe the lady, the cricket man, or that sexy priestess would still be hanging around the king. A little help would not be a bad thing. The gremlin had urged Tark to return for the others time and again with absolutely no success.

  Tark shrugged his shoulders roughly and sent the gremlin scrambling to hold on. “Fate has chosen me. I can’t,” the big man sighed.

  He knew it was true no matter how much he rejected the idea. For some strange reason, destiny had given him this task to perform. Perhaps it picked him simply because he chose not to believe in it. Tark had also come to learn over the last few weeks that the magical stone held special powers. It removed all need for sleep or sustenance from his body. The big man still felt the instinctual urge to drink and eat every once in a while, but never grew hungry or thirsty. He also rested to catch his breath, but sleep did not come to him anymore. Remembering the intense fatigue that washed over him the moment he had released the precious item to the king before, Tark feared the results should he relinquish the gem now. This was another reason for him to continue eating, drinking, and resting, at semi regular intervals. During his moments of rest, when he closed his eyes, there were sometimes flashes. Brief images would race through his mind. Some he recognized like his friends, Dalia, Arianna, and Flade. Other images were completely foreign to him, or worse recognizable but ominous. One of these was the reoccurring flash of mottled-green reptilian tails, clawed hands, and yellow eyes. Another disturbing image was of a creature, a huge lizard with scales as black as night. The monstrosity was always shrouded in shadow. He would picture random faces, too. People he had never met before, and a place, a temple or perhaps a castle. There were yellow pools of liquid and spiraling towers of white and black stone. The impossibly tall structure held a deep sense of power. Then sometimes he saw a dark chamber filled with treasures and a crypt. As the crypt began to slide its lid open, a bright green glow filled his sight. He never saw what was in the crypt. He was not sure he wanted to for a strong
sense of dread accompanied that image. He saw other locations, too, places just as exotic and foreign to him. Vibrantly green forests and icy caverns were common sights, even graveyards filled with thick mists. Were they some sort of clue? Should he get a course to follow from these images? The visions were so sporadic and varied. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to these locations. What did it all mean? Tark often feared he was losing his mind. He felt less and less like his normally rational self. Occasionally, Tark would describe these images to Ado.

  “Yep, you sound crazy to me,” was always the gremlin’s giggled reply. The expected response from his little companion usually brought a grin to his face. As annoying as the gremlin could be, Tark felt his sarcastic presence somehow helped to ground him.

  Ado smashed a huge bug with both hands. The insect was nearly as large as the tiny man’s head with a stinger aimed for Tark’s exposed neck. He had killed at least seven of the nasty insects over the past two days. The bugs were just one of many unpleasantries they were discovering on the edges of the wetlands.

  “Can you remind me why we are staying on the fringes of this putrid swamp again? I mean besides the lovely smell and friendly atmosphere that is.” The tremlin was secretly using Tark’s long, bound hair to wipe the bug guts from his slime-covered hands.

  “We are looking for the sage,” Tark growled back. “You already know that!”

  “Oh yes, the sage, how could I forget? A group of root farmers said the old crone lived out in the forest on the verge of the Acid Swamps, in a hidden shack. There truly is nothing like a reliable source. They call her a sage, but did you see them? It’s probably some old witch who wants to be left alone. She probably isn’t especially knowledgeable on anything but swampland and leeches. I’m surprised they didn’t call you a sage for that matter, and that is just a sad, sad thought. They barely had a full set of teeth between them. Of course, no one has seen or heard from this sage woman in years, but why should that stop us from trying to find her? I mean it’s not like an old human could die of natural causes or perhaps unnatural ones out here in this lovely retreat.” Ado was clasping his hands together and smiling while blinking his red eyes repeatedly. The sarcastic tone he used only added to the overly dramatic display.