by Oscar Reeds
***
I awoke in a dingy cell, sharing it with a corpse of an indeterminate race. Norman was there, hovering and thinking.
“Norman, what the fuck happened?” I asked, rubbing my aching head.
“You lost,” he said, plainly. “The Sylvan folk captured you and made you their prisoner.”
So that’s what they were called.
“Why are the Sylvan folk after me, though?”
He kept quiet. I hated that.
“God fucking damn it, Norman, can’t you at least say something useful about these freaks? I am sick of you just hovering there and not saying a goddamn word about anything.”
This didn’t faze him a bit. I hated him again.
“NORMAN! FOR FUCK SAKE!”
He then turned to me with that same look of disappointment.
“Can’t you tell what they can do?”
“No I fucking can’t, Norman! I don’t know everything! How is that not getting through you?”
This time he approached me and stared directly into my face. I wanted to punch him so hard then.
“And how about relying on your instinct, boy? Or maybe your logical thinking?”
I had no idea what he was going on about.
“Look, kid,” he began to hover about again. “They barely touched you, so they don’t do physical battle. Your tech was worthless, and they can’t be using machines against machines THAT effectively. Ergo, they must be doing something else.”
“Like what?” I asked, and actually felt his steaming breath of anger hit me.
“If it isn’t brute strength, or science, what can it be, boy?” he asked. I stood there numb.
“Keep it down in there,” a Sylvan guard said, and for a moment I felt as if he had spoken directly to Norman, even though he could not see him.
Norman took note of him and uttered the word slowly to me.
“Magic.”
I laughed.
“I said keep it down!” and at that point I got hit by a weird aerial hit myself, an aerial hit which felt different to mine. Norman merely crossed his arms.
“There’s no such thing as magic, Norman,” I said, incredulously.
“Remember, boy, to you there was no such thing as extraterrestrials a short while ago.”
He had a point.
“And besides, I’ve been here longer than you, so I know a thing or two of this world and what happens in it.”
“And you say these Sylvan folk use magic?”
“That is correct.”
“And you’ve engaged them before?”
“Indeed.”
“So how did you win?”
He again looked at me as if I were supposed to know the answer.
“Right. Thanks, Norman,” a sarcastic response to beat all sarcastic responses. Instead of pressing the matter further, I merely got up and looked around. The guards were stationed roughly one per three cells, though each cell was empty, save for bones. What the hell were they guarding? They couldn’t have all been there just for me.
I fired up my telekinesis, but found myself bounced back and smacking my head against the wall, before I fainted; there was a hearty laugh from the guards.
Upon waking, I looked at Norman still observing me, still unimpressed.
“Force field?” I asked.
“Magic defense,” he replied.
Naturally, this situation required a surge, so I thought long and hard and at long last had an answer. Three surges later, I spoke to the guard.
“Sir?” I asked.
“What?”
“Is there possibly a higher being here whom I could talk to?”
He turned his head in silence.
“Like your king or ruler or someone like that?”
“There might be, but you have no business talking to him.”
“Tell you what,” I scratched my nails against the bars of my cell. “If I bust out of this here cell right now, you take me to him. Okay?”
The guard turned to me and laughed so loudly I thought the whole area would collapse. Other guards joined in the fun.
“This kid thinks he can escape!” he told them. “It’s odd that lord Farthemir thinks him a danger to our race. I mean, look at him!”
“I say take the bet, man,” another guard told him. “What harm can an overpowered, insecure kid even do here?”
I’ll be the first to admit that my brow twitched when he called me insecure. As I used my telekinesis, I could feel the force field of magic swelling against me, but with my new power of deflecting and negating magic that specifically targeted me, I was safe, and out of my cell. The guards immediately launched several fire balls above me, where there were sharp rocks and boulders. But my other new ability, deflecting any magic I come across, proved wonderfully useful. They were stunned.
