by Corey Soreff
Sargath grinned at his fellow God, nodding in approval. He then stood up from the table and walked to the front of the large room, addressing all the Gods.
“My fellow Gods,” Sargath started, “We all came to the conclusion that Eucibous was a threat to us. But instead of working together to defeat him, the Gods of light felt they would rather recruit him. Enough hidden proxy wars! I hereby sever the truce!”
Sargath smiled, displaying his elation at the chance to wage war against his enemy once again. Eucibous was and always will be just a tool for him to conquer Adanantus.
Darnillus slammed his fist against the table in a rare display of rage. The Gods of light usually remained quite calm. “Preposterous! I always knew this was your goal from the beginning! What happens when Eucibous kills your liche, Sargath? Will you propose another false truce? I have observed this Eucibous many times throughout his life; we all know he’s not evil. But what we do know is that he will seek out and fight the strongest, and he will win. Your liche is on borrowed time, as is my knight.”
Sargath laughed maniacally. “That is where you are wrong, Darnillus. Seth’nerak will defeat Eucibous. Then he will defeat your knight.” Sargath then vanished into the darkness without another word.
Darnillus sighed. “What have we done?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kuldric asked the head cleric in frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me I am Dalin?”
The cleric had been very surprised when his pupil returned to him with a slew of accusations. “It was an order from Darnillus himself, Kuldric. We had no choice.”
“But..” Kuldric started, as a bright light flashed throughout the room, temporarily blinding those within. When his vision returned, a tall human in white robes with a long white beard stood before him. Kuldric immediately sank to one knee.
“My son. I am not here to make excuses nor answer your questions. I come bearing tidings. Sargath has broken the truce, and I fear Darnath is in danger.” Darnillus was a commanding presence at almost eight feet tall, looking down upon his champion.
“My Lord. I suspected as much when I saw the drow army. There is another matter I’d like to discuss. My entire purpose in life, this Eucibous. He is not the man you have had me believe.” Kuldric tensed as he made the statement that bordered on disrespect to his God. “If the Liche King is as powerful as everyone fears, we may need his help.”
Darnillus sighed. “My child, I have always suspected Eucibous’s character as well. But it is true that he does whatever he wants, and fights whoever he wants. Such a man can be extremely dangerous to either side. But alas, I believe he may help us without meaning to. He will surely seek out the liche.”
Kuldric felt the need to add to that. “From what I understand, Eucibous is a man of honor. He will fight the liche, but he may even let him live. He could have killed me.”
Darnillus stroked his beard. “No, something tells me Seth’nerak will act outside the boundaries of honor. He will give Eucibous a reason to slay him. After all…look at his teacher.” Darnillus was frustrated with himself for ever allowing this to happen. He should have ignored his champion’s requests for a second chance, he should have ignored Sargath’s nonsense, and he should have never allowed the liche to be reborn. Nodding at his champion, Darnillus disappeared, returning to the heavens.
Sargath displayed an evil grin as he watched his champion train. Everything is coming together. Soon, nobody will be able to defeat Seth.
Sargath had cheated. He had done something that was unheard of. He had brought Seth’nerak outside the borders of time itself. When the liche had finally mastered the vicious techniques that he had spent so long on, Sargath realized that if war was to begin soon, then Seth’nerak would need to be more powerful.
So within this void where time was no obstacle, Seth’nerak trained for what would have been decades in the mortal realm. But when he returns home, only a moment will have passed. Decades of magical knowledge and fighting skills were pounded into his mind and body within seconds. He would emerge young, yet he would be older and more experienced than Eucibous himself.
Yes…Sargath thought. Yes…he will crush both Dalin and Eucibous. All of Darnesia will be mine. He grinned in anticipation of the slaughter ahead.
Rorik couldn’t believe the news. He had come to pick up his next mark at the local guild hall, and everyone was talking about it. Ginin the Shadow was dead.
