His mistress lifted the orange orb and brought it to his chest. A small clawed appendage sprouted from the bottom of the orb and grasped blindly at the air.
“P-please,” he gasped, his eyes filled with terror.
“Shhhhh . . .” she whispered gently and reached her black fingers inside of him.
He cried out again as she parted his ribs with her strong fingers and there was a crack of yielding bone. The pain was too much, but he kept his promise and did not die. She pushed the glowing orb inside him, he felt it slipping around his lung to nestle next to his beating heart, which she caressed gently before removing her hand from his chest.
She squeezed the wound shut and with another swipe of a finger knit the wound shut. The healing was far more painful than the wounding had been. He could feel traces of her like decayed leaves remaining inside of him.
“There Arcon. We shall be connected as long as you live.”
“Th-thank you, my mistress,” he said.
“Now for the reward I promised you,” she breathed. The words were throaty and deep with promise. She pulled him in closer and when her arms wrapped around him it was as if she had a thousand arms. She ran a slithering tongue up his neck and along his jaw until her lips finally found his. As his screams echoed through the night, they were indistinguishable from pain or pleasure.
Chapter Six
Ewzad Vriil was dead.
Or at least Ewzad thought he was. He had seen the pommel of Tamboor's sword protruding from his chest. He had felt Elise Muldroomon stab him with the dark dagger. He had seen the swirling blackness and had felt his body being sucked away by the dark power of the knife.
His mind now wandered through nothingness, wracked with pain. Every inch of his nonexistent body was on fire. It seemed to last forever. Was this the afterlife? An empty eternity filled with misery? Perhaps not. The darkness calmed him. The pain began to fade. Ewzad grew sleepy. He let his thoughts slip away. Perhaps there was an end.
The nothingness was penetrated by a voice that jolted Ewzad back into awareness. The voice seared through Ewzad's mind and laid it open, pouring through his thoughts. He knew this voice. Ewzad could hide nothing from the voice of the Dark Prophet.
“Why do you try to escape, Ewzad Vriil?” the voice said. “You are mine. You cannot hide from me.”
“Leave me alone,” Ewzad whimpered. “I am dead. Yes, dead.”
“You are not. Not yet.”
How could that be? Ewzad wondered. How could he survive that? The voice jolted Ewzad again.
“Awaken.”
Ewzad opened his eyes, but he still saw nothing. Wait, he had eyes. Then he could feel his body again. He took a deep breath and gasped in pain. He was lying naked on cold dusty ground. Ewzad reached down and felt the gaping wound in his chest where the sword had pierced him. No, still pierced him. He grasped the sword with squirming fingers and slowly pulled it out of his chest inch by inch until it clattered to the ground. Hot wetness pumped from the wound, pooling underneath him. Ewzad cried out and his mind tried to slip back into nothingness, but the Dark Voice would not let him go.
“Stay,” the voice said. Ewzad quivered and squirmed. “Heal yourself.”
“I can't! It is impossible!”
“Use the artifact. It will heal you.”
“No!” Ewzad yelled. He had used the healing properties of the Rings of Stardeon to heal his servants in the past, but never on himself. He knew that the price to the wielder of the rings would be terrible.
“It will not be terrible,” The Dark Voice said. “It will make you more powerful.”
“No, their power will weaken!”
“Their power will not weaken. Your ability to use them will increase. Use the rings. Become one with them. You will have no need to fear weapons again.”
“I will n-not. N-no I won't. I would rather be dead. Yes, dead!”
“You will obey me!” The voice flexed, sending shards of agony through Ewzad’s dying mind. “Twice you have been given to me. Once you gave yourself. Now another gives you. You are mine, Ewzad Vriil. You will do as I say.”
“Please?”
“Now!”
Ewzad did as he was told and for the first time, turned the terrible power of the rings inward. He cleansed the fluids that had been tainted by infection and stitched together the tissues that had been torn apart by the sword. He wanted to stop there, but the magic of the rings had hold of him now. No longer satisfied with merely feeding on his life force, the rings desired to become one with him. Their power surged through his entire body, sending unimaginable pain along his every nerve until it was finished with him.
Moment's later, Ewzad Vriil rose from the floor fully healed and changed forever. He blinked his eyes but still could not see. Ewzad extended one undulating finger and a ball of fire appeared to illuminate his surroundings. He was in a wide square room walled in finely carved stone. The floor of the room was made of marble and covered in a thick layer of dust. Ewzad looked back to the floor where he had awoken and saw many twisted runes carved into the marble under the pool of blood.
“My, my. How did you bring me here?” he asked the voice. When he had first heard the dark voice, it was weak. After being forgotten for two hundred years, the spirit of the Dark Prophet had lost most of its power. Surely it hadn't gained the strength to bring his body away from the castle.
“Since you have spread the word of my return, the orcs and goblins have begun worshipping me again. My power is growing. When I felt you stabbed by the blood dagger, I pulled you here.” The dark voice chuckled. “It was time that you completed your transformation anyway. Look in the mirror. See how you have changed.”