They were equally stunned when I launched my newly-learned magic back AT them – i.e. the third new power Norman gave me. My own guard was now on the ground, and I wanted him to take me to his leader.
“Very well,” he murmured, “but he’s not going to like this.”
The Sylvan leader, lord Farthemir, sat atop his stone throne, and it was only then that I realized we were underground. Tree roots hung from the ceiling, and lots, LOTS of magic was used around and about the place. I recognized and repelled at least fifteen new spells.
“So, you managed to escape my sorcery,” Farthemir said, shifting his legs on the throne. “Much like the old gods, you’ve bested us.”
Old gods? Was Norman a god? Did they consider him one?
“Well, I escaped by learning and using your spells,” I replied. “You must be lord Farthemir, correct?”
“Indeed,” he looked bored. “And you are?”
Oh, I’ve been waiting for this moment!
“I am emperor Conrad of Earth, the Queenlayer, Exalted by the Ehre, Fair-Tongued to the Gidorians, Liberator of Cotahan, Progenitor upon Cybornia, Blood-soaked Butcher of Valahaed, Collector of Zoavi riches, Murderer of Democracy, and the Conqueror of Seven Worlds.”
I almost had an orgasm just saying all of those lines.
“I see.”
Again, the elder elf wasn’t impressed. I had half a mind to beat his ass then and there.
“And I should warn you,” I told him while forming a fireball, “I am a quick learner.”
All of his guards stood up, and he himself approached, an immensely powerful vibe going off of him. This was no ordinary king. He was a badass, and I could feel myself retreating a little.
“If we do battle here and now, you will be gone very shortly after, your young majesty.”
Yet, he bowed to me instead. I felt odd, but I acknowledged the gesture.
“You have a strong disposition, Emperor Conrad,” he said, “and based on what I’ve seen on the surface, I truly do envy and congratulate you.”
A smile escaped my face, and I bowed to him as well.
“Sir Farthemir, I am humbled by your kind words.”
But we were all about to be humbled. Huge explosions were now echoing throughout the Sylvan world. Farthemir ordered everyone to assume battle stations, and motioned me to follow him.
“What’s going on, your majesty?” I asked, but got no response. He was already well away from me.
I turned to Norman instead.
“What could scare them like that?”
“Probably the Grunts,” he added, nonchalantly. Of course, that wasn’t an answer.
“What the hell are the Grunts?”
“Another ancient race, not particularly fond of the Sylvan folk.”
Another non-answer.
“Can’t you ever be specific, damn it?”
“I was specific. Your questions are just not on point, is all.”
“Damn it, Norman!” I sighed and collected myself for a moment. “Are there any more races I should know of?”
“Oh, dozens,” he concluded.
“I mean, there are the Orth, the Vectorians, the Fragmentum, then there’s the ancient Hellenic folk, the ancient Nordic brotherhood, the Slavic unions. And then there’s the ancient powerful race where all of them stem from, the mighty Melni—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, considering we were hit with a precision blast of concentrated magic. Soon enough I had my answer to the question “who were the Grunts.” Again, by some friggin miracle, they looked like orcs. I have no idea how or why these two races specifically bound to the underworld came to resemble something our cultures and literature crafted, but they did, and unlike their regular fantasy depictions, these guys were brutal.
One of the Grunts actually hit me with an aerial punch. This one tore my skin, and had I not healed myself quickly, both with my Norman-given ability and one of the new magic spells I picked up while visiting Farthemir, I would have died then and there. Three more Grunts came at me with massive hammers and axes, and all I could do is poorly deflect them with my telekinesis. Nothing I did made a dent in these guys, and I had been pushed back too damn far at that point. It was time for the big guns, and via teleportation, I found myself on higher ground, launching powerful balls of fire on them, harming them. They screamed in agony, but I had no time to waste. Lord Farthemir needed help.
