The Ascension of Karrak (Karrak Trilogy Part One)

by Robert J Marsters

  “Then ye shouldn’t hang about either,” stated Grubb, with a smile on his face.

  Hannock gave him a strange look, not sure if he had understood.

  “Grubb?” said Jared enquiringly, “Should we just head back the way we came, or could you recommend a better alternative?”

  “There is a shorter route through the cavern but it’s also a much darker way and I’m not sure if anything lives down there. I don’t usually have need to head that way ye see.”

  “Both you and Faylore have excellent hearing, Grubb. Surely you would know of any dangers well before we reached them?”

  “Maybe so,” replied Grubb, “but it helps to know what to do about a danger, should ye come across it.”

  “All we came across were wolves, and I’m sure we can handle those,” said Hannock.

  “Do not be so sure that there is nought else to fear, Captain,” said Faylore, “that was all we saw, but what else saw us, and chose to remain hidden?”

  “How much shorter is the route, Grubb? I mean, is it worth the risk?” asked Hannock.

  “Two days, maybe two and a half now I’m up here,” he said. Grubb looked down at the ground from his perch behind Lodren.

  “Lodren, are you happy with taking a shortcut?” asked Hannock.

  “You know me by now, Mr Captain, I don’t care which way we go as long as I can cook at the end of each day.”

  “Splendid, then the short route it is. Shall we, Your Highness?” said Hannock, allowing Jared to take the lead, but following closely.

  “What do you think Faylore meant? Do you think there could be monsters lurking in the shadows?”

  “I’m not sure, Hannock, but her kind know these places far better than we do, and by the sound of it, I think Grubb’s a little apprehensive about the route as well.”

  “Well, we’d better be on our guard. Keep your eyes peeled, Jared, we’ve lost one prince today, don’t want to lose another one now do we?” he said sniggering.

  “Shut it, Hannock.”

  Almost a complete day passed as they wound their way down much steeper routes than the ones they had travelled before. Torches had been produced from the cart and Jared, with a wave of his hand, had lit them.

  “He’s useful to have around at times isn’t he!” Grubb said, now enjoying his unusual adventure.

  Lodren looked back at him, “Be careful what you say, Grubb, he’s a prince,” he whispered.

  “He ain’t no prince of mine,” said Grubb, “but I can’t help liking him.”

  “He’s really nice, they’re all really nice.”

  “And do ye think I’m nice, Lodren?” asked Grubb.

  “Of course I do, because you are, you didn’t have to help us, but you did.”

  “This being nice to everybody, it’s not contagious is it?”

  “How do you mean?” asked Lodren.

  “Never mind, just forget it,” grunted Grubb.

  Camp was set and Lodren was busying himself, as usual, asking if there were any special requests of his culinary delights. Of course the answer was ‘no’, as all but Grubb knew that whatever he produced would taste delicious.

  “You’re all so easy to look after.” A slight frown appeared on Lodren’s brow. “You’re not just being kind are you? I mean, you would tell me if there was anything wrong with the food?” he asked.

  His friends assured him that there was nothing wrong, pandering to his ego, which was slight, and only related to his ‘catering’.

  Grubb stared at the meal that had been placed before him by Lodren. “Don’t much care for foreign food,” he said curling his lip, “but I’ll give it a go.”

  Lodren stood over him, beside himself with nervous anticipation of Grubb’s verdict as he licked gingerly at the food, “It’ll do. I’ve had better,” said Grubb. But they all knew the truth, as he finished eating before they did and asked for more.

  ***

  Following the steep, seemingly endless, winding tunnels, Faylore ran ahead of them, craning her neck, listening intently to something inaudible to the rest. “Wait here,” she said, and disappeared into the darkness.

  They waited, as instructed, with bated breath. Faylore had been gone for some time and they were becoming a little concerned. “We must go after her. What if she’s hurt?” asked Hannock.

  “How sweet, Charles. But I can assure you, I’m fine.” It was Faylore’s voice and it was close, too close for them not to be able to see her, but where was she?

  “She’s dead. She’s a ghost, it’s the only explanation,” said Grubb.

  “I am not dead, Grubb, and I am no ghost.” As Faylore spoke she began to appear, not from the darkness but right in front of them. Materialising, as if she had been invisible.

