by JW Baccaro
Minevara did not know if she wanted to cry due to frustration or burst out in rage. Was he serious? What was his problem anyway? “You know Nasharin, when this war is over, you and I are going to have a match. And I do not mean a sparing match, but a serious all-out battle to see who is the better fighter.”
“I shall enjoy taking that victory,” he retorted, trying his hardest not to smile.
“Ughhh!” She turned her back, whipping his face with her hair.
More than a few present could not help themselves but to laugh.
Then the Nasharins, the Centaur and of course, the newly risen High Wizard set out for the dark land Syngothra.
As just Olchemy rightly said, the time of true testing was about to begin.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE RETURN OF THE SORCERER
At Castle Astaroth, the ultimate fortress of the Dark, located deep within Syngothra, there Abaddon sat within his throne, grazing his long black nails across the former Wizard Crystals of the Elements, fantasizing about the destruction soon to come. Afterward, the earth will have taken on the similarities of his former realm of dwelling, the Underworld. Two worlds would he then claim as his alone to Rule. Then came a knock on the door. The Demon Lord raised a hand and the door opened.
In walked the High Wizard Levieth, bowing before Abaddon.
Reading his face Abaddon said, “Speak your concerns Levieth.”
“My Lord, a Draconian from Asgoth has come with grave news about King Tanarokai.”
“Cast him in,” he commanded.
“Step forward,” Levieth ordered.
The Draconian, too afraid to even glance upon Abaddon, with his head down bowed immediately, touching his nose to the ground.
“Rise and speak soldier of Asgoth,” Abaddon stated impatiently.
“My lord, the King and Queen are dead. And Asgoth’s entire army has been annihilated.”
His eyes flashed. He stood up, towering over the frightened Draconian. “Explain at once!”
“The Elves of Ashhaven, Men and other strange creatures of immense power invaded us. First, they destroyed Valnar’s Tower, then the armies of Asgoth. We lost everything!”
“Describe to me these ‘creatures of immense power’ you speak of.”
“There was a Wizard upon a Dragon, and a few wizard-like men whose hair changed color when fighting.”
“Nasharins,” Abaddon whispered, clenching his fists. Why do they not just die?
“But most horrible of all,” the Draconian continued, “was when the sky opened up with flames and a legion of winged creatures attacked devouring my people riding the Draoniae. I was there. I saw. It was as if the God of Light sent forth warriors from his own realm. Terrible, terrible power they had!”
“How cowardly,” a voice said from beyond the shadow of the doorway.
Levieth held out his staff and lit up the darkness, revealing a man wearing a black hooded cloak. "Who dares enter Lord Abaddon’s presence unauthorized?" he growled.
The individual remained silent.
“Speak quickly or I shall cast you to flames!” The staff began to glow red.
Fearlessly, the man stepped into the lair and threw back his hood. He stood tall with blackish-silver eyes, long dark hair with silver streaks running through it and a scar on his left cheek. “I have many names, oh great Wizard,” he answered in a most soothing yet eerie tone. “But please prefer to me as Damacoles.” He turned to Abaddon and knelt before him.
“Tell me Damacoles,” Abaddon spoke, “How is it you passed through my land, and crept into my castle undetected?”
“Should you not know—”
“Do not question Abaddon,” Levieth interjected, growing weary of this ‘Damacoles.’
“Leave it be Levieth,” Abaddon admonished. There seemed something about this stranger Abaddon admired. It isn’t everyday one scurries across the Dark land Syngothra undetected, breaks into Castle Astaroth and fearlessly enters uninvited before the King of all Demons. “Though, I do suggest you heed the Wizard’s wisdom.”
“Why, you have drawn me here your greatness,” Damacoles asked. “For you have the power to draw all evil. I assure you there is none more evil than I. I am a master at the Blackened Arts of Sorcery, far greater than the King and Queen of Asgoth. They were fools. I also was at the battle this Draconian coward speaks of.”
“Liar,” the Draconian hissed. “I never saw you my entire life, especially not at the battle.”
“I was not part of it. I watched from the tree lines.”
“Ha, I think this man is fraud, a beggar my lord, whose come to the wrong place.”
“What is wrong is a foolish creature like you running away from a battle you could have won.”
“The battle—no, it was impossible! They had a great force on their side.”
“Is not fighting for the desires of your lord—THE GOD OF EARTH standing before us inspirational?”
The Draconian sank, feeling the eyes of Abaddon bent on him. “Yes of—of— course,” he stuttered. “But you cannot turn this around on me. We gave all we had. From the start of the battle when the heavens opened up with flames—”
“No such thing happened. The winged creatures’ within the cloud of fire you witnessed was a mere illusion, a tactic of the Light to install fear into their enemies’ hearts. The flames themselves were from the Dragon they possessed.”
“That is not true! The Dragon was still on the ground while this took place.”
“To the eyes of the inexperienced, fear-based illusions can play a vital role when fighting a battle. Fear makes one sloppy. If I were in control I would have brought that inferior army to its knees.”
Abaddon, becoming more and more interested in this sorcerer, could sense his power and it felt deliciously terrible indeed. “Sorcerer, what is it you desire?”
