The Gems of EL - Separate Paths

by Bill Mays

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  The three painted lizard men were also hit hard by the sudden storm. Their natural acclimation to the wetlands gave the trio some support, but they were eventually forced to take shelter and wait out the worst of the weather. The chill in the air caused the reptiles to become sluggish. They needed to report back to their tribe. Their mission had failed. The humans were moving along nicely towards Karzack’s temple so there had been no reason to interfere with their travels. It was not until that annoying fairy revealed their presence that things had gone awry. The warrior proved far stronger than they anticipated and his allies quite a hindrance. They had magic at their command. That was an important detail to relay. The lizard men did take some solace in the fact that the storm would surely have immobilized the humans as well. Karzack wanted to meet with them badly and what Karzack wanted, Karzack got.

  After the majority of the storm passed, the trio set out for their hidden village once again. Before long, the village sentries greeted them. The lizard men just seemed to step from thin air so complete was their camouflage.

  “The priestesss awaitsss you,” one of the large sentries hissed in their native tongue.

  This news was not good. If the priestess was aware of their return then she, the tribe chieftain, and Karzack, were all informed of their failure. The lizard men headed straight for the cavern that housed their temple of worship and the tribal shaman. They knew waiting would only bring them more trouble.

  Though it seldom happened, Herrin was mistaken. The stories were true of the Temple of Death and these particularly advanced lizard men did offer sacrifices to that temple, but they were not in fact worshipers of the Death God, Veth-Kar. Inside one of the many caverns, tunneling beneath the large rock face, so deep within the swamps, was their true temple. It housed the altar with a statue representing their patron goddess. The large obsidian carving was vaguely female in shape but all detail was lost to the black stone for this was an altar to Kabyss, Goddess of the Night and Queen of Darkness. The lizard trio approached the altar cautiously. Only the shaman or those specifically requested by her were actually to stand before the obsidian statue and none dared to touch it save for the holy woman. Any transgressions against this most basic law meant death to the offender, and Karzack was always happy to receive another sacrifice.

  “Bow before Kabysss!” A voice hissed from the darkest recesses of the chamber. The command was followed by the sharp crack of a whip.

  All three dropped to their knees with heads lowered. The speaker stepped from the shadows. She was their priestess, their earthly connection to the spirits and the Goddess of the Night. Next to their chieftain, and of course Karzack, she was in charge. She was a tall, slim, lizard woman with many of the same types of painted markings and bone jewelry as the others. In addition, she wore a cloak of pure black fabric and a mask of the same material, which concealed her facial features from all. Only her yellow eyes shone through.

  “The humansss escaped. Karzack will not be pleased,” she hissed as she moved to stand before them. “The chieftain hasss been informed, but you are to relay the detailsss to Karzack yourselvesss.” Her eyes narrowed as her hidden features took on a malicious smile. The reptilian priestess hated failure. The three lizard men’s heads snapped up as one. Fear was clear on their faces and in the twitch of their tails. “You must leave for the temple at once. The king is anxiousss to see you.”

  The statement was followed by hissing laughter. Few who entered the Temple of Death came out alive unless they were delivering a sacrifice. That was how it came by its name after all.

  “I said at once!” She slapped her tail against the stone floor like a whip. The snapping sound sent the trio scampering out of the worship hall and back to the surface.

  “We are asss good asss dead,” one of the three hissed desperately.

  “Maybe not,” another snapped. “If we can please the king with enough information and a promise to retrieve the humansss he might let us live.” The third remained silent. It was plain to see by his resigned stance, he too thought them lost.

  “Hurry, through the passs and to the valley. Let usss get thisss over with!” The first lizard man hissed.