…or so I thought. When I arrived at the battlefield, I had no idea whether to join the fun or just stand and watch. Both parties were brutally killing each other with barely any forethought. Grunts had massive swings and heavy arms, so every time an axe would connect with a Sylvan’s head, the Sylvan would die gruesomely, with his face split in the middle. Arms and legs were regularly lopped off from limbs, and a few Grunts even had the custom of tearing tongues out from their bested foes. I even saw a few scalpings.
But the Sylvan folk weren’t exactly marshmallows themselves. A single touch, well distributed, would make a Grunt’s head or guts burst, and he would die in utter agony. Smaller Sylvans, the ones that I swear looked like kids, would regularly slide underneath groups of Grunts and make their crotch shine, which would began bleeding profusely. I couldn’t imagine the pain that caused. Yet the Sylvan did more than just magic. They were skilled swordsmen and archers, and every now and again a blade or an arrow would wound up lodged between a Grunt’s teeth or under the eye. They massacred them left and right, with no real rhyme or reason.
Naturally, the leaders of each group were a sight to behold. I knew that Farthemir was holding back a lot, but even with his reduced power, he was piling up corpses. The Grunt leader was who intrigued me. A burly fellow known as Urm-Shashkan was the only one to wield a sword, or more accurately a bastard sword twice my size. Unlike Farthemir, he didn’t limit his strength. He swung at people and scarred roughly thirty in only the time I was there to observe. Magic, from what I could observe, had no effect on him. He was immune, but was also incapable of beating those with powerful magic themselves. At least ten Sylvan soldiers survived his swings simply because they placed their protective magicks before his blade could reach them.
“Farthemir!” he roared, and I nearly shat my pants. “Fight me, you coward!”
Farthemir merely crossed his arms.
“Fight me, you murderer of children! Fight me, you hypocrite!”
“You are the hypocrite, Urm-Shashkan”, the lord of the Sylvan folk said, calmly, while preparing what I assumed could only be an extremely powerful spell. I stepped away a little. “Your Grunts murdered my sister in cold blood!” I could tell the elfish guy was losing his cool here. “And you have the audacity to shun our magic, yet you went to a sorcerer yourself to get that protection you boast of!”
“Your sister?!” Urm-Shashkan shrieked, enraged. “And what of my children, Farthemir? What of my three children that died by your troops’ hands? What of them?!”
They charged at each other, and Urm-Shashkan managed to ram his mighty axe into the shoulder of lord Farthemir, which managed to snap an important nerve. Screaming, Farthemir mumbled a phrase, and a massive explosion of fire burst underneath them, destroying both of Urm-Shashkan’s legs. They were both on the ground now, willing to kill each other with their gaze alone. But before they ordered their respective troops, all more or less standing still and waiting to see what will happen next, I teleported behind them and screamed Norman’s name. During the surge, I placed my hands on each of them, and a powerful wave of empathy struck them both, all while going through me. Urm-Shashkan had thus learned of the pain he had caused to Farthemir, shedding a tear for his late sister. Farthemir also wept, but not for his sister, rather for the children of Urm-Shashkan who lay slaughtered amid a raid lo those many years ago. But I didn’t stop there. I then performed the same wave of empathy to every Sylvan and every Grunt around, and they all dropped their weapons in despair. Hundreds of soldiers were now crying and wailing both their fallen comrades and their bested foes. It was a sad moment indeed, one that will not leave me ever. After all, I felt their pain too.
My powers came in handy when I was healing the two leaders. Urm-Shashkan was the first to shake my hand, whereas Farthemir merely bowed in that elegant way of his.
“Human, I had no idea you held such power,” the Grunt lord said, with a wide grin. “Once we’re done with this funeral and laid our fallen men and women to rest, we shall feast and discuss matters.”
“I agree,” lord Farthemir added, dusting himself off. “There was a reason I wanted you captured, young man, and this was it – I knew you had potential to be more than what you are.”
“And what exactly is he, lord Farthemir?”
“Why, lord Urm-Shashkan, he will tell you himself.”
Another full introduction! Awesome!
