Dismembered… incinerated? thought Harley.
“Don’t look so concerned, Harley, just sign it… it’s been weeks since anyone’s been dismembered.”
A look of alarm came across Harley’s face as his eyes shot from the contract to Emnor, who now had a smirk on his face. Brilliant? Yes. Wise? Yes, but with a wicked sense of humour embroiled within his genius. Emnor did like to tease his pupils.
Harley, realising that he had walked into Emnor’s joviality trap, sighed, and signing the contract, handed it to Emnor.
“Perfect,” stated Emnor and, levitating it before him, promptly turned the scroll into ash in mid-air.
The look of confusion on Harley’s face was a sight to behold as he sat there open-mouthed, trying to work out the relevance of the scroll’s incineration. Emnor, placing his hand on the corner of his desk, leaned forward. “Claptrap,” he said.
“Sorry,” said Harley, more confused than ever.
“Absolute claptrap. As if signing a piece of parchment is going to make you any more loyal. It’s the symbolism, dear boy. You thought it would prove your loyalty, and it did, but your word is good enough for me, will you give me that?”
“But of course, Master,” replied Harley, nodding fervently.
“Good, let us begin.”
“What… now?” asked Harley.
“Indeed now, that’s why I brought you here. There is a task you must perform for me immediately.”
Harley, without realising, sat forward. Apprehensive yes, but also with an unexpected yearning for his task to be revealed.
“Now this is a secret that only you and I must share, Harley. You must not divulge anything you see or hear within my chambers, is that understood?”
“Of course, Master Emnor,” replied Harley rising from his chair as if to attention.
Emnor strode across the large office and took hold of a screen, close to the wall at the far end. Behind it there was a bench, but whatever was on it, had been covered with two large horse-blankets. Emnor took hold of the corner of one of them and turning to Harley, quietly uttered, “Remember your oath, not a word to anyone.” Drawing back the blankets, he revealed his doppelganger. Harley’s eyes widened as he looked from it, to Emnor and back again rather nervously. “Don’t worry, Harley, it’s just a copy. I have a mission on which to embark, a very dangerous mission and by using this extension I mean to survive it.”
“I don’t understand, Master.”
“Good. If you did it would mean that you had been dabbling with arcane magic… or even necromancy.”
“Master Emnor, I would never…”
Emnor waved his hand to dismiss Harley’s protests of innocence.
“I know, I know. Calm down, Harley, I wasn’t accusing you, I need your help.”
“Anything, Master Emnor, just ask.”
“I cannot tell you the details of my mission at the moment, but I will tell you this, if you fail in this task… my life will be forfeit.”
Harley looked aghast at Emnor’s statement. He had been an apprentice for barely ten minutes and now the Head of the Administration was about to put his life in his hands.
“But, Master, what if I don’t, I mean, what if I can’t…” A slight panic had taken, Harley but it was nothing that Emnor had not been expecting.
“Calm down, Harley,” he said in a serene, but also stern tone. “The task is simple enough, but your concentration must be unwaning if I am to live to tell you the tale of my adventures when I return.”
Harley took a deep breath that swelled his chest, held it for a moment, and looking at Emnor breathed out slowly and audibly for his benefit. “What will you have me do, Master?” he asked, suddenly sounding very mature and official.
“That’s my boy,” said Emnor and patted Harley gently on the shoulder. Opening his desk drawer, Emnor took out a velvet pouch and placed it on the desktop. “This, Harley, is the Heart of Ziniphar,” and removing it from the pouch Emnor held, in the palm of his hand, the largest ruby that Harley had ever seen.
“Master, it’s magnificent… what is it? I mean, Sir, other than a ruby?”
“Very astute, Harley, to realise that it is more than it at first appears. This gem, when placed directly above the heart, binds the soul to the body, keeping it pure, and for a while can actually protect one from death itself.”
“How, Master?”
“Forgive me, Harley, time is pressing. We shall have to save that discussion for another day.”
“As you wish, Master, but it is mesmerising, it must be unique?”
