The Ascension of Karrak

by Robert J Marsters

  ***

  Barden entered Karrak’s chamber. He greeted him with his usual pleasant manner, but seemed different in some way, tired, weary and a little preoccupied.

  “My dear, Barden, are you alright?” asked Karrak, playing his part of the concerned friend perfectly.

  “Fine, I’m fine, Your Highness. Just an old man’s fatigue.”

  “You should be resting. Burning the candle at both ends are we?” asked Karrak, with an inquisitive smile. Karrak’s real intention was to see if Barden remembered any of the previous night. He couldn’t care less about his health or wellbeing.

  “I think it may be a sickness. Many Administration members have been suffering with it of late. A little rest seems to do the trick, but I am always guilty of not following my own advice.”

  “Which is…?”

  “A tincture and plenty of sleep,” said Barden, with a weak smile.

  “Sounds like good advice to me. You should listen to yourself. Go on, get some rest. Come back when you’re well enough, I can wait. After all, I don’t want to catch whatever ailment you have.”

  “You’re right of course, I should not risk infecting you. Please forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive, Barden. Now go, before I catch your lurgy and you do have something to apologise for.”

  Barden bowed and took his leave.

  Karrak was almost beside himself with excitement and anticipation. The more Barden slept, the more he could possess him, and the more he possessed him, the more he could study his fascinating, gruesome library.

  ***

  Pacing impatiently, Karrak became lightheaded for the briefest of moments. Steadying himself against the table, he seemed to know instinctively, that Barden had taken his advice and was sleeping, without the protection of his beloved talisman.

  Loathe to waste a single moment, he made his way to the bed, lay down and closed his eyes. The connection was immediate, no waiting for his sight to clear. He held up his hand, or Barden’s as it was, and clicked his fingers, perfect auditory response. He rose from the bed and headed for the bookshelves. Selecting volumes carefully, he studied the subjects he desired most, how to kill, maim and disfigure. Karrak was ecstatic at being offered so many ways to execute his favourite pleasures. He sat for hours, safe in the knowledge that his own body would not be disturbed, as his carers had already tended to his needs for the day. More and more he read until at last, the information he needed most was discovered, runes of protection, the keys to his gaol cell. If Karrak knew how they were applied, their removal would be simple. Each book now replaced in its original position, Karrak lay down, his liberty was at hand.

  Seconds later, he opened his eyes, looking directly at the runes carved on the pillars, “You’ll have to go,” he said quietly.

  Using a knife from a tray that had been left earlier, he began to alter them, only slightly, but enough to make them ineffective. He was a little annoyed with himself. How could he have been so naïve? It would have been obvious to any mere novice that they were there for a reason, as were the symbols on the floor. Nothing within this cell would be purely decorative.

  Now to test his theory. He replaced the knife, then deliberately swept the water pitcher from the table. It smashed noisily on the flagstone floor. He knew the guards would ignore the noise, as he had had many tantrums during the early days of his imprisonment. Various broken pots, pitchers and sundry furniture items had been the result, and now his captors were impervious to such commotion. Karrak rapped gently on the door. “Excuse me,” he called, “I’ve had a slight mishap, be a good fellow and fetch me some fresh water, would you?”

  The door opened slowly. A young wizard stood there, surveying the scene. “Be with you in a few minutes, Your Highness,” he said. They were his gaolers but had been instructed to be courteous. He was, after all, a prince.

  Almost immediately, fresh water was brought to Karrak. “Close the door would you, there’s a bit of a draught,” he instructed.

  The wizard did as he was asked and approached to place the pitcher on the table.

  “Oh another thing,” began Karrak, “stand on one leg.”

  This was the first test. No sooner had the words left Karrak’s lips than the wizard raised one foot from the ground.

  “Now hop up and down,” and the wizard again, did as commanded.

  “What’s your name… wizard?” asked Karrak.

  “Edward, Your Highness,” replied the guard.

  “No, try again. Your name’s Mabel. So, what’s your name?”

  “Mabel, Your Highness.”

  It worked, Karrak was now able to control a conscious mind.

  “Right, Mabel, this is what I need you to do. Go outside, close the door, turn to your little friend and slap him in the face, is that clear?”

  The wizard nodded, a vacant expression on his face. “Yes, Your Highness,” he replied.

  “Well, off you go then, Mabel.”

  The wizard turned and walked through the door, closing it behind him. Karrak hurried forward and placed his ear against it, waiting for the ruckus that would hopefully ensue, but heard nothing. He hesitated for a moment, then rapped his knuckles against the door. The wizard outside obligingly opened it.

  “Something else, Your Highness?” he asked.

  Karrak looked at him and then at his colleague, who was evidently completely oblivious of Karrak’s intentions. “I didn’t get your name?”

  “Edward, Your Highness.”

  “On second thoughts, Edward, I’m fine,” he said, closing the door in the wizard’s face.

  Damn it. What use is it if I have to be able to see the puppet to make it perform? he thought.

  It was obvious that this subject required further investigation for it to prove useful.

