***
“Why don’t you just tell me what I need to know? Join me, Derrin, we need not be enemies.”
“You’re a deranged, sadistic lunatic, Karrak. I’d kill myself rather than join your squalid ranks. Go on, kill me, finish this, you’ll learn nothing from me.”
Blood ran from Derrin’s eyes and nose. As it reached his swollen lips he spat at Karrak in blatant defiance. Kidnapped two days prior, he had been subjected to torment and torture persistently by Karrak and his followers. When it was thought he could take no more they would allow him time to regain his strength and composure, even administering aid to prevent his inconvenient, untimely death.
“Dead men tell no tales,” Karrak had advised, knowing that if anyone had the information he sought, it would be Derrin.
So far, only physical torture had been used, in a vain attempt to loosen Derrin’s tongue. Karrak and the others knew that it would be impossible to read his mind. He was, after all, a senior wizard with the Administration and far too powerful for this to be effective. Contemplation of such actions had given rise to the fear that it would be he who would control the mind of anyone attempting to invade his own.
Dethmold watched from the shadows. Many times he and his cohorts had beaten men in order to achieve their goals, but this, this even he found obscene and felt physically sick, bearing witness to such barbarity. Even before the man was strapped to the chair, Dethmold had attempted to leave, only to be stopped by Karrak before he could make good his escape from The Hangman’s Noose. “And just where do you think you’re going, Thadius?” Karrak asked quietly.
“Don’t want to be in your way, my Lord, that’s all,” he had answered nervously.
“Don’t be preposterous. You may be able to give me some pointers, this is after all, how you used to make a living is it not?”
Dethmold shuffled back into the room. Nobody could give Karrak any advice on how to inflict pain, and of that, they were both certain.
Darooq entered the room and, heading straight for Karrak, presented him with a large wooden case.
“Well done, Darooq. Did everything go to plan?”
“Not exactly, my Lord, one of our new order was killed, but I managed to bring him back in time, he won’t be as useful as he was, but at least he’s alive. Well, sort of.”
Karrak held the case up in front of him, pondering over it. “Yes, they can be nasty little buggers when they’re cornered.”
Derrin, strapped to the chair, was beginning to look slightly alarmed as he suspected that the contents of the case were directly linked to him and unfortunately, he was correct.
“Now, we’ll try again shall we?” asked Karrak, smashing the side of the case into his captive’s face. “Where have you hidden the Elixian Soul?” he screamed.
The man coughed and spluttered, again spitting blood from his badly swollen lips.
“I’ve told you already, you can torture me, do your worst, kill me, I have nothing to say to the likes of you, maggot,” he breathed.
“There are worse things than death you know. Like my little friend here.” Karrak forcefully pressed the case against the side of Derrin's head and smiled, the familiar maniacal gleam in his eyes. “Can you guess what it is? Can you hear anything scurrying around in there?” he asked.
Derrin said nothing as he glared at his captor.
“It’s a Globbiran spider, do you know what one of those is?” asked Karrak. Derrin’s glare continued, but still, he did not speak. “No? Well let me tell you. You see they are most unusual. Normally a spider gives birth to hundreds of live young, and their first act is to eat the mother. I know, repulsive isn’t it? Now the Globbiran however doesn’t want to be devoured by its offspring, so it lays its eggs in the ear of a host, you, not to put too fine a point on it. Now when the little buggers hatch, they have a voracious appetite and the first thing they’ll find is your brain, only a light snack in your case, admittedly, but that’s not the worst part. You see, they don’t eat all of it, only certain parts. I don’t know how it works, exactly but I do know this, once they leave your body, you will tell me all I need to know and more. But you, you won’t know a thing about it. You will simply be a talking shell, for about four hours anyway, and then you’ll die. So what do you say, co-operate, or spider dinnertime?”
The screams could be heard half a mile away. Dethmold curled into a ball in the corner of the room. Rocking back and forth and shaking uncontrollably, he began to laugh, but not in amusement. Witnessing the huge spider attaching itself to the side of Derrin’s head as he screamed and begged for mercy was just too much for him, Dethmold had lost his grip on reality.