“No, it has a twin… but its twin’s purpose is the complete opposite of this, it loves nothing more than to cause suffering and death. As I said… another day.”
Harley, struggling to take his eyes from the Heart of Ziniphar, looked at Emnor. “How are we going to use it, Master?”
“Sharp as a knife. I knew you were, that’s why I chose you.”
Harley tilted his head slightly to one side, waiting for Emnor’s answer.
“I’m going to lie on the bed. Once I am asleep I can take control of my double, then you must place the Heart of Ziniphar above the heart of my real body.
“But, Master, you could have done that yourself.”
“Oh no, no, no, the gem might try to bind my soul to that fake body and that would be disastrous. Last time I controlled it I kept getting yearnings for rotting cabbage and turnips. I can’t live my life like that, and every now and then I kept rubbing mud on my face, well when I say mud…”
“Why on earth would you want to rub mud on your face?”
“Never mind, just trust me when I say it’s not the worst thing that happened,” he said, inadvertently rubbing his buttocks.
Emnor crossed the room lay on the bed and closed his eyes. Harley felt a little awkward. Should he leave and come back later once Emnor was asleep, or should he just keep quiet and wait? Barely a minute had passed before the question was answered for him… neither. Harley started a little as the fake Emnor suddenly sat up in his peripheral vision.
“That didn’t take too long did it, Harley? Take the Heart of Ziniphar and place it on my chest, my real chest that is, well my own chest… you know what I mean.”
Harley placed the ruby on the chest of the reposed Emnor and turned to face… the other one.
“Now, once I depart, Harley, you must watch the Heart of Ziniphar as a hawk watches its prey, never take your eyes from it. Now it may darken slightly but don’t worry too much, that’s to be expected, but if it darkens to virtual blackness it means that I am in great danger. Take this parchment Harley.” Reaching inside his robes, Emnor produced a small pre-prepared scroll and handed it to his apprentice. “Should the gem reach the point of only showing the slightest hue of red, you must recite the incantation on that scroll immediately, thrice, no less, do you understand?”
“Yes, Master Emnor… but what if it turns black?”
“Please do not allow that to happen, Harley… that will mean that I am dead.” Pulling a chair across to his unconscious body, he steered Harley toward it. “Remember, Harley, under no circumstances must you avert your eyes from the Heart of Ziniphar.”
With that said, there was a shimmer of light, a slight wisp of smoke, and Emnor vanished.
***
The old man shuffled through the village undetected. He was not trying to avoid the gaze of anyone in particular he was just such a pitiful sight that nobody turned a hair as he passed them in the rain. Dressed in a hessian cloak, that was not far from being a rag, he made his way along the muddy main road, his head bowed to the ground, his cloak raised slightly above the mire revealing his unshod feet. The villagers simply took him for a beggar, and begging was frowned upon by the locals, even the poorest of them. Pausing for a moment, the old man turned to a woman who was deep in conversation with another. Without raising his head he spoke. Surprisingly, he had a deep clear voice that took the woman by surprise, as she had not noticed his approach. “Forgive my i
nterruption, madam,” he said politely.
At this, the woman turned to face him and immediately recoiled with obvious repulsion, drawing her shawl tightly around her shoulders as if to shield herself from this bedraggled vagabond. “What do you want? Go away, you’ll get no handouts here, beggar!” she snapped.
“Rightly so, madam, it would be most distasteful for anyone to disturb an upstanding citizen such as yourself, but I am afraid I must. However, I would not beg, I merely need the location of your local tavern, as I am a stranger in these parts,” said the old man.
“Why am I not surprised? Another grog-swilling old layabout. Find work, clean yourself up. You never know, you might like being clean and wearing boots to keep your feet warm,” she sneered. There was no need for the woman’s tirade of verbal abuse toward the old man, after all, he had simply asked directions.