  ***

  Ramah watched what remained of his fellow Dergon. Less than fifty had survived the encounter with Tamor’s elite, and of those at least half were nursing severe wounds, incurred during battle.

  “You’d have to tell them if they were on fire,” he ranted, “over four hundred lost in one battle, why did I believe I could turn these fools into an army?”

  Korbah sat in silence, offering no reply. More intelligent than most of his race, he was deep in thought, wondering how he had managed to escape unscathed from a battlefield that was more like an abattoir, where the Dergon were the cattle. The first rain of arrows and bolts had missed him completely and, admittedly, he had shielded himself with an ally as the second fell, but he had fought the soldiers bravely before being given the order to retreat. Only when he had cleared the field did he realise just how many of his fellow warriors had fallen, and how swift and absolute their defeat had been.

  “I need others like myself to control them,” Ramah continued, “others who show leadership and courage, on the battlefield and off.”

  “I tried my best, Ramah, but they wouldn’t listen to me, they just charged forward. If you’re going to kill me like you did Klag, can you do it now, while I’m facing you.”

  “Making an example doesn’t seem to work, Korbah, your death would serve no purpose. I saw your attempt to bring them back in line. The bloodlust took hold of them again, you could not have stopped them.”

  “So what do we do now? What if they come after us?”

  “They have no intention of following us, we wouldn’t be here if they had. There’s hope for you yet, Korbah, think ahead, that’s what you need to do as a leader. We’ll head into the hills once the wounded have patched themselves up, lay low for a while and figure out our next step. I’ll think of something.” Leaning across, Ramah slapped Korbah reassuringly on the shoulder. “We’re not dead yet, Korbah.”

  ***

  The companions, having made their way through the lower caverns, were reliably informed by Grubb that they would reach the exit by that afternoon. They had all banded together to dissuade Lodren from sampling roast zingaard, despite his protestations that they might enjoy it. However, the over
riding subject of the smell was the deciding factor. Unhindered, they continued, despite a brief encounter with wolves who, on seeing their intended prey, turned and ran into the darkness, growling.

  Faylore had asked Grubb to translate what the wolves had said, but Grubb was still reluctant to use foul language in front of a lady.

  “Grubb,” began Faylore, “I owe you my life. Is there anything you desire that I could offer you in payment of such a debt?”

  “There might be. I’ll tell ye what, next time it looks like I’m going to die, I’ll let ye save me, how’s that?” he said.

  Jared attempted to lighten their mood. “Lady and Gentlemen,” he announced, “you are cordially invited to a banquet in your honour for the heroic deeds you have performed in the aid of House Dunbar, to be set for…” Jared held his hands in the air and shrugged. Ordinarily a date would have been set for such an invitation, but not knowing who could attend or when, ruined Jared’s presentation somewhat.

  “Good start to that speech, Your Highness,” announced Hannock, “just kind of lost the flow at the end though, don’t you think?”

  After much discussion, to the point of pleading at one stage, Faylore, Lodren and even Grubb agreed to accompany Jared and Hannock back to Borell. Faylore explained that she may have to leave them, just for a day or two, to visit her kin, but that it was of no urgency at the moment. Jared empathised, being of royal birth himself. All three insisted however, that whilst in Borell, even as guests of the royal family, they would not sleep indoors.

  “You shall have a temporary camp in the castle grounds. Faylore, you may choose whichever tree you wish to sleep in. Lodren, the campfire will be refuelled at regular intervals and you may ask for any ingredients you require for your ‘catering’ and, Grubb… well you can just do, whatever it is you like doing.” Grubb, after all, was still a bit of a mystery to Jared.

  ***

  Karrak, occupying Barden’s body, was once again, taking advantage of his personal, extensive library. The old wizard’s health had now become a major concern for the Administration. Suffering from permanent fatigue and unsteady on his feet, many feared that his ailment was perhaps a disease of the mind rather than a sickness of the body, as many tinctures and potions had been prescribed by the healers in Reiggan, without success. Devoid of any further inspiration it was deemed that they should simply allow him to rest and hope that this would result in his recuperation. If not, at least he would be comfortable in his last days, as nature took its course and his life slipped away. For Karrak, their decision proved ideal and he relished the fact that he would not be disturbed during his clandestine escapades. The extended nocturnal time periods allowed him to lay out many volumes at one time, in order to compare and cross-reference one to another. A far more effective and thorough process. He had already discovered all he needed to know on the subject of mind control and how to make the effects last longer, even if one lost sight of one’s subject.

  He flicked through page after page finding nothing of interest for some time before he eventually came across something unrelated, but most intriguing. “Well, well, well, Barden, aren’t we the dark horse?” he mumbled, “the ‘Elixian Soul.’ Now that’s something that could be of great benefit to an ambitious man such as I.” He paced back and forth, engrossed by the text before him. Looking up from the book, he spoke again, his voice developing a sinister air. “I think a slight change of plan is in order, old man. Time to allow you some proper rest, just for a few days, and then you and I shall have a little chat.”