Everyone in the business knew that Ginin was the best assassin out there. No other rogue had such perfect stealth, speed, and poisons. Ginin was the rogue that every rogue wanted to become. Ginin was the role model for killers. Ginin was dead.
Rorik couldn’t believe it.
Some third rate assassin punched Rorik playfully in the arm. “Crazy, ain’t it? I guess the King of the drow himself did it, no wonder ol’ Ginin lost. That pointy ear is supposedly one of the strongest on Darnesia.”
Rorik shot him a look that would have made most men wet their pants. This man was drunk, though, and discarded it as a typical Rorik look. “Aw, come on; don’t act like ya ain’t happy! This means yer number one!”
There was a dagger in his throat before he realized Rorik had even moved. The lower ranked assassin tumbled to the wooden floor, blood spilling from his throat. Rorik looked around the room at all the other assassins, mercenaries, and thieves. “Not one of you will speak ill of Ginin the Shadow in my presence. You have been warned.”
He sat and ordered another pint, and the barmaid knew better than to try to kick him out. Everyone knew better than to cross Rorik. Well…almost everyone.
Chapter Seven
Tidings of War
Marcovius walked among his legions as they trained, periodically ordering a commander to punish any slacking soldiers he might observe. This was it; finally he would be able to test his armies in a real war. Marcovius was getting sick of skirmishes. But Sargath has given the orders to march, and he was told to have his men ready soon. They would be ready.
Marcovius then left his legions to the commanders and made his way over to a small caged arena. Unlocking the gate and entering, he grinned as a gigantic ogre stood within.
“I understand you killed a comrade, ogre.” Without giving the ugly beast a chance to explain himself, Marcovius tossed a large two-handed sword at the ogre’s feet. “We don’t kill each other in this army; you’re no longer with your undisciplined ogre brethren. Take up the sword and kill me, or die without fighting, your choice.”
The ogre looked confused for a moment, and then a wide smile showed its rows of sharp yellow teeth. All it had to do to win its life was defeat this little human. The odds seemed generous to the beast.
The ogre reached down and retrieved the sword. The sword was long and heavy, and would have been hard for a human to wield even with two hands. The ogre was wielding it with only one. The strength difference between ogres and humans was quite impressive. The creature screamed in fury and bloodlust, and charged straight at the General.
“Ogres, always fighting so stupidly.” Marcovius muttered to himself as the gargantuan rushed at him. The General unsheathed his own blade, a fine silver longsword. He held a large spiked black shield in his left hand as he wielded the blade in his right. The ogre was getting close, and when it came within a few feet, the General bent his knees and got in a defensive stance. He ducked low and held the shield in front of him. The ogre swung its sword downward right at Marcovius’s head with incredible power. But the seasoned General used the ogre’s own momentum to deflect the blow, dodging to the left as he smashed the creature’s sword away with his shield. Almost instantaneously, the General circled around to the ogre’s back and thrust his sword into the back of its right knee. Pulling his weapon back out, blood sprayed from the wound as the ogre howled in pain and anger.
The ogre began to turn around to face his opponent again, and as he spun his waist, another thrust entered his ribs. He dropped to his good knee as he labored for breath. This was no ordinary hum
an. Gripping the sword tight, the ogre glared into the eyes of the General and raised his sword arm for one more attempt. Marcovius was not one to wait for an attack to come, however. Now that the ogre was a normal height while on his knee, Marcovius took advantage and stepped forward, smashing his spiked shield into the ogre’s face before it could swing its sword. Blood spurted from the ogre’s nose as it staggered backwards. In the midst of the confusion, the General once again circled around the ogre and jumped onto its back. Smashing the back of its head now several times with the fearsome shield, the General held on by wrapping one arm around the ogre’s neck. He then threw his shield away and turned his sword downwards, grasping the handle tightly with both hands. Down went the blade into the back of the ogre’s neck and into its spine. Some gurgling noises managed to escape from the ogre’s mouth before it collapsed to the ground in disbelief. It was dead before it hit the dirt.