“My apologies, madam, I meant no offence, good day to you.” The old man resumed his shuffling through the mud, but had taken just a few steps when he waved his hand gently from side to side beneath his cloak, a motion that was undetected by any prying eyes. The woman behind him immediately placed her hand flat against her chest and gasped as if fighting for breath. Her eyes widened as she grabbed at the friend before her. She began to cough uncontrollably as she slowly sank to her knees, the whites of her eyes turning red due to her sudden asphyxiation, then with a final gurgling rasp, she fell back onto the ground, stone dead. The old man snorted and continued on his way.
After a few minutes he entered the shoddy-looking inn, ‘The Hangman’s Noose’ it was named, a name that suited the dank atmosphere with which he was greeted. The barkeep leaned forward and placed his elbows on the bar. “What do you want?” he asked. He was not being rude; this was his way of asking his patrons what they would like to drink. There was no such thing as polite conversation or etiquette in this establishment, or even indeed, the village.
“Port, best you have,” replied the old man, throwing a gold coin on the bar in front of his host.
On seeing the coin, the barkeep’s attitude changed. “Of course, Sir, take a seat I’ll bring it over, anything else?” he asked, lifting a goblet from under the bar and wiping it with the cleanest rag he could lay his hands on, before reaching for a bottle behind him.
“Yes. Information,” was the reply.
“Oh well now you see, Sir, information costs a bit more than port around here, dangerous, if you know what I mean?”
The old man once again reached inside his cloak and gently withdrew a coin purse that appeared to be well stocked. He placed it on the table in front of him and patted it gently.
“Danger is immaterial. What is your price, innkeeper?” he asked, gesturing for his host to take the seat directly opposite his.
As he sat, the innkeeper tried in vain to get a glimpse of the stranger’s features. He thought it was an old man, but his face was obscured by the hood of the tattered cloak, and had been, since he had first entered. Unnerving to most, but not to the barkeep, who was used to dealing with ‘dubious’ characters. “Now what would you like to know, Sir?” he asked, reaching toward the coin purse. In the blink of an eye, a dagger slammed into the table between it, and his hand. He snatched his hand away, but it was quite obvious that if the hand had been the old man’s target, he would not have missed.
“I think that it is only fair, barkeep, that the information should come before the payment, do you not agree?” he asked. The barkeep nodded nervously.
“I wish to know the whereabouts of one Thadius Dethmold, also referred to as Mr Death.”
“Never heard of him, sorry, friend, you’ve got the wrong village. Enjoy your port, Sir!” The barkeep had jumped up from his chair the instant the name had been spoken, obviously startled by the old man’s enquiry.
“Sit down,” said the old man sternly, “I’m not finished with you yet.”
“I can’t help you, Sir. I’m really sorry but I can’t, you must have heard wrong.”
He was desperately trying to stop the old man talking and held out his hands, making patting gestures as if to shush him, now almost in a panic, his head wheeling from side to side to make sure they were not being spied upon.
“You know the man, and you know where I can find him… and you are going to tell me.”
“And what exactly, do you want of this… Mr Death?” The voice had come from the other side of the room. It was calm, but somehow, intimidating.
The old man however, was not intimidated. “That is my own business, Sir… and his, should I make his acquaintance,” he replied.
The stranger rose from his seat and strolled across the inn. The barkeep, seizing his chance, made himself scarce, all thought of remuneration forgotten.
A tall man of slim build, the stranger took what had been the barkeep’s seat and, reclining slightly, placed his feet on the table. “Thadius Dethmold, at your service,” he said with a hiss in his voice. As he spoke a second man appeared behind him and, pulling across a chair, sat next to Dethmold. “Choose your next words very carefully, old man, they could be your last,” said Dethmold. The old man never spoke. His face still hidden by his hood, he sat silently, waiting to see how this game would play out. “Now I’ll be asking the questions, and you’ll be answering them, alright, old man? Firstly, give me your name.”
“Who I am, at present, is unimportant. What I want however, is vital to your wellbeing,” replied the old man.
The thug who had joined Dethmold at the table grabbed the dagger that was still embedded in the table top. “When the boss asks you a question, you answer it or I’ll open your throat and get the words out myself, understand?” he growled.