“Three or four days I’d say,” said Karrak, “then I find out exactly where my prize is.”
CHAPTER 16
Emnor flicked the various parchments and scrolls around on his desk. He truly believed in the Administration and what it stood for, and had felt highly honoured when his colleagues had deemed him the most suitable candidate to be made the new Head. The novelty however, had worn off far too quickly, and he was finding the position mundane and quite frankly, boring. The only escape he had was his new connection with Harley and his friends. Their enthusiasm and tenacity reminded him of his own youth so many decades before, when even the simplest of magic was frowned upon. It was more traditional for a young man to find a trade such as a smith or a farrier, not to have fanciful ideas of magic spells and incantations. This resulted in him being labelled as ‘workshy’ by his fellow villagers.
‘If you don’t have callouses or blisters by the end of each day, you haven’t earnt your corn’, was one comment that had been made to him. Strangely enough, the man who made said comment, couldn’t understand how he had managed to catch a cold in the middle of summer. Emnor had known it was wrong to wish it on his neighbour, but he was a bit of a rebel, and deeply insulted by such a slanderous remark.
A knock came at the door and Emnor, without looking up, bade his visitor enter. It was Harley. Emnor’s sullen look was suddenly transformed into a beaming smile. “Harley, my dear boy, what can I do for you today?” he asked.
“I think it’s more about what I can do for you, Master… Your staff is complete.”
Emnor leapt up from his seat. “Excellent, excellent, lead the way then.”
“But don’t you have other things to do, Master, it can wait… if you’re busy?”
“Busy? Of course I’m busy. Can’t you see? Look at all those pieces of parchment. Harley, by all that’s sacred, get me out of here!”
Harley couldn’t help himself. In his years at Reiggan he had never met anyone as mischievous as Emnor, well, not someone of his age anyway. He began to laugh and bowed to his Master. “Master Emnor, if you would care to follow me.”
Hurrying through the familiar passageways, they reached the not-so secret room just a few minutes later, to be greeted by Alexander, Xarran and Drake.
“So where is it then, let’s have a look at what you’ve come up with,” said Emnor excitedly.
Xarran opened the cupboard, removed the familiar oil-cloth parcel and placed it on the bench. Taking a pair of tongs, he carefully removed the coverings from the staff. Emnor gasped, because what he saw was indeed, breathtaking. When he had first seen the staff it was impressive, but now it glistened like fresh snow in the morning sunlight. More gems had been added and slim shards of gold had been inlaid between tiny diamonds along its length.
“May I?” asked Emnor holding out his hands as if he were asking to coddle a mother’s newborn.
“But of course, Master. It is yours,” replied Harley.
“Pass it here, Drake, there’s a good fellow,” said Emnor.
Drake smiled at him. “Ooh, please, Master Emnor. Don’t tempt me… don’t tempt me.”
Emnor looked a little confused. “Sorry, what did I say?”
“It’s been imbued now, Master Emnor,” said Xarran.
“What difference does that make?” asked Emnor, completely unawa
re of the significance.
All eyes turned to Harley. “When a wand, or in this case a staff, is being made, anyone can handle it without repercussions. Once it has been imbued however, it will attach itself to the first person who touches it. From that day, it will be useless to anyone but its master.”
“So what you’re saying is that if Drake were to pick it up…?”
“It would be mine, all mine,” said Drake with a pretend, sinister laugh.
“Well I never,” said Emnor, “You boys really know your stuff don’t you.”
“We try our best, Master Emnor,” said Alexander, “It’s just that our best is better than everyone else’s.”
“That’s it, Alex…” said Xarran with a sigh, “… nice and modest as usual.”
Alexander shrugged his shoulders and held out his arms. “Why be the best if you can’t say it yourself?”