  They left their sheltered caves to hike across the marshes until they came upon the cliff face. It was sheer and impossible to scale, but hidden amongst the trees was a tunnel that led to a valley within. The path was simple and deadly at once. Surprisingly, they crossed through the hidden pass with little trouble. The guardians were hiding or washed away by the storm, they guessed, for they sighted none of the dangerous creatures. The small bowl-like valley lay in front of them. High cliff walls surrounded the enclosed space. Nothing entered the valley of the temple that was not invited. Even the chilling rain did not fall as hard in here. A huge stairway led up the far wall of the cliffs. It was carved from the very stone at their feet. At the top of the stairs was a landing that led into a massive temple. The temple was built into the rock and worn from centuries of corrosion. Once there had been many decorative carvings in the stone about the temple and its huge doors, carvings of magical rituals and scenes depicting events of importance from the past. Those were gone now, either corroded or covered by vines and moss. The place looked abandoned, forgotten, but the trio knew better. This was where the King of the Acid Swamps, Karzack, resided. The trio made their way up the crumbling steps and reluctantly forced the huge stone doors open. The grinding of stone on stone was unnerving. Cobwebs decorated the corners of the corridors and wavered in the breeze that the opened doors let in. There was a dank smell of age in the temple, or was that death? Whatever the odor, it clung to their nostrils with a vice-like grip. A group of bats took flight, startled by their presence. The high-pitched squeaking sounds were a natural alarm signaling that someone had entered the temple, not that an alarm was necessary. The priestess had no doubt informed the king of their pending visit. Shortly thereafter, the familiar sound of stone grinding on stone warned that the doors to the temple closed on their own. There were things moving unseen in the side corridors. Eternal servants of the king watched them. They could feel it and it sent shivers through their scales. Tiny candles lit the entire structure. They burned with a magical fire that never wavered. The illumination they cast was just enough to walk by, leaving more shadow than light, adding to the eerie atmosphere. Having brought sacrifices here before, they knew their way to the audience chamber. It was the throne room, the place where the king always received his visitors. As they entered, he was there, waiting for them. He sat in his large stone chair with its dusty carvings and its jeweled accents. It was an old throne with its older king.

  “You come here alone? You bring bad news to me,” Kazack’s voice groaned in displeasure.

  The trio told of their encounter with the humans. They gave detailed descriptions of each member of the group. They spoke of the magic the tiny folk used. They answered every question their king threw at them as quickly as possible. They even volunteered a few extra tidbits. In the end, the lizard man trio made worthy sacrifices. The king was pleased. Karzack felt the presence of power in his domain, a great power. It was a power familiar yet foreign, the likes of which he had not encountered for centuries. Could it be the source he needed? Perhaps it was the power he sought finally to achieve his nearly forgotten goal. Whatever it was, it awakened a fire in him, a fire lost for ages, and he would have that power.

  - Chapter 7 -

  Ripples

  Ooblei felt the energy rippling through his body. The energy was strong here. Every pulse of the sacred gem sent another shiver through his sensitive fur. He and two others of his kind walked just beneath the surface. They hummed a faint harmony that allowed them to travel through the dirt and stone as if it were thick air. Not too far above them was the human who carried the gem. Though their pact forbade them from interfering in the dealings of the lesser races, they knew the dangers in that course. What fate had in store for the young human was unclear. Could they real
ly trust everything to fate? Look what had happened before, in the past, with similar circumstances. EL was now overrun with creatures from other worlds. The lesser beings were not capable of handling such power. The results were disastrous for everyone. Some could argue that the ancients were not capable enough either. Still, for now, Ooblei would keep his distance and simply observe. He sensed no malice in the human, on the contrary, there was much good in the man. Unfortunately, in the lesser beings, humans in particular, that could change very quickly. This was something else he had witnessed before. What would the nar or even the verinions do with this human? Would they keep their oath and stay away? Then there was the quethu, surely they would stake a claim over the man. Only time would tell. It was all so very sad to the furry little speaker of the sath. He felt as if they were all doomed to repeat their failures over and over again. Suddenly, he felt it. There was but a tingle at first, but that changed. The slow-moving little sath froze in place. He took an arm of each of his companions in his three-fingered hands.