Marcovius stood and sheathed his sword, walking back to the entrance of the dueling arena. He nodded at the guard standing by the entrance as he left. “Why simply execute traitors when you can use them for training?” He smiled and headed towards the castle to discuss battle plans with his King.
Seth’nerak nodded in approval as he looked over the maps and plans his General had given to him. “And you are sure that they will enter the tournament?”
“Kuldric is already expected to attend as a favorite. And rumor has it that someone matching Lok’s description was seen submitting a registration. Eucibous is sure to be there.” Marcovius assured his King.
The liche grunted in satisfaction. “Excellent. The moment I kill either Eucibous or Kuldric in the tournament, you begin to breach the walls.” Seth’nerak glanced over at one of this guards posted by the door. “You, send a rider to submit a registration to the tournament. Any name will do.”
“Yes, my lord!” The guard was gone in a heartbeat, eager to please his King.
Marcovius grinned. “It’s all coming together, Seth. You’ll be the youngest ever to conquer the world.”
Seth’nerak waved his hand in dismissal. “In appearance, perhaps. I spent many years in the fabrics of time, you fool.”
Marcovius smiled at his King and friend. “Semantics.”
A ring of twenty unconscious bodies surrounded Kuldric as he stood in the center of the arena, the sun reflecting off his glorious platinum platemail. His sparring partners were all seasoned knights.
His teachers looked on with pride. He had one teacher each of many of the martial arts and fighting styles. The best in Adanantus.
“He’s ready,” said his swordsmanship trainer. “No ordinary foe can defeat our apprentice. He will win the tournament.”
The other teachers in attendance smiled and agreed. They were the best, and Kuldric was the best student. Nobody would defeat their protégé.
Lok knocked on the door, hoping he wasn’t waking Eucibous up. They had stayed at an inn in Caldar for the night. Most mercenaries slept on the road, but ‘The Crimson Blade’ never went without beds.
The door opened, Eucibous standing there shirtless. Sometimes it was hard to believe those muscles were real, so defined were they. In the corner of the room Lok noticed the local bar wench throwing on her clothes. Wherever Eucibous went, he never had much trouble with the women. His reputation as the best fighter….and the best lover….always preceded him.
Lok turned his eyes down to the ground. “Sorry to disturb ya, Euc. But Grymmbeard and Jarec are back, and we’re all ready to head for Darnath.”
Eucibous slapped Lok’s chin upward, forcing him to look straight again. “No worries, Lok! You want a turn with her before we leave?” He asked with a grin with his thumb pointing behind him at the barmaid.
Lok laughed. “You know I don’t do sloppy seconds.”
“Just give me one minute, and we’ll be on our way. Should be a fun week.” Eucibous smiled and shut the door.
Lok started down the hallway, and heard a slam and more noises coming from the bed in his friend’s room. Apparently they were going for a quick round two.
She ran her fingers through her long blonde hair as she sat among her fellow Gods and Goddesses of light. She was said to be the most beautiful of all women…and of all Goddesses.
“My lord Darnillus. I would like to propose a small plan, to enlist the aid of ‘The Crimson Blade’ in this war. Eucibous may be the cause of all this, and difficult to control, but the fact remains that the winner of any battle can easily be decided by which side has the help of that group.”
“A good notion, Anania, but I don’t think he’d be too eager to help us directly, although he will help unintentionally when he fights Seth’nerak. The problem is if he kills both armies like last time.” Darnillus responded. “When will Sargath move, I wonder?” He contemplated as he tapped his finger on the long table.
The stunning Goddess displayed an innocent smile, daydreaming of the man she had taken a liking to, imagining those strong arms grasping her. He was desirable…for a human. “I have a plan. I might be able to arrange his cooperation.” She would have her human.
“The drow refuse to march again without their King?” Sargath asked his underling Herreleck. “This is unwelcome news.”
