Blood Immortal

by Paul Centeno

  “I’m afraid you are incorrect,” said Frostwarm, conjuring a fireball with his staff.

  Súrion hissed and waved his hands, instantly splitting the staff in two—splinters falling on the floor—and blasting Frostwarm against a column by means of telekinesis. The wizard let out a painful groan as he smashed through the ionic pillar. Stones toppled over his grimy body, causing him to stiffen like a corpse that had been mummified centuries ago.

  “You were foolish to unseal this tomb, old man,” said the lich monstrously. “Though you may have thought yourself to be clever by using the light against my minions, such magic won’t work against the likes of me. Yes, I am Súrion—Spirit of the Ten.”

  “Blasphemy!” yelped Orodreth, blood spurting from his lips.

  Without even glimpsing at the wounded knight, Súrion raised his skeletal hands together, causing the freezing mist below to surge where Orodreth stood. Aarian was so terrified that he released Orodreth and hid behind a pillar. Perhaps it would have been wise for the others to do the same, Aarian conceded, because in the blink of an eye Orodreth became an unstable block of ice.

  “Orodreth!” cried out Zarlando.

  Before he could reach his companion, the slab of ice fell and shattered into pieces. Master Dargain and Zarlando were horrified by what had happened to their comrade, but they composed themselves and kept their weapons raised. Aarian stayed hidden—he was on the verge of fainting out of fear.

  “I am an immortal Spirit,” said Súrion arrogantly. “There is nothing you can ever do to harm me. You’ve witnessed something that is beyond your comprehension, and now you must pay the price.”

  Súrion cackled, beginning to cast a deadly spell. Just then, a blinding light pulsed from within the rubble of the collapsed pillar and turned into a magical barrier that enveloped Aarian, Dargain, and Zarlando with reflective auras. Icicles formed upon the icy hands of Súrion who then hurled them at the knights. As would be instinctive to most people, they cringed when the icicles launched toward them; the daggers of ice, however, shattered upon impact. Súrion saw the outcome and grimaced, conjuring a deadly sphere of frost. He then hurled it at the column’s rubble, only for it to be reflected back at the mystified lich.

  “Fe’tar’dum kel-da ala’roma!” exclaimed Frostwarm, rising from the smashed stones while conjuring a fireball the size of a comet.

  Súrion hissed again and began, “Vek’tara sor’d—”

  The massive fireball reached Súrion before he could finish his fatal curse, scorching him into oblivion. In an instant his bones fractured, splintered, and disintegrated as the sphere of fire engulfed him. At that precise moment, the Vlydyonians were caught up by a blast of wind that sent them against the wall. Experiencing a spasm with a surge of tremendous pain in his spine, Frostwarm gave out a rasping cough. Yet he did not fall to the ground like the others. He stood firm, unsheathing his ivory scepter and gold rod. The tomb darkened evermore. Frostwarm heard yet another hideous cackle. He knew that the fearsome battle was far from over—he had yet to find the source of the legendary Shade’s immortality.

  As soon as Magi Frostwarm reached the center of the chamber, he began to hear the eerie grunts of skeletons. He turned, using his scepter to give him some light. Ahead of him—over by the tunnel he’d come from—stood several ancestral skeletons with swords. Aarian still lay on the floor, but Dargain and Zarlando swiftly got back to their feet and started battling against the risen dead.

  Frostwarm, meanwhile, turned his attention back to the other side of the tomb. He heard a slight hiss and remained still. His face never looked more somber as he attempted to focus on his surroundings. Then, from the corner of his eye, the Shade appeared in a wispy form and hurled a shadowy orb of ice at him. Frostwarm tried to evade it since he wasn’t surprised by the Shade, but the sphere still struck him; fortunately for him, the reflective aura he’d cast was still effective and absorbed the spell. Though, since the charm had weakened, after absorbing what would have been his demise, the aura dissipated.

  The wizard swiftly retaliated by conjuring multiple beams of light, emitting them in every possible direction, which momentarily lit up the chamber like fireworks. None of the spells he’d cast found their way to the Shade who then laughed.

  “You can’t hide forever!” Frostwarm angrily announced to the air.

  After making his remark, he noticed that the ashes of Súrion had begun to transform back into bones. A great rage took over Frostwarm as he crisscrossed his scepter and rod, invoking a radiant light. Doing so, he spotted a sarcophagus by a pilaster wall and launched a fireball at it. Not only did it collapse, but Súrion’s frozen phylactery—his still beating heart—thawed into a soulless liquid; then his ethereal form tore apart, and he and his undead minions vanished into oblivion so fast that they screamed in agony without even understanding why.

  “There is only the Nine,” said Magi Frostwarm, reassembling his oak staff.

  Aarian rejoiced while Dargain approached his older brother. Even though Frostwarm had defeated the lich, he looked pale.

  “Are you all right?” asked Dargain.

  “I’ll be fine,” replied Frostwarm, straightening his back. “But we mustn’t tarry here. The lich and his minions may have been defeated, but they were trifling compared to the true threat at hand.”