“Power, authority, and rule over the new world. Yessss, I want to be king, for there is no mortal creature alive that can outwit, outmatch, or out skill me, your Greatness. My attributes are perfect, this I promise you. But I show no mercy, not even to a creature of the Dark who retreated from a battle he failed to win!” he sneered, fixing a dark eerie gaze on the Draconian.
Then, a wavy blackish-blue light surrounded Damacoles. All three could feel the dark energy. Abaddon and Levieth sensed this sorcerer’s power was that of the old, nearly forgotten teachings of the Blackened Arts. The fact they were mighty themselves remained the only reason they were not backing up in fear, feeling as though their hearts' would explode.
This—the Draconian did feel. He wanted to run but couldn’t, all muscles remaining tense while a force kept him still.
Damacoles stretched forth his hand, calling out a whirlwind flashing with blue lightning, like a miniature tornado seven feet in diameter, spinning above his palm. “Try not to be such a disappointment in your next life,” he scoffed and cast the spell at him.
The whirlwinds fell over his body sheering apart flesh and bone, the bloody mass twirling within the ‘storm’ then disappeared as quickly as it appeared, like vanishing into another plane of existence.
Witnessing this, the High Wizard remembered just how dangerous the old Blackened Arts were and why such teachings were abolished, even by those of the Dark.
"An example of what shall happen to all who fail you, my almighty lord," Damacoles said, respectfully bowing to the demonic form.
“Excellent excellent!” Abaddon spoke. “Truly remarkable indeed. It is evident darkness rules your heart. Very well, but if you wish to be King of the New World you must first pass a test.”
“Gladly.”
“I need a she-elf by the name of Kelarin. She’s the one sacrifice that can appease the Gods during Saruinkai.”
“Ah yes, and open the powers of the Dark Crystal in its entirety.”
“You know the old prophecies well.”
“Indeed. I know all about what you mean to do with the Wizard Crystals. Is there not a greater cause to fight for
?”
This didn’t surprise Abaddon. For surely, one who is a master of the ancient Blackened Arts would also be aware of such histories and prophecies, the writings were intertwined. “Excellent. Now, regarding the Elf, she once was a captive of Tanarokai but managed to escape. She lives in Ashhaven.”
“I know where Ashhaven is. I am from the east from a place called Loreladia. I am familiar with all those lands.”
“Loreladia you say?” Levieth questioned. “That’s impossible. We took over that land nearly twenty years ago.”
“Yes, the old Loreladia. The remainder of the people fled and settled further east. That is who fought alongside the Elves against Asgoth.”
“Interesting…” Abaddon observed.
“Be not concerned with them, they’re all weaklings.”
“Be careful of pride Damacoles. That’s what got the Dark King and Queen killed.”
“With all respect my great lord, what got them killed was their pitiful weakness…a trait I do not share.”
Levieth did not find this new comer amusing, something did not feel right about him, even for serving on the side of the Dark.
Abaddon however, laughed hysterically, his low rumbling voice bouncing off the chamber walls. “With every passing moment I feel you are the King I have been looking for. Now you must prove it. Go to Ashhaven and return the Elf to me unscratched.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Levieth, give him a band of Cullach to accompany.”
“I need no companions,” Damacoles defended. “I always work alone.”
“Perhaps, but right now you will take reinforcements. I am not about to lose this sacrifice. However, if you are as flawless as you say and the Cullach get in your path?” Abaddon grinned evilly. “Kill them as well. The only care I have is for the Elf. Return her safely and I shall make you King.”
“Consider it done.” At last, I will finally rule this world, Damacoles thought, a wicked smile lining his face. And every foe who once stood in my way or challenged me shall be destroyed, especially Mirabel and his pathetic heir—Darshun!
* * *
As for the six companions, they‘d almost passed through the entire land of Asgoth, taking the brushy trail a few miles from a dead and quiet Castle Volborg. The border to the dark land now stood only a few hours away. They settled one last time for an undisturbed rest and at first light, they set out across the border, entering Syngothra. They began their quest through a muggy dense forest.
The further they traveled, the more Darshun could sense that pure evil he could never forget, the evil of the Demon Lord Abaddon. He sighed.
“Courage Darshun,” Mirabel urged. “Abidan is with us.”
“I know father,” he answered, touching the crystal upon his necklace. “I’m glad you’re at my side.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.W. Baccaro is the author of the Guardian Series. In his free time he enjoys literature—fiction and non-fiction, playing electric guitar in the heavy metal band Rigor Hill, Consciousness and NDE studies, and thinking how to intertwine his thoughts about the world’s myths, legends and distinct truths into his next novel. He lives in upstate NY with his wife Melissa, his son Alexander, his two German Shepherds and his three cats.
GUARDIAN SERIES @ AMAZON
The Magical Guardian Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=df-L6u1zvpo
SEE ABOUT ALL THE FUTURE GUARDIAN BOOKS>>
https://www.facebook.com/pages/JWBaccaro/184531844916499?ref=hl
Blog site: (under construction) http://jwforbiddenrealm.blogspot.com/