The old man held the palm of his hand toward Dethmold’s henchman, who began to shake violently. He clasped his hands to the side of his head and screamed in pain as blood began to seep from his eyes and nose. Dethmold tried to move, but found that some unseen force was pinning him to his chair, painlessly, but firmly.
The thug shook violently, the blood now streaming from all facial orifices until, with a loud crack, the shaking stopped, as did the man’s heart.
Dethmold was a thief, a torturer and a murderer who did not scare easily, until now. Now, he was terrified.
***
The old man stood up and arched his back, as if he were stretching after a long slumber. A black smoke started to emanate from his body and after a few seconds, enveloped him until he was completely obscured. The longest ten seconds of Dethmold’s life passed as he watched the smoke dissipate, but now the old man was gone. Before him stood a giant of a man dressed in immaculate black robes embroidered with runes of gold thread, his eyes were closed. As his eyes opened he began to speak. “I am Lord Karrak… from this day forward, you, will serve me.”
With the slightest of hand gestures, Dethmold, chair included, was levitated by Karrak to eye level. Karrak stepped forward and leaned in order to be nose to nose with his captive. “I hear that you can find things, Dethmold, that you can procure that which is unobtainable. I do hope these rumours are true as I have travelled a considerable distance and would hate to have had a wasted journey… time is so precious after all; don’t you agree?”
Dethmold did not answer, he couldn’t answer. Still pinned to the chair, his mind was racing. Who was this sorcerer? What did he want, and most of all, what did he want from him?
Karrak held out his hand and wiggled his finger in front of Dethmold’s face. “Well answer me, dog, cat got your tongue?” Karrak chuckled at his own, unintentional witticism. “Oh that was quite amusing, dog, cat, got your…”
Turning away, he waved his hand, and the chair, complete with occupant came crashing to the floor, breaking the legs and spilling Dethmold onto the floor. Regaining the use of his limbs, Dethmold rose to his feet and glanced at the door. Karrak still had his back to him, maybe he could make his escape before the sorcerer had time to react, but what would be the consequences should he not make that escape?
“You won’
t even make it to the door,” Karrak said quietly. Turning to face Dethmold, he pointed at the corpse slumped on the table. “That’s your alternative, Thadius, now choose. Serve me, or die.” His immense stature and calculated speech, made the sorcerer all the more menacing.
Dethmold, not taking his eyes from Karrak, dropped to his knees and put his hands together as if about to pray. He took a deep breath. “What do you wish of me? My Lord,” he added to the question.
“Wise decision, Dethmold, very wise indeed, but don’t patronise me and do not try to sound intellectual, we both know that you’re as educated as a slug and let’s face it, only half as attractive.”
Dethmold was unused to fear, well, not his own anyway. Fear and intimidation were the tools of his profession, a profession he found to be not only very lucrative, but with which he had a great affinity. Now however, he was at the point of someone else’s figurative blade, and for the first time in his wretched life, he understood the terror that he had driven into the hearts of his own victims for so many years. A terror that diminished into insignificance, any of the few emotions he had ever felt. These thoughts took mere seconds as Karrak retook his seat before him and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“I seek allies, Dethmold. Not mere scum such as you obviously. I seek the company of others like myself, those with a proficiency with magic. Yes, I could find them myself, but I am only one man and as I have already explained, my time is precious, I can spare none for reconnaissance. That’s why I need you, or at least someone like you. Do not be fooled, Dethmold, betray or fail me and your passing will not be as quick as your little friend here. There are far worse things than death, of that I can assure you, and you can be replaced, should the need arise.”
Dethmold turned his head. The dead man’s blood had oozed into a pool on the table top and was now beginning to drip onto the floor beside him. He closed his eyes and bowed his head to his new master, resigned to his, unwilling servitude.
Thus was the first alliance formed, decided by a single party, not by mutual agreement. During those few short moments, Dethmold could see no benefit toward himself. Now, as he grovelled at the feet of his new master, he realised that as long as Karrak lived, the future would be gilded to his advantage.
The Ascension of Karrak (Karrak Trilogy Part One) Page 23