Herreleck cringed. “They fear the crimson one.”
Sargath slammed his fist through the wall next to him. “FEAR? The drow are known to fear nothing!”
“Kol’thakal was one of the strongest drow to have ever lived, and Eucibous crushed him and his archmage with ease. They may be brave, but they are not stupid.” Herreleck answered.
Sargath grunted. “We’ll have to make due, our armies still number more than Darnath. With Seth’nerak’s abilities at hand we should be fine.” Sargath stared at nothing, in deep thought. It’s almost time. Last time he attempted to conquer Adanantus, he was stopped by that pest Dalin. He would not be stopped this time.
Chapter Eight
A Long Forgotten Feeling
Darnath was not far from Caldar, the headquarters of The Crimson Blade. It was approximately a two day ride, or a week’s walk. Eucibous and his friends rode, of course, for they owned some of the finest steeds in the world. Mostly forests stood between the two cities, although there was a road with rest stops along the way. The group had just come to one of those stops, “The Wanderer”. They had ridden for twelve hours, and needed some rest.
Grymmbeard grunted as he swung off of his horse and dusted himself off. “I finally get off this mangy beast, only to return to this dump of an inn! Ale tastes like piss, if me memory serves!”
Eucibous laughed and jumped off his own stallion. “I remember you drinking a lot of that piss last time, Grymm!”
The group laughed as they barreled through the door to the inn and pub. The horses were left unwatched; anyone attempting to steal them would be surprised by protection spells. The pub was dark and musky. Musicians played in the corner, and many travelers filled the room, no doubt due to the upcoming tournament. As each person in the inn eventually noticed the newcomers one by one, the level of noise continuously dropped in replacement of stares and whispers. It was like this everywhere. Not many mercenaries were equipped as well as they, and aside from Lok, they all wore the same unique colored platemail. As if that wasn’t enough to spark recognition, the tabard across their chests fit a description well known by most gossipers.
Jarec grinned. “Get back to your merrymaking, fools! We ain’t dancin’ for ya!”
Almost as one, everyone in the room averted their eyes and tried not to attract attention, returning to their conversations. Nobody wanted to be noticed by The Crimson Blade.
Jarec turned to invite Grymmbeard to begin drinking with him, but noticed the dwarf was already long gone. He could see him at the bar taking two pitchers of ale from the bartender, which he would likely drink to himself.
Lok had another thought on his mind, as he looked at his closest friend. Since the moment they had walked into the room, Eucibous had been staring in one direct
ion, the corner. Lok turned to the corner where the band was playing, and immediately noticed the reason. The most stunning woman he had ever seen in his life was calmly playing a harp, looking impossibly peaceful. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings, her music the only care in the world. Her long blonde hair fell down over one side of the harp, and a smile adorned her face. Lok gulped, and reminded himself that he was married. Sometimes it was hard to be honest, considering he saw his wife perhaps once a year.
As he was admiring the woman, he sighed as a few mercenaries moved closer to her, pulling at her dress and making sexual remarks. Why does trouble show itself wherever we go? Surely Eucibous would interfere. He turned to examine the expression on his friends face. He looked surprisingly calm. Usually Eucibous would immediately dispose of the fools with a fury, and then woo the girl.
“Lok,” he said. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” His gaze burned into her, determined to find some fault, any fault. “There might be magic in this.” His blood burned. Only one way to find out. He made his way over to the corner; the pub’s customers would have their show.
Just as Eucibous arrived at the corner of the room, one of the mercenaries grabbed the woman’s wrist to prevent her from playing her harp. “Are you deaf, lady?” The mercenary yelled. “I said come have a drink with us! You think you’re too good or something?” The mercenary had barely spit out those last words before he found himself unconscious, lying against the wall. Eucibous had not hesitated; he immediately spun on his left heel and used his right foot to kick the man in the side of the head with incredible force, sending him tumbling against a nearby wall. The brigand would be lucky if he woke with only a concussion.