  “You’re just full of tricks aren’t you!?” exclaimed Hannock.

  “We Thedarians can blend into any background so as not to be seen.”

  “Ah, so that’s why we never saw you or your people in the forest. Or when you attacked the Dergon in the gulley,” said Jared.

  “That is correct, Jared, not a secret we share lightly. I’m sure I can count on your discretion.” Jared knew that this was not a request, as did the others.

  “Grubb, do you know what a zingaard is?” Faylore asked.

  “Please tell me you’re joking. Not in here. Are ye sure?”

  Faylore raised her eyebrows.

  “Rock me stones, of all the… I mean… Oh for the love of…” but he never attempted to finish his rant, even he would not curse in front of a lady.

  “What’s a zingaard?” asked Lodren.

  “Big, hairy, smelly, bad tempered and vicious, and when I say big I mean, really big. Did I mention smelly?”

  “Calm down, Grubb. We can just sneak around it. They have excellent eyesight but their hearing is poor, as long as we tread carefully it won’t even know we’re there,” Faylore said, trying to calm him.

  “I know that, Majesty, you and me will be fine,” he replied, “but we’ll have this lot stomping about as well,” said Grubb, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

  “Can’t we just tell it we mean no harm and pass by quietly so we don’t disturb it?” asked Lodren most innocently, “I find being polite usually works.” His naivety astounded them all.

  Grubb was the first to speak, and with an unnerving calmness. “It won’t care if you’re polite. It will only want to know one thing… how… you… taste.”

  “Oh,” said Lodren, “it’s that sort of beast is it?

  Jared needed to know more and turned to face Faylore, feeling he would get more sense from her, than from Grubb. “Just how big is this thing?” he asked.

  “About twelve feet tall, enormous hands, razor sharp claws, mouthful of huge pointed teeth, covered in hair so matted that it doesn’t burn and afraid of nothing. Oh and very, very aggressive.”

  “Nothing to worry about then! Tell you what, Jared, you go and shoo it away and we’ll catch up with you later,” said Hannock in a sarcastic tone that others could only aspire to.

  “I’m so glad I brought you along, Hannock, my friend, I knew you’d come in useful. While this beastie is busy chewing on you, the rest of us can just run straight past without being noticed,” said Jared.

  “Your wish is my command, Your Highness,” replied Hannock, bowing gracefully.

  “When you two have stopped mucking about, we still have to figure out how we’re really going to get past the blasted thing,” said Grubb, becoming a little agitated by their antics.

  “I’ll be a decoy,” said Faylore adamantly.

  “No you bally well won’t,” retorted Hannock, “not while I’m around.”

  “How chivalrous of you, Captain Hannock,” said Jared smirking.

  “I don’t remember asking your permission, Captain,” announced Faylore, “I can lure the beast away, which will allow you time to pass through its lair safely, then I can meet with you later.”

  “What if you can’t lose the beastie?”
Jared asked, “You can’t run forever and it’ll follow you back to us anyway. No, I say we just attack it. Catch it off guard and destroy it.”

  “No harm shall befall any if there is another way, Jared. I have informed you of that before,” stated Faylore.

  “I understand that, but putting your own life in danger, to protect that thing, makes no sense.”

  “Not to you, Jared, but all life is sacred to my kind. If my life is in danger and the beast must be destroyed then so be it, but until that time comes it must be allowed the chance to live,” she said sternly.

  The plan was set. Faylore, using her chameleonic ability, would sneak past the zingaard. From a vantage point, she would allow herself to be noticed by the beast and lead it away from the others, enabling them to sneak past undetected. Reaching a safe distance, she would once again use her ability to blend with her surroundings, circumvent the zingaard and rejoin them.

  Nearing the zingaard’s lair, Faylore held up her hand. As agreed, they extinguished their torches. Surprisingly, they were not in complete darkness. There was a faint light source from a strange bioluminescent fungus that grew on the walls of the cavern, something they had not noticed before, having never needed to be without the ever-present torchlight. Their eyes grew accustomed to the new pale blue hue and gradually they saw it… the zingaard.