Ewzad walked to the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of the room. He examined his naked body, clapping his hands in glee. “Oh yes, I have changed. Oooh, it is better, isn't it?”
In the past, when Ewzad wore the rings his body became thin and emaciated, his cheeks sunken, his hair thin and greasy. Now that the rings had become part of him, his body seemed to be in full health. His stomach was taut and muscular. His face red cheeked and healthy. His hair full and lustrous. He could work his plans in the daylight once again.
“Yes, yes. This is better.” Ewzad raised one hand to run his fingers through his hair and recoiled in horror. His arm curved up to his hair bonelessly as if it were not an arm at all, but a flesh-colored snake. His other arm hung to his side, undulating back and forth slowly. He had become used to the way his fingers had writhed about when wearing the rings, but this? “This is unacceptable! No-no, not right at all!”
“It is but a small price to pay for the power you receive.”
“The power is lesser!” Ewzad cried, and tried to bring his arms under control, to make them bend normally. It was no use. Every movement was more grotesque than the one before. He reached to take the rings off of his fingers but the rings had disappeared, leaving only the gemstones embedded in his flesh.
“The power is now a part of you forever.”
“No, no. I cannot take them off. I cannot enact my plans with this . . . deformation!”
The voice warmed and soothed Ewzad's thoughts, massaging the fear away. “I will give you the control you need. You must enter my chamber, Ewzad Vriil.”
At one end of the room was a wide wooden door with a large brass handle. Ewzad approached as instructed, but his legs quivered. It felt as if they were about to lose their cohesion and writhe as uncontrollably as his arms. Somehow he reached the door and wrapped his fingers around the handle. With some effort, he pulled the door open on squeaky hinges. The ball of flame he had conjured followed.
Ewzad's eyes widened as the ball of flame illuminated the room beyond. He now knew where he was. This was the lair of the Dark Prophet. This was the place where, two hundred years ago, the true prophet and his companions had confronted the Dark Prophet and his minions.
The scars from that battle still remained. The chamber had once been large and ornate w
ith extravagant tapestries and great statues. Now the walls were blackened and the front half of the chamber had been caved in by the violent throes of the Dark Prophet's death. The floor was covered in rubble and scattered with the bones of fallen warriors.
“Come to me.” the voice said. “Find my remains.”
Ewzad instantly knew which spot was his master's resting place. He stepped carefully around the shards of metal, rock and bone that littered the floor and crept forward to a place where the marble floor was cratered and bubbled. In the center, as if growing out of the floor itself, was a skeleton that had been twisted and elongated by some unknown force. The skull was stretched and curved into an eerie scream while one arm spiraled upward, the hand reaching as if for mercy.
“Take my dagger.”
Ewzad dug into the ashes surrounding the bones, ignoring the way his arms swayed as he searched, and found what his master requested. The dagger's sheath had melted to the floor and Ewzad had to twist and pull to wrench the blade free. To his surprise, though the leather on the hilt had burned away, the dagger itself was undamaged.
“Good.” The Dark Prophet’s approval sent a jolt of pleasure through Ewzad's mind. A sigh escaped the wizard's lips. “Now follow my instructions.”
The voice guided Ewzad to the back of the chamber where the Dark Prophet's throne stood. Now broken and twisted, the throne had once been made of the bones of large beasts that were carved with images of torture and mutilations. Ewzad snaked his fingers along the bones, a smile contorting his face.
“Oh such sweet ideas . . .” Ewzad murmured.
The voice told Ewzad to reach around the throne and pull a lever. There was a rumbling sound and the rear wall of the chamber began to open inward. Then a deep shudder issued from beneath Ewzad’s feet and the apparatus came to a halt. There wasn’t enough room for him to squeeze inside. Evidently the damage to the room was greater than the dark voice knew.
“You have the power to open it, Ewzad.”
“Yes, yes. Of course I do,” Ewzad said with a shake of his head. He approached the opening and sent with the squirm of a finger, another glowing ball of flame inside. The light illuminated an ascending stairwell.
“Hmm, this shall do most nicely, I think.” He took a step back and with his two middle fingers vibrating madly, gathered a mighty blast of air. His powers were indeed reduced, but the strength of the blast would still suffice. He raised his waving arms over his head and flung them forward like the strike of a snake, hurtling the focused mass of air towards the jammed doors.
The force of the blast blew the doors into pieces and, too great to be contained in the small passageway beyond, blew Ewzad backwards. He tumbled across the floor along with the ash and dust and shards of metal that littered the floor of the Dark Prophet’s throne room. He came to a rest, bruised and battered at the base of the broken throne and moaned.
“Ohh, blast it, too much. Gah! Always too much with me, blast it!”
Ewzad barely noticed that the minor bruises and abrasions he had accumulated during his tumble were already healing. He climbed through the remains of the secret doors, ascended the stairs, and walked through the entrance at the top which opened into a long corridor. Ewzad started down the passage, but paused at a beautiful gold-etched door to his right.