“Quite right, Alexander,” said Emnor, “Right, here we go.” Emnor gently placed one hand on the staff, nothing happened. He placed his other hand further down and lifted it from the bench. He was surprised at how lightweight it was, considering the amount of platinum, gold and silver that went into its manufacture. “Gentlemen, it is magnificent, the detail, the craftsmanship, I’ll say this…”
But his speech tailed off as the staff began to hiss very gently. Within seconds the hiss turned into a crackling and sparks began to fly along the entire length of the staff. Simultaneously it started to glow as flames, intertwined with the sparks, licked not only around it, but Emnor’s hands as well, and all were now encompassed by what appeared to be a mini snowstorm in mid-air. Nobody panicked, they were awestruck at the spectacle before them. The four young wizards had created many wands in the past, but this had surpassed any of their previous endeavours by a hundred fold at least. After a few minutes, that seemed to last an eternity, the light show gently eased and the staff, still in Emnor’s firm grip, simply emitted a calming, pale white glow.
“Do it again!” exclaimed Drake, “That was fantastic!”
Having calmed Drake down it was decided that it was time for Emnor to test his new staff. “What would you suggest, Harley?” he asked.
“Nothing too powerful, Master. Whatever you choose, the staff will enhance it, so the slightest spell will be far more concentrated than even you, Sir, will expect.”
“An ice spell to start then, you can’t blow anything up with ice can you?”
Harley raised his eyebrows and he, along with his friends retreated gracefully to what they thought would be a safe distance. Drake with a wand was one thing, but a Master with a staff could prove to be something completely different. The safe distance was at the other end of the room, by the door, just in case.
Emnor held the staff in one hand and pointed it at the far wall. “Just a small ice patch on the wall, just as a test,” he said, trying to convince himself, let alone the others. A few seconds later the staff gave the slightest twitch and BLAM. The entire wall was covered, ten feet high, twenty feet wide and two feet thick, not so much of an ice patch, more of an entire glacier. Emnor shook himself and pouted.
“I think, for now… I’ll practise outside.”
***
“Have you any leads as to where your brother is, Prince Jared?” asked Lawton.
“Apparently, he has occupied a cave some distance from here. It is thanks to Faylore and her kin that we now have a definite destination,” answered Jared.
“But what if he is no longer there, where to then?”
“We have considered that possibility. Faylore and Hannock are both excellent trackers and if indeed he has moved on I’m sure we’ll still be able to locate him.”
“Excellent trackers,” laughed Poom, “I’ve heard that one before. You come out into the wilds looking for footprints and broken twigs and you think you’re an expert, HAH. But what if there are no such signs, what then, is my question.”
“I happen to be the best in the kingdom when it comes to finding a fugitive, Master Poom. Nobody has ever evaded my detection,” boasted Hannock.
“Is that a fact? Tell me, can you smell a tree and know that a passerby placed his hand against it to steady himself three days ago? Can you feel the heat from the ground where the same person slept even though he has been gone a week and it has rained heavily every day since? No? Not exactly an expert then are you?”
Hannock snorted and marched ahead, closely followed by his companions. Poom stood his ground looking rather proud of himself and Lawton stood beside him. A knowing glance passed between them.
“You can’t actually do any of those things either, Poom.”
Poom turned to his friend with a toothy grin on his face. “Well, Lawton, you know that, and I know that, but they don’t know that, and after all, this is our land. Best to let them know who is in charge around here, before they start thinking they can order us around.”
“Do you actually like anybody, Poom?”
“No not really, apart from you of course. But I am becoming quite fond of one of them,” he said pointing at the companions.
“Oh, you mean the female?” said Lawton.
“My word not at all, oh what’s his name now? Oh yes, Grubb, nice and grumpy, doesn’t mince his words.”
There was a look of disbelief on Lawton’s face as he turned to his friend and sighed, “I have come to the conclusion that there really is no hope for you, Poom, none at all.”
Poom held his arms out to his sides. “Now what have I said?”
Lawton shook his head and walked off briskly, to catch up with the others. Reaching them he struck up a conversation with Hannock. Realising that Hannock was an honourable man, he chose his words carefully. “Have you served Prince Jared for long, Captain?” he asked.
