Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  It was not hard to find for two reasons. One, Omech already knew where it was, and two, the aura permeating from the crystal was greater than that of any other thing or creature animate or inanimate as far as Omech’s magic could sense. The crystal was ancient. It was said to have existed even before the world was. Legend described the crystal as the heart and source of all magic.

  With practically no time at all Omech encountered the massive pulsing aura of the crystal and he began constructing a channel from it to him in his mind, repeating the needed words to form the necessary spell. The moment the channel was open Omech could feel the power from the crystal rush towards him until it hit him like a wave and began to fill him with energy such as he had never felt before. Immediately he began to form another open ended channel. With the power from the crystal now pumping through him, forming the other end of the spell came with ease, like doing something as mundane as walking, or sitting down. Creating and completing a power channel was only completed with at least some difficulty, especially blind.

  It felt amazing, it was marvelous, it was the raw power of the crystal.

  Omech did not have much time, however, to enjoy it. The murky shape in front of him, which was Sklan, opened what appeared to be two huge black doors and another great power filled Omech’s senses. It was the Overlord, Tremos.

  Through the foggy screen of the mask over Omech’s face, he could only make out vague shapes. He saw what appeared to be a throne room with tall pillars on each side leading to a large throne in the center. Behind the chair stood a gigantic monstrous black dragon-like beast around which an equally black smoke curled and wisped. Upon the throne sat a black armored figure that seemed to be slumped in the large chair, Tremos.

  The moment Sklan and Omech entered the great hall the Overlord sat up and extended a gauntleted open palm towards the grahk apprentice. Omech instantly felt the open end of the channel he had created snatched up by an invisible powerful force as Tremos connected the spell to himself.

  Power surged through the young grahk mage at terrifying speeds and levels, like a thunderous waterfall, pounding, surging, overcoming. Omech felt immense pain and unbelievable ecstasy at the same time. He felt powerful beyond imagining and also wracked with incredible torment. He felt alive and yet dying, he felt all sorts of things beyond his previous ability to comprehend.

  Omech did not understand at first why he had been chosen to accompany Sklan to Tremos’s chambers and why he had to cast a blind power channel between the crystal and the Overlord. The Great Dark Lord could do so himself without even so much as a thought, as easily as lifting his finger or turning his head. But the grahk apprentice understood when the spell linked the three of them together. For though Tremos’s aura of magic was greater than Omech had ever seen, second only to the crystal, Omech knew that the Overlord, at least at that moment, was weak, wounded, and close to death.

  The Overlord weak? Wounded? The very thoughts were blasphemy and when they entered into Omech’s mind he denied them, covered them, burying them deep into the furthest corner of his psyche, surrounding them with walls and locking them away.

  Had the Overlord heard his thoughts? For Tremos could certainly read minds. Did the Great Dark Lord know that Omech knew Tremos was weak? Had been hurt? Omech did not know but he did not want to die for thinking such things. Tremos was invincible, unbreakable, unsurpassable. Omech let himself get lost in the wave of the energy and pain of the channel and thought no more. Omech could feel the Overlord’s power grow and strengthen as the crystal’s energy poured into Tremos. The grahk sorcerer could feel a change coming over him as the magic rushed through the channel. It was as if at the beginning of the transfer Tremos had been far away and as the energy continued to pulse The Great Dark Lord drew nearer and this was somehow affecting Omech. Darkness began to take over Omech’s already cloudy vision and finally he thought he could take no more. At the point he felt he was going to die he let out a scream, a bellow of agony that came from the depths of his very soul.

  And then it ended. The spell dissipated instantaneously and Omech found himself kneeling on all fours, shivering on the throne room floor. His ritual glory mask lay broken in half in front of him and he could feel that his robes now had innumerous holes and rips in them. Black wispy fog, the same that surrounded the dragon like beast behind the throne, now curled around Omech as well.

  The grahk mage felt different, changed somehow, and then he realized that his hand had five fingers each and no webbing. His skin looked human, retaining little to none of his previous grahk appearance. What had happened to him?

  “Yes Omech,” The Destroyer spoke, his voice boomed like thunder, filled with power and might.

  Omech dared not look up for his mask was destroyed, broken upon the dark granite in front of him.

  “Fear be driven from you!” Tremos commanded, “For you now are alike, as unto I. Arise! And behold your Master!”

  Without question Omech stood and looked up at the Overlord. Tremos was not dressed in his usual armor but was adorned instead in his glorious chalta robes hood and mantel. Instead of his helmet he wore a mask the color of bone hiding everything but his unholy eyes of fire. The black fog danced wildly around and through the Great Dark Lord and pure energy glowed around him. He stood regally in front of the throne. The giant dark beast behind him breathed heavily, moving its massive head from side to side. Sklan stood off to the side a bit, his head bowed and face still covered by a ritual glory mask, black red-jeweled staff in hand.

  Omech could not see all the changes that had overcome him but he would see for himself later that not only his hands but everything about him, including his face, had been altered. He was no longer a grahk, and yet not quite human either. He had all the normal features of a human face, nose instead of a snout, but he had the sharp fangs of a grahk. And the dark mist swirling around him, a part of Tremos, it was now a part of Omech, and he would never be the same. Omech did not have much time to ponder as the Great Dark Lord spoke to Sklan.