  “Hollldd,” he whispered in his deep, soothing voice. “Dooo you feeel that?” His slow speech rumbled in his throat.

  As an elder, he was more attuned to the energies of the world than his younger companions were. It took a moment of concentration for them to feel it. Soon enough, they did. There was a second rippling beat washing through them. This was not good. The situation instantly grew worse.

  - Chapter 8 -

  The Gauntlet

  Arrivand pulled on his red robes and enjoyed the touch of smooth fabric against his skin. It felt good to be back on his feet and dressed properly. From what the old priest, Helious, told him he had been out for months. Now, he would have to face his master. What would he tell him? How much did Meiron already know? As the apprentice took time to shave his head and trim up his face, he collected his thoughts. Appearance was important to him; it was part of who a man was. He thought through a million possibilities. He needed a plan before facing the Dark Lord. From what he could gather, the war was going well for them. Kandair was slowly falling under Drackmoore’s might. Over half of the country was held by the dark land troops already. The Kandairian King, Airos Allustare, had still not surfaced. Arrivand suspected his master would know more about that. There were a few petty alliances the queen managed to form, like the one with the nomads of Waynan, but nothing that posed any real threat. Merintz remained neutral and was staying clear of the fighting. The collection of small countries bordering to the west of Kandair were also staying far from the conflict. According to a couple of his sources in the castle, Meiron formed a few alliances of his own. The foreign mage was curious as to what exactly his master was up to. It seemed there was more to the ancient wizard’s plans than met the eye. He was expanding his efforts beyond Kandair.

  Villinsk was once one of the mighty Three-Empire League, the league consisted of Kandair, Villinsk, and Flaren. It was the most influential governing force on Pangias. Villinsk was a very spiritual, freethinking kingdom. Bards often sang the praises of the culturally advanced civilization. There were many who practiced refined arts across the lands. Music, dance, fine art, and writing, were celebrated skills. This included those who dabbled in the arts of magic as well. More mages learned their craft in Villinsk than any other country on Pangias by far. The intervention of Villinsk and her mages was something the Dark Lord stayed wary of. Villinsk’s schools of magic held the potential to hinder his plans considerably. Flaren remained true to their bargain and kept away from the conflict. The warriors and summoners of the ice empire would remain within their borders. Whatever deal Meiron had struck with the Empress, Chrysine, had been quite effective in destroying the league. Minus one of the three pillars, the mighty league teetered on destruction. Enemies of Villinsk were joining the dark land army in droves. In exchange, Meiron secretly aided their efforts to weaken the now solitary kingdom. With their borders under attack, Villinsk was unable to lend any aid to Kandair in her hour of need. That was the main goal of the Dark Lord. Yes, Meiron’s plans were expanding daily.

  “Time to put on my show,” Arrivand whispered to himself for confidence.

  He felt that tingling thrill of nervous excitement bouncing around in his stomach. Returning to Meiron’s side was quite a gamble and he knew it. Most men would have cut their losses and fled, happy to have their lives after betraying so powerful a man. It was because he had instructed his late familiar, Biswik, to alert the Messengers of Vergehen to a Drackmoorian ambush that he wound up in his near death state. Yes, most men would have fled, but Arrivand was not most men. He was a risk taker, a gambler. Taking chances was what he did best. He believed that a man had to take chances to become great, and he would become great. One of the castle servants informed the apprentice that his master was in the meeting hall conducting business of the utmost importance.

  “What better time to make my grand entrance,” he mused aloud.

  As he strode with confidence down the castle halls towards the grandiose meeting chamber, Arrivand formulated his thoughts. His mind would need to be solid when he stared into those black eyes and lied. As he rounded the last corner before reaching the great hall, he was knocked aside by a rather large man in a rush. The slender apprentice slammed hard against the far wall of the corridor.

  “Out of my way you clumsy fool!” The large man growled.