“We grew up together, been friends all our lives,” answered Hannock.
“Ah, so more a labour of love than a sense of duty to one’s betters?” Hannock offered no reply, simply continuing to lead his horse along the boggy track that the entire party was now trying to negotiate. “I do hope you’ll forgive Poom. He has been a warrior all his life and can be a little abrupt at times.”
“Nothing to forgive,” said Hannock curtly.
“It’s his age you see, getting a bit grumpy lately, what with all the scars and broken bones.”
“We all have scars,” Hannock replied quietly, inadvertently raising his hand to his eye-patch.
Lawton pointed briefly so as not to offend. “Old war wound?” he asked.
“You could say that,” answered Hannock. “Or you could say a lunatic prince-cum-sorcerer, with delusions of grandeur thought it would be a good idea to blow me up!”
“My apologies, Captain, I did not mean to pry into your private affairs.”
“There’s nothing private about my affairs, Lawton. I’m here for good old fashioned revenge. Karrak took half of my face, tore my body apart and nearly killed me. If not for Jared and that dear sweet grumpy little git, Grubb, I wouldn’t be here today. They know why I’m here now, there’s no illusion of duty. Find him, and kill him, that’s my only agenda,” he snapped.
“I do so like a man who knows his own mind, Captain, very pleased to make your acquaintance.” The pair shook hands, or paws, or whatever it was that the Gerrowliens had, a hand shape, covered in gold and black fur with razor sharp claws retracted, just as a cat’s would be.
A mutual respect had been formed.
“How old, exactly is Poom, if you don’t mind me asking,” asked Hannock.
“Well if you ask him, he’ll lie and tell you he’s two hundred and sixty.”
Hannock started to laugh, “Really?”
“I know, ridiculous isn’t it?”
“Just a bit,” replied Hannock, “As if?”
“Yes I know, but we humour him… he’s actually three hundred and seven.” Hannock’s mouth fell open, his eyes wide. “Are you alright, Captain?”
***
The wizard’s body smashed into the wall. “My Lord, it
happened so quickly, we could not prevent it, we tried…” he said, gasping for air before being blasted across the room again.
“Do you realise how difficult it is to arrange for a senior member of the Administration to be left unattended, let alone vulnerable to kidnap?” screamed Karrak.
“My Lord, I beg you, please. I will make this right, just give me a chance…”
“Silence, worm. He’s dead, how can you make this right? We both know that necromancy will only return the body, not the mind. His knowledge has been lost and I must start again.” Karrak continued in his rage. Raising his hand, he was about to destroy the cowering wizard without hesitation, when Darooq stepped forward.
“My, Lord Karrak. Please forgive my interruption but I must speak with you urgently.”
Karrak had never had anyone interrupt him before and was taken aback by the interjection of, what had become, his right hand man, the confusion showing as he turned to face him. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” he sneered.
“Indeed, my Lord, but I am afraid this cannot wait,” replied Darooq, looking Karrak directly in the eye.
Karrak turned to his victim. Kicking him in the face he snarled. “I’ll deal with you later. Lock him up,” he said to no one in particular. Two cloaked figures hurried forward and, grabbing the man by the arms, dragged him from the room.
“This had better be good, Darooq,” said Karrak.
Darooq gestured toward the doorway that lead to the next room and followed Karrak through it. Once inside, he spoke. “My Lord, I do not think it wise for you to kill one of your loyal followers, especially in front of witnesses.”
“Who are you to question me, Darooq, how dare you?” shouted Karrak.
“My Lord, we are few in number as it is. Killing one is harmful enough, but if others begin to fear your wrath if a mistake is made, they may decide not to follow you at all and depart. We need as many as possible. Sooner or later an assault must be made, if you wish to recover the Elixian Soul, and there will be more than a mere handful guarding it. Strength in numbers is the only thing that can ensure your success at its retrieval.”
The Ascension of Karrak (Karrak Trilogy Part One) Page 28