  “Sklan,” upon hearing the Master’s call the grahk emperor stepped forward, “I have an assignment for you and the other Luminaries. Omech here will accompany you wherever you go now. From this moment on he retains the rank of one step less than a Luminary, treat him as such. He will be my eyes and my ears. Where you will go, you will go in silence, unseen through the shadows. Our existence to those beyond the Black Peaks remains the thing of stories and rumors and that is how I wish it to be. The time for full scale war has not yet come. I will not tolerate disturbances that could erupt into war at this time, do you understand?”

  “Yes Master,” Sklan replied.

  “I will tell you more of your assignment when I so desire it. I wish the Dome to myself for a time, order the gnomes and anyone else there to leave until I command otherwise. Then go and proclaim my arrival. Tonight I appear to my people! I have returned! Now go!”

  The Luminary and his now changed apprentice, Omech, turned at the command and left immediately closing the large black throne room doors behind them.

  ***

  Just moments after the doors closed Tremos fell to his knees, one black glove on the ground and the other clutching his chest, pulling the black robes tightly together.

  “No!” his voice bellowed, echoing off the dark granite walls, “No! No! No!”

  He banged his fist into the black marble floor in his fury. The marble cracked and chipped against his powerful force. He stopped and turned to the large monster behind the throne.

  Tremos thought silently, brooding in his dark mind. Before the destructive energy and pain overpowered him, he saw what had been in the box, he saw the orbs as they exploded one by one, the magic within them being forcefully released.

  He assumed the box to have held the map, and had not meant to destroy it in his attack.

  The old wizard had been too easy to overcome. He had overpowered his magical strike by too much.

  Why had the old wizard been carrying so many
orbs with him? Tremos was familiar with the orbs and their function. The Unseen Paths, a difficult and mysterious school of magic. Once, in days long past, he had needed the orbs to walk them, but no longer. To the Ascendant Sages, however, they were necessary tools. None of them had ever mastered the ability themselves and had become reliant on the orbs for travel through the silvery plane.

  The shattered orbs’ unprepared and uncontrolled power had wreaked havoc on his attempts to return to his fortress, warping and bending the fabrics of his ethereal travel such as never before. That, paired with his wounds, had forced him to wander the unseen paths like a lost and wounded dog, incapable of much else besides putting one foot in front of the other.

  Finally he had returned.

  Tremos shook his head, warding off the pain that was already seeping back into his body.

  It was obvious the old man had intended to bring the orbs with him. Which could only mean he had not wanted Tremos to have them.

  Why? Why could he not let the orbs fall into my hands?

  Tremos tried to think further but the pain was too strong and he clutched at his chest, where it hurt most.

  “My pet,” He said, “It will take more time than I thought to heal this cursed wound.”

  He rested for a while on his knees and then stood again once he found the energy.

  “Come, my pet, I have enough energy to reach the crystal on my own now at least. There we can rest, heal and be again like we were. And then when we are ready once more, we can continue with our plans.”

  Suddenly the gigantic beast behind the throne disappeared, transforming into the black fog around it and the dark smoke rushed towards Tremos. The Overlord absorbed all the dark smoke until he was the only one present in the grand throne hall. When the transfer was complete Tremos straightened and walked to the black doors. He opened them with a wave of his hands and walked out of the room. Down a few halls, past some rooms, he reached the floating chambers. He stepped into a certain one and activated the orb in its center with another wave of his arm. The hum of the flying compartment as it moved to its destination was soothing and Tremos closed his fiery eyes,

  Why could he not let the orbs fall into my hands?

  He thought again.

  He opened his eyes as the hovering chamber shuddered to a stop, soon he would be near the crystal, soon he would feel its strength and its energy and soon he would be back to his full power.

  The doors slid open to reveal a long thin bridge thousands of feet from the ground connecting the flying room with the unbelievably enormous dome in the center of the building-city. Tremos stepped out onto the rail-less bridge and began to cross its wide expanse.

  The walk across the bridge was not far but seemed to take an eternity in his weakened state.

  Tremos finally reached the gigantic black rock doors. This was the Dark Lord’s personal entrance into the large dome. He opened them with a wave of his hand as well.

  Far down below, the crystal dominated the center of the dome. The precious stone was large, the size of four or five men tall and half as wide around. It stood upon a gargantuan pedestal constructed around the crystal. Hundreds of hanging walkways, ladders, and all sorts of decorated metal scaffolding arrayed the crystal on all sides. Its surface was all black but shined and glittered, reflecting its surroundings very clearly. It had hundreds of thousands of facets, each about as long and wide as an open hand.

  The greatest of his gnome alchemists had their elaborate laboratories, gadgets and contraptions set up around the vicinity of the pedestal and crystal. Unless ordered otherwise, they were at all times working on understanding the powers and workings of the crystal. Now, they were abandoned, at his command. The gigantic dome was empty, and silent.

  A chair, similar to the throne found in the Overlord’s chambers, was situated near the top of the crystal.