“Well, lord Urm-Shashkan,” I began, “I am emperor Conrad of Earth, the Queenlayer, Exalted by—”
“YOU are Emperor Conrad?” Urm-Shashkan was bewildered. “I was expecting more of a warrior, to be honest!”
I tried to take that as a compliment.
“Wait, how do you know about me? Did Farthemir tell you?”
“No, son,” Urm-Shashkan was scratching his nose. “Hell, Farthemir and I never said a word to each other before this. Or rather, no word that wasn’t an insult.”
“Then how?”
“Vigelan.”
There was a silence. One where both of my interlocutors knew something I didn’t, but should have. Norman was also silent, but more out of curiosity. It was rare to see him not know about something of this nature.
“What’s a Vigelan?” I asked.
“Not what, young Conrad,” Urm-Shashkan replied, shaking his head, “but who. Vigelan is a sorcerer, one of the last in line of the Herren monks.”
And that’s where I saw Norman sit up, so to speak. He knew of that name, at least. And he hated it.
“Why are the Herren monks important, then?” I asked.
“They are the single most powerful magic wielders on this planet, Conrad. One is enough to fight off an army of my Sylvan soldiers, and we’re adept at magic from birth.”
“Unlike us, who have to learn it,” Urm-Shashkan interrupted. “Earlier today, I enlisted his help. With you active on the surface, I wanted the chance to wipe out the Sylvan for good, and I needed protection from magic.”
“So your magic immunity isn’t innate, lord Urm-Shashkan?”
“It is, young Conrad, but not to that extent.” Farthemir was observing the funeral while the Grunt lord spoke. “I needed a boost, and he was about to get me that. Who, if not him?”
I frowned knowingly.
“I’m assuming there was a price.”
“There’s always a price if you’re to peruse the favors of the Herren,” Farthemir added, somewhat accusatorily. Urm-Shashkan merely bowed his head.
“What?”
He said nothing.
“Urm-Shashkan, what was the price? What did he tell you to do?”
“I had to pledge everlasting loyalty,” he answered, not wanting to say
those words out loud. “To have my folk serve him. My folk have never served anyone…”
I could tell this lay heavy on his shoulders. Nobody should be surprised by my following proposal, then.
“I will beat the sorcerer for you, Urm-Shashkan,” I proclaimed, much to everyone’s surprise, including Norman for once. “And for you, lord Farthemir. I give you my word that he will be the last of the Herren.”
The Sylvan lord got up and shook me a bit, as if he were trying to wake me up from a trance.
“Are you insane, boy?!” he cried. “The Herren have spells and powers nobody alive on this earth could even dream of! You barely held your own against my soldiers the first time I brought you here! You’ll never make it!”
“I suppose,” I said, grinning. “But I have to try.”
***
Urm-Shashkan’s instructions weren’t quite useful, but I had nothing else to go by. Walking underground in an area you barely know was dangerous enough, but the harder part was facing a powerful sorcerer on his home turf, with a power set that was most likely less than “not enough” to beat him.
Luckily, Norman remembered them properly.
“So here we turn left,” I said.
“No, right,” he added.
“Erm, I’m pretty sure it’s left,” I maintained.
“No, right,” he didn’t budge.
“I said left,” I was getting pissed.
“No, right,” he was as sturdy as a rock.
Naturally, we went right, and I recognized the knotted root Urm-Shashkan spoke of.
“Okay, you were right – it was right.”
“I know, right?”
“Right.”
Right, now it was only a few more miles before reaching the sorcerer. Normally I would’ve just teleported there, but Farthemir was pretty clear on me using powers that early. “He will notice you coming if you do,” he said, “so approach him on foot and grab him by surprise. That’s probably your best bet to beat him.” I hated that he was right.
But something else was on my mind. What were my friends doing? They were still on the surface, and none of my communication devices was with me other than my cellphone, which had no service that far underground. They must be worried sick about me, I thought, while trudging through the soil.