  Recognition hit them both at the same time. There stood Rugen, General of the Drackmoorian Army and leader of the Knights of Trakarass.

  “So, you lived after all,” the knight chuckled. “I didn’t give you that much credit.”

  “I’m surprised you took interest. I didn’t know you cared, Rugen,” Arrivand smirked, ever careful to let his gaze dip to the floor in mock respect.

  “That’s General Rugen to you, and I don’t care. I have no time for your games mage. While you’ve been sleeping, a war has been waging. It is a war I am winning for our lord and my country, no thanks to you.”

  The knight general stalked off down the hallway with little more than a sneer at the foreign mage. Rugen had received word of a surprise resistance in one of the small out of the way Kandairian settlements his raiding parties were clearing. Something in his gut told him it required further investigation.

  “Nice to see some things haven’t changed,” Arrivand snickered.

  He collected himself, smoothing out his robes and running his hand over his shaved head down his face to trace his neatly groomed goatee. Poise was a part of his plan. He stalked up to the doors from which Rugen had just come. With more confidence than he should have had, he threw open the door intent on strolling in as casual as ever. The door opened only a crack before a shock jolted through the slim man sending him flying to the floor and leaving his robes singed and smoking. The door was warded by magic; he should have expected that. Arrivand’s shout of pain was enough to draw several of the elite guards from around the corner. The door to the meeting hall swung wide open. There stood Meiron in all his dark glory. There was a strong magical aura to his presence. The ancient wizard seemed rejuvenated from the last time the apprentice had seen him, though more tinges of silver were present in his ebon hair.

  “Who dares to disturb my council?” The slender man roared. “I specifically said there should be no interruptions!” There was a wild anger in his dark eyes, bordering on insanity.

  “I see the war has been good to you thus far,” Arrivand smirked up at his master from his position smoldering on the floor. “It’s a pity I couldn’t have played more of a role before now.”

  Meiron’s crazy glare calmed a bit. The wildness was replaced by that incessant hunger. “Ahhh … Back from death’s door, are we? I had all but given up on you. I had already begun contemplating where to find my next student,” the old wizard smiled down on his apprentice with a grin fit for a troll stalking its prey. With a snap of the older man’s fingers, Arrivand rose to his feet, though he never moved a muscle. “Your timing is perfect. Come and meet ‘The Gauntlet’. I collected
them myself. They are a capable lot, but could use some direction. I have much work for you, my apprentice. I do hope you healed well.” There was a sinister undertone to the wizard’s voice that sent a chill up Arrivand’s spine.

  The foreign mage was surprised by his master’s reaction. He asked for no explanations. He did not even seem to care what had caused his illness or why he had been in the scrying room alone to begin with. Was it a trick or was the man so ancient he had just forgotten? Was his master luring him into a false sense of security? There was no way of knowing for sure. Meiron was very unpredictable.

  “Let the pieces fall where they may,” he muttered under his breath as he entered the meeting hall at Meiron’s side. “Glory and power are claimed by those brave enough to seek them out.”

  “These are my new -- associates,” Meiron smiled as he gestured to the long table at the center of the room.

  There were five beings there. They were each gathered as lesser generals to command forces that expanded beyond the immediate war with Kandair. Meiron had been very busy in his absence. Some were human; others were not. Arrivand’s suspicions were solidified. It was imminently clear to the foreign mage that Meiron’s game of conquest had far greater goals than just Kandair. These were obviously no simple soldiers. Now, he was even more curious as to his master’s plans. What was Meiron really after? Sheer curiosity was enough to bring the mage eagerly to the table. He met them all as Meiron’s apprentice, but there was one among them that he lavished his attentions on. It was a lovely lady. She was in strong contrast to the others gathered here. Her delicate visage captured his focus entirely. That had always been Arrivand’s greatest weakness, and greatest pleasure. Perhaps he would enjoy serving his master as liaison to this new group formed under the title of The Gauntlet.