  To the left, a massive stairway, built around the circumference of the dome, led down to the bottom floor. To the right an intricate system of ropes and pulleys operated a large moving platform also to the bottom floor.

  Tremos moved towards neither of these to reach the crystal.

  Dark black mist creeped out of Tremos’s body, within moments the immense sickly looking beast formed from the mist and Tremos was gone.

  The monster jumped, plummeting quickly to the floor below. Moments before impact it spread both its enormous black wings and pumped them violently to land softly on the ground next to the large pedestal and the throne there. Blackness quickly seeped from the creature’s chest, forming into Tremos.

  Tremos approached the throne and sat down, facing the crystal. The dark mist tendrils floated back to his body, the creature now gone.

  The top of the crystal was unfinished, missing a number of pieces. A chunk roughly the size of a human head was simply not there.

  Slowly, carefully, he placed his hands upon the black, sparkling, reflective surface of the crystal.

  Power instantly began to surge into him and Tremos slowly closed his eyes.

  The pain he was feeling now was only a small setback to his plans. He would soon be strong enough to return to his hunt. He needed that map, it had the location of the rest of the crystal shards which he needed to finish rebuilding the main crystal. When he was finished with that, nothing would be able to stand in his way. The Gateway Realm would be his and his possibilities for ultimate power would be endless.

  As he drew magic from the black crystal he continued to think upon his encounter with the Keeper. Why could he not let the orbs fall into my hands?

  He thought for a third time.

  He thought and regenerated, thought and regenerated.

  And then the realization hit him.

  The sudden comprehension triggered a violent surge of rage within him. For a moment or two the rage built as the implications of that understanding deepened.

  Then, like a dam bursting abruptly, he let the rage come forth. He lifted his head back and let out a roar that was empowered with the force of the beast which he called his pet. The chamber echoed and echoed and echoed with the sound.

  All those within the giant castle heard their master’s angry cry.

  And all who heard him, trembled with fear until even their bones were shaking.

  .

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shifter

  The town square of Essoril was filled with people.

  The sun shone warmly down upon the marketplace, glittering off of shiny display carts of fancy glassware, bejeweled trinkets, tall green, blue and dark red bottles of strong drink, and across the wavy surface of the fountain statue in the center of the large plaza. The bitter cold of Gelu had held long, even through till the end of Nouvus Lucis, but this Refoveo had come with a good heat. With the light and the heat it had also brought a flourish of traveling merchants through the small city. Many were headed to Itherin for The Gathering, promise of good deals and large trade amounting to great riches lead them across great distances. The locals were taking a bit of an advantage with the travelers, but that was to be expected to turn a good profit. Many of the adventurers had come from small outposts far in the east, deep in Wildlands, where accommodations were not quite inviting, and the folk in Essoril were making an extra effort to provide much better quality goods and services, and charging a pretty penny for it. Some of the travelers were even relic hunters.

  Two boys stood near a display cart of one such traveler who was a relic hunter. A many number of others also looked on in a large half circle.

  The first boy was taller than the other. He wore the simple clothes of a blacksmith’s apprentice on his day off, plain dark pants and black boots. His light parchment colored tunic had no sleeves and large v neck was open because of the heat, revealing his well-cut upper-body physique, earned after many cycles hammering metal by the forge. His fairly long light brown hair fell over his handsome face. The most distinguishing feature of the boy were his sharp eyes. They appeared a simple grey in color, but upon close i
nspection shimmered like gleaming steel.

  His name was Puck.

  The second boy was about a foot shorter, but also handsome. He was plainly dressed as well, with a black shirt, brown leather vest, light brown breeches and brown leather boots. He had jet black hair, mid length and unkempt, and a serious, but curious and engaged, look in his dark brown eyes. His name was Ranasa. They both looked to be about the same age, seventeen and sixteen cycles respectively.

  They watched, fascinated, as the relic hunter demonstrated his find in the Wildlands. The man was tall and scrawny but still had thin, well defined muscles. He wore blue and gold loose flowing travelers robes, cut off at the shoulders baring his sun touched arms, and open, to reveal his bare chest. He stood next to a large faintly glowing blue stone about three times the size of a man’s head. The stone was hollowed out, with nothing inside. He had a large clear vial filled with water in one hand.

  “On this blazingly hot day, with the power in this enchanted stone, I bring to you the white snows of Gelu with a simple tip of this water into the bowl I carved into the rock. BEHOLD!”

  The man moved with an extravagant flourish, and poured the vial into the stone. Puck and Ranasa were amazed as the water instantly turned into pure white snow upon contact with the stone. The crowd gasped in equal amazement as the boys.

  “If you do not believe it,”

  The man dipped a cup into the snow and tossed it at the multitude. Many shouted and stumbled away, but a brave soul brought up a quick hand and caught it. He quickly dropped it.

  “It is cold! Cold as Gelu comes!” He said in awe.

  “Remember!” The man said, “The magic of old is not lost, it shall return, we shall find it, and we shall bring it back!”

  The people clapped.

  “But that is not all, This snow is pure, made from clear water I gathered from a spring myself.”