  The days passed quickly, but not quickly enough for Karrak, who was reduced to providing his own amusement. Firstly, a tasteless puppet show, the puppet being the unfortunate attendant that brought his meals, regardless of who it may be. They would be instructed to perform a handstand, cartwheel or simple pirouette, allowing Karrak to hone his skills in mind control. Secondly, experiments in the art of torture. Causing a subject to obey a simple command was easy enough, but could he actually harm them without making physical contact, as it had been described in one of Barden’s many tomes?

  He had taken the first opportunity to test this ability. An attendant had placed a tray on the table when Karrak seized his moment. Standing behind the wizard, Karrak held out his hand, his palm facing forward toward his victim, and glared at him. His test subject fell to his knees instantaneously, holding his head in his hands as if a spike was being driven through it, his face contorted but making no sound. Karrak smiled, success yet again.

  Timescale was also of importance to Karrak. How long would it take for the effects of mind control to wear off once a victim was no longer in his presence? Would they wear off immediately or not at all? He turned to the wizard, still writhing on the ground, apparently in agony. “Do stop fussing, you’re fine now. Your pain has ended,” said Karrak.

  The wizard instantly rose to his feet, seemingly having suffered no long term effects from Karrak’s sadistic trial. Karrak studied the attendant briefly. He needed to test the longevity of his control over his puppet. “Listen to me carefully, boy,” he began. “Once you depart this chamber you will obey the following instructions implicitly; do you understand?”

  The young wizard nodded his head.

  “Good,” continued Karrak, “in one hour from now you will return to me. Bring me… a dagger, with a ribbon tied around the hilt. Tell no one. Now leave.”

  Without comment, the young wizard left the chamber. An hour later he returned and presented the dagger to Karrak, ribbon attached. Karrak dismissed him and poured some wine into a goblet.

  “Now all there is to do is wait. You will be here soon, Barden. I want the Elixian Soul and you’re going to deliver it to me,” he hissed.

  ***

  “I’m fine, stop fussing. There’s nothing wrong with me,” barked Barden.

  “But, Master Barden, you have been ill. You should take things slowly until you regain your strength,” advised the young wizard.

  “How many more times? I’m fine, now get out before I turn you into a frog or something,” and clamping his hand on the shoulder of the young wizard, Barden promptly steered him to the door.

  He dressed and glanced around the room. “Looks like they’ve all had a good rummage through my books while I’ve been asleep,” he chuntered, “that won’t happen again. Now where’s the Order of Corrodin?” But, search as he might, he could not find it and merely believed that it had been put away for safe keeping. I’ll find it later, he thought.

  He busied himself that morning by catching up on recent events, which didn’t take long as hardly anything ever happened in Reiggan Fortress that any number of wizards could not contend with. Enquiry after enquiry however, still left him no wiser as to the whereabouts of his sacred talisman. He could not bring himself to believe it to be stolen and deduced that, in his delirium, he had inadvertently secreted it himself.

  “Do you have any idea what happened to my talisman, Jacob?”

  “I am afraid I have no idea, Barden,” replied his friend.

  “How’s our young prince doing?” asked Barden.

  “He is quite well behaved and courteous. He asked after you every day during your illness. I think his rehabilitation is going splendidly, only due to your supervision of course.”

  Barden raised his eyebrows, he hated backscratchers. “Well in that case, I think it only polite to pay our guest a visit,” he said.

  “Are you sure that’s wise, Master Barden. I mean without the Order of Corrodin? We still don’t know Karrak’s true frame of mind or intentions.”

  “Oh I’m sure he’ll be fine… under my supervision of course,” he replied, sarcastically.

  ***

  Barden entered Karrak’s chamber. “Good afternoon, Your Highness, so good to see you again.”

  “Good afternoon, Master Barden. I see your health has much improved.”

  Barden turned and closed the door behind him. “It has, I’m pleased to say. My legs are a little shaky, but there’s n
o need for anyone but us to know that,” he said with a brief smile.

  “Come, Master Barden, be seated. We can forget protocol as there’s just the two of us, no need to stand on ceremony,” said Karrak, sitting on his bed.

  “You are most kind, Your Highness, thank you, I think I’ll accept your gracious offer,” replied Barden, taking a seat at Karrak’s table.

  “I’m glad you dropped by,” Karrak said with a smile, “there’s something I need to ask you about.”

  “Please feel free, Your Highness. Ask away.”

  “Just a minor thing really… the Elixian Soul. What is it and what does it do?” A look of horror came upon Barden’s face. He attempted to rise from the chair but Karrak was too quick for him and thrust out his arm, his fist half clenched. Barden felt himself pushed by an invisible force back into the chair.

  “We’ll have none of that, Barden. I have questions and I want answers. You have those answers, and you’re going to give them to me, one way or another.” Karrak had not yet possessed Barden’s mind, he was simply controlling his body. “I don’t want to hurt you, old man. Well that’s a lie really, I want to tear your arms out of the sockets and your head off that scrawny neck of yours, but if you co-operate, I might just offer a little leniency, and kill you quickly.”