  The description that Faylore had given was precise, but she had not mentioned the bulk of the beast. Its shoulders were about nine feet wide and its arms hung by its sides, almost reaching the ground. ‘Huge’ was an understatement. Then there was the putrid stench. Rotting carcases of glamoch and other animals, that had strayed into the beast’s domain, were strewn about the floor and there were bloodstains everywhere, including the lower part of the walls. This was not a beast one would escape, if trapped alone. Signalling to the others, Faylore made her move. Before their eyes, she faded, until only a shimmering figure, similar to watching the horizon on a hot day, could be seen and she moved away from them in order to pass the zingaard. They had lost sight of Faylore, which eased them a little, for if they could not see her, neither could the beast. All eyes were now focussed on the zingaard as they waited with trepidation. Each of them could hear their own heartbeat as loud as a drum in those tense few moments.

  “My, my, aren’t you the impressive one?” Faylore’s shout startled them all as it broke the silence.

  The zingaard had been sitting on a rock, leaning against the cave wall, but now rose to its feet as quickly as its enormous bulk would allow. “Who’s there?” it roared.

  It spoke. Faylore had omitted to mention that it could speak, but Grubb had told them ‘it’s the hunters you have to be careful of’, and how right he had been.

  “I’ve seen your kind before zingaard. Not as big as you I admit, but then again, not as stupid either. Getting past you was far too easy. No fun at all actually.”

  “You enter my home and think you can mock me?” growled the zingaard. “Let’s see how you feel when I tear off your limbs and feast on them.” It began to climb after Faylore, who vanished as she made her escape.

  “Time to go,” said Jared, and they all ran forward.

  They had wrapped the wheels of the cart in blankets to muffle the noise of the iron-banded wooden wheels as it trundled forward and all seemed to be going perfectly to plan, when one of the wheels jammed in a crevice. The wheel split and the cart dropped to one side, spilling the contents onto the bare rock. This was not much of a problem as Lodren rushed forward and yanked it free. Then disaster, every one of Lodren’s beloved pots and pans fell from the cart and clanked and clattered onto the cavern floor, ringing like an alarm bell. They all froze. At first there was no sound, but then they heard the roar of the zingaard getting closer. They had been discovered.

  Their foe had realised the ruse and now looked down on its intended victims. “I shall eat well tonight,” it growled.

  “We have no quarrel with you, beast,” shouted Jared. “Let us pass and we shall do you no harm.” As he said this, he drew his sword with his right hand, whilst conjuring a fireball with his left.

  Hannock had drawn his sword, Lodren nursed his hammer and Grubb had transformed into his four-armed alter-ego. All were ready to do battle with this titanic adversary. Faylore reappeared, realising that their plan had failed, and was now above the zingaard, an arrow already nestled on her bowstring.

  The beast roared, but even as it began to charge, Faylore’s first arrow found its mark, striking the zingaard in the eye. It yelped in pain but was now enraged. It turned and saw Faylore. Slashing wildly with its claws, Faylore was unable to avoid them as they sliced across her stomach, the blow bringing her crashing to the ground, blood-soaked and struggling for breath. Jared released the firebolt, again, a perfect shot striking the beast in the face and blinding it temporarily. It made for Faylore and was trying to grab her. Grubb clamped his four arms onto the beast’s one, twisting with all his might until it snapped, as Hannock chopped demonically at its wrist. Now blind in one eye, its vision impaired in the other and its arm broken and bleeding, it roared and fell to one knee, panting heavily, its remaining arm helping to support it. The armed companions now began to hack at it. The zingaard pulled it clear and fell face first, the friends diving clear to avoid being crushed.

  Lodren had been biding his time but now marched forward to face the beast, raising his hammer above his head. Glancing across at the wounded, bleeding Faylore, his heart skipped a beat. “You hurt Faylore,” he roared, and with all his might, brought the hammer down, slaughtering the titan by crushing its skull.

  The companions rushed to Faylore as she lay on the cold rock, mortally wounded. She smiled at them. “Oh good,” she breathed, “you are unhurt.”

  Neither Jared nor Hannock could speak and Lodren had huge tears in his saucer-like eyes. It seemed there was nothing they could do to save her.