The voice urged him forward, but Ewzad was curious. He placed a hand on the polished golden handle and opened the door into an opulent room. Strangely, this room was free of dust. The room was furnished with beautiful tapestries and silks. An enormous bed piled high with overstuffed pillows filled one corner of the room. The western wall of the room was covered in a polished metal. Glass spheres protruded from the metal in places, but that wasn't what caught the wizard's attention. A large wardrobe along the eastern wall was opened and Ewzad saw a variety of multicolored robes spilling out. He stepped inside hoping to clothe his nakedness, but the voice stopped him with a stab of pain.
“That can wait.”
Reluctantly, Ewzad moved on down the corridor to a side stairwell and a final door. It was locked, but Ewzad waved two squirming fingers at it and the knob wilted and fell apart. He pushed the door inward to a brightly lit chamber lined with flameless torches.
The walls of this chamber were more roughly carved than in the rest of the complex. The floor curved downward from all sides like a great bowl with steps leading down to the center of the room. A single red carpet led up the steps to a marble pedestal on top of which sat a large silver bowl filled halfway with water.
“Approach the bowl and raise the blade.”
Ewzad stepped into the room. His heart jumped in his chest. He felt feverish. He took a step backward. Something was wrong with this place.
“Obey me!” A stab of pain lanced through Ewzad’s thoughts and he fell to his knees. Whimpering, he rose to his feet on wavy legs and approached the bowl.
With each step forward his heart beat faster and faster. When he arrived in front of the bowl and raised the dagger, his blood was roaring in his ears. He stabbed the dagger into the bowl and a new voice penetrated his thoughts. This voice chanted in a strange language and to Ewzad's horror, his lungs, tongue, and lips moved of their own volition, echoing these same words from his own mouth.
Suddenly, a bolt of darkness leapt from the waters of the bowl and speared his mind. Ewzad wanted to scream but his voice continued to chant in the unknown language. He frantically tried to resist, to escape, but he had no control. The bolt of darkness was like a lance twisting in his brain. Uncountable images, facts and figures flooded into his mind. Knowledge was crammed into him in a way that seemed a violation. His chanting increased. The knowledge forced into his head combined until a word began to form in his mind. This word became larger until he could no longer contain it.
His chanting stopped. His mouth opened as wide as it could. He coughed and hacked, saliva ran down his chin. The word was too big. It would not come forth. He pushed and pushed until the word ripped free from his throat.
“ENVAKFEER!” Ewzad fell to his knees and looked at his squirming hands in shock. On the palm of his right hand a black rune appeared.
The Dark Voice chuckled. “Now, my servant, you have been given your real name. But you must keep it safe from the world until you are ready to reveal yourself. Then, Envakfeer, you will let them know that I have returned!”
“Oh yes. Yes, Master yes!” Ewzad Vriil willed his waving arms under control, and they obeyed, resuming a normal appearance. A giggle of glee burst from the wizard, but it was interrupted by a gasp as he noticed something else new. In his right forearm was set a single shriveled sphere that glowed dully in the dim light. The moonrat eye stared at him unblinkingly.
“One more thing, Envakfeer. It seems that you have been neglecting the servant I gave you to help run my army. This will stop. Like the rings, her treasured gift is now a part of you.”
Ewzad’s face twisted into a snarl.
“Ah, but Master. She listens! She schemes! She plots behind my back! I cannot have her with me at all times! Besides . . . it is unsightly.” A shard of pain stabbed his mind in response and he recoiled. “But I shall do as you wish, Master, yes! It is but a trifle. I can cover it easily!”
“Have you been listening?” the dark voice asked. Ewzad opened his mouth, but realized that the dark voice was no longer speaking to him.
“Yes, my love,” crooned the female voice from Ewzad’s forearm.
“Whom do you obey?”
“Envakfeer, of course,” she said, with a hint of irritation.
“Envakfeer, if she becomes insolent, call her by name. You should know it now.”
“You told him?” she hissed in anger. “Do you not trust my fealty?”
“He is Envakfeer now. He has been given the knowledge by the bowl.”
It came suddenly to Ewzad’s mind. Oh yes, he knew her name. He knew it indeed. “Yes, yes. You will obey me now. Won’t you my dear, Mellinda?”
She hissed again, this time in d
espair, but answered, “Yes, my Master. Always.”
Ewzad chuckled and clapped his hands together in glee. Now, he was truly in control. She would obey him and not only did he have power of the rings, he had the knowledge to use it. Thoughts and plans roiled through his mind. Ewzad flexed the muscles in his arms and grinned. He knew just who he would use it on.
* * *
Hamford ducked back into the chamber and shut the door behind him with a sigh of relief before he nearly choked on the smell. In the time since Ewzad’s demise, the beasts had continued to decay. It had grown worse every moment. In his brief time outside of the chamber, he had nearly forgotten.
“Well?” Kenn said from within the control room.
Hunt of the Bandham (The Bowl of Souls: Book Three) Page 7