  “Get out me blasted way,” bellowed Grubb. They were all shocked by the now diminutive Grubb shouting at such a solemn moment. “Do you want her to die or what? Get out of me blasted way,” he repeated. Grubb barged his way through and knelt beside Faylore. “I know it stings a bit, Your Majesty, but you’ll be alright in a minute.”

  He placed his hands above the gaping wounds on Faylore’s midriff. A faint glow came from Grubb’s hands and Faylore arched as if she were being lifted by invisible arms in the small of her back. The light was getting brighter, accompanied by a gentle humming sound and as they all watched in amazement, Faylore’s wounds began to close, and heal. The few minutes that passed felt like an age, before Grubb spoke again. “There you go, Your Majesty, you’ll be fine in a couple of days, just try to take it easy,” he said, and strutted away. “Oh, by the way,” he called, “your dress is buggered.”

  Lodren strolled across to the body of the zingaard. Looking it up and down he scratched his head, I wonder what it tastes like? he thought.

  ***

  Tamor sat astride a magnificent white stallion, surveying his army. “They will be aware of our approach,” he announced, turning to his lieutenants.

  “Providing they have not changed position, Your Majesty,” one of them suggested.

  “No, I know this scum. If they had half as many brains as they have muscles, we’d be in trouble. They’ll hold their position in the belief they can overpower us with strength alone, but with our archers we can cut them down in no time. They use no ranged weapons, that is our strength and their weakness,” replied Tamor.

  The battle commenced. It was as Tamor had foreseen, at least a quarter of the Dergon horde was felled before any crossed swords with the Borellians on the battlefield. Ramah and Korbah tried in vain to control the actions of their warriors to no avail as, giving in to their primal instincts, they charged headlong into the fray with no concern for their own safety. Tamor watched from a vantage point as his resplendent army slaughtered this marauding, mindless enemy.

  Less than an hour after the first bolt had been fired, all but a few
dozen of the Dergon remained.

  “Retreat,” roared Ramah, realising the futility of a battle that was already lost. “Retreat.”

  His remaining warriors began to flee and Tamor, having had his fill of war many decades before, allowed their escape.

  ***

  Karrak closed his eyes. Time to rest, time to learn. He was becoming more powerful by the day. How could he test his own abilities away from the confines of this accursed room? He had tried whilst in possession of one of his unsuspecting, oblivious hosts, but without success. Try as he might, he could not perform even the simplest of spells. Feeling his power grow, he then attempted the same during his waking hours within his chamber, still without result.

  The transcendent voice was ever-present during his nocturnal activities, but he was still no nearer to discovering its source. How he yearned for this discovery, feeling that it may allow him to escape his tedious incarceration. ‘Great one’, it had called him, did the owner of the voice revere him in some way?

  He drifted into sleep and the voice began, calling to him, begging to be found. Karrak’s sight became clear, but there was no other sound to be heard, he was alone. His surroundings were unfamiliar to him. Where was he? Who was he? Looking around, he saw no clue, until he looked down at the ornate oak desk before him. The talisman, he recognised it, it was the one that Barden always wore. He put his hands to his face to feel if it was familiar to him in any way. He felt a leathery, wrinkled face with deep lines that were embedded into the skin, caused by the passage of time… Karrak had possessed Barden. It must have been the talisman that had prevented him from having this opportunity before. Now this was a body that could prove to be most useful. He turned to face the far wall of Barden’s office. It was completely obscured by bookshelves, filled with ancient tomes unlike any he had seen during the study periods with his fellow students. Karrak grabbed one at random and began thumbing through it eagerly. The spells seemed to be far more powerful than any he had seen so far, for none of his previous literary encounters had instruction for dealing death. This was a library with which Karrak relished becoming well versed, for his nature had not changed. He longed to tear Barden and his minions apart, to see the blood dripping from their mangled corpses and with the tools before him, this was now a distinct possibility. He pored over tome after tome, drinking in the knowledge with fervour, relishing every word as combined, they detailed various methods for ending life. He lingered as long as he could, making sure to replace each tome to its original position, for if anyone would notice an anomaly, it would be Barden, and it would not pay Karrak to reveal his secret just yet. But when his opportunity arose, he would have his revenge on both Barden’s Administration, and the royal house that had so readily taken his freedom.