  “This is all wrong,” said Zarlando miserably, looking at the icy remnants of Orodreth and the corpse of Ceirdan. “None of this is natural.”

  “Natural or not, we must make haste and leave this place at once,” said Frostwarm.

  Zarlando gave a frail nod and joined his companions. Once together, they made their way to the stairs and entered Xen’s temple. They found themselves in a prayer room with prostrating statues of Xen before she’d transcended beyond the mortal realm. Most of the statuettes depicted her reaching out to the sky with beads in her fists while others showed her prostrating. And in the main chamber, where Aarian and his entourage advanced, stood the largest sculpture of Xen. It touched the ceiling and showed her standing with her palms clasped together and an aura around her, symbolizing that the power of prayer heals oneself like magic.

  “At last,” said Aarian, sighing.

  He turned to the altar and noticed Eëràndir and Princess Parla’vasa who, upon seeing him, strode over as though her life depended on being beside him. Aarian noticed that she’d removed her veil and stared at her pink eyes in wonder. He then smiled at the elven princess, ready to be embraced by her when, instead, he was struck hard across his melancholy face. He fell to the floor in dismay.

  “By all the evil in this world, what’s the meaning of this?” demanded Dargain, lifting his swords.

  “You…you coward!” cried out Parla’vasa, ignoring Dargain. “How could you just leave me to die out there? Is that what you humyns do when something awful happens? You just turn your back on those whom you claim to love and protect?”

  “Who said anything about love?” said Aarian, rising to his feet. “You’re not my wife yet, so don’t expect me to be a husband to you.”

  Parla’vasa glared at him with tears in her eyes, slightly trembling, and stretched out her henna-dyed hand to strike Aarian again. Though, before she could do so, Zarlando caught her by the wrist.

  “How dare you touch Princess Parla’vasa!” roared Eëràndir, swiftly arming his bow with an arrow and aiming it at Zarlando’s neck. The temple shook as another meteor collided on the ground outside. Eëràndir, however, didn’t lose his aim. “Release her at once or I shall be forced to end your pathetic existence.”

  Zarlando obeyed but, to his defense, said, “I have sworn an oath to protect His Highness, even against his would-be wife.”

  “As have I with Princess Parla’vasa,” said Eëràndir crossly.

  The doors unexpectedly opened, and in came an axe-wielding dwarf accompanied by a tall hooded cleric with an amber robe over his silvery armor. He lifted back his hood while he approached, revealing a thick well-groomed beard, a gray
ish ponytail, and an ivory-glowing tattoo on his forehead of two palms meeting.

  “Oh dear,” murmured Frostwarm to himself, realizing that the seven-foot-tall man who’d entered the temple, witnessing this petty argument, wasn’t an ordinary humyn; he was the arcane leader of the clergy—none other than Paladin Taveric.

  “What is happening here?” he asked with a dire expression.

  “Our apologies, Lord Taveric,” said Frostwarm, gently placing his hand over Eëràndir’s bow and lowering it. “There was a minor misunderstanding. Everything is all right now.”

  “By the Nine,” began Taveric, “Xen’s temple is all that remains standing. I have searched everywhere for survivors with Olwe, but we are the only ones left alive. We can no longer afford to have disagreements. We must stand united now more than ever.”

  “What about my parents?” moped Aarian, his face grim.

  Taveric shook his head with a look of dread. “Pray that they have gained souls, for their bodies are lost,” he said.

  “We’ve gotta git outta he’re,” said Olwe the dwarf.

  “Bu-but—” began Aarian, tears welling up in his eyes.

  Just then, a meteor came crashing into the paneled ceiling, causing half of the structure to collapse. The crumbling stonework pounded against the majestic statue of Xen, breaking it apart. With the exception of Aarian, the company scrambled away. The prince stared at the collapsing sculpture for a couple of seconds before moving his legs. A piece of Xen’s head cast a shadow over him. He noticed this and froze, gawking at it.

  “Prince Aarian!” yelled Zarlando, pushing him away from the growing shadow with all his strength.

  The statue’s halved head fell on Aarian’s protector, crushing him. Dargain saw what had happened from the corner of his eye, his face contorted by the sudden death of Zarlando. He then ran toward the prince, grabbing him. Aarian sobbed hysterically. Even though Dargain wanted to whack him just as Parla’vasa had done, he, in memory of Zarlando’s wish to always protect the prince no matter what, let go of his resentment and pushed him forward, motivating Aarian to run without help.

  Finally leaving Xen’s temple, Aarian confirmed with his own eyes the destruction of his kingdom. Paladin Taveric hadn’t lied, he realized, and slowed down. His naivety had gotten the best of him as he gazed upon the deadly blazes and smolder that approached him. Somehow, he felt brave enough to move and joined the others who were running. The prince gazed up at the crimson heavens but didn’t see the demon.

  “Where did it go?” he urgently whispered to himself.

  He observed the sky one last time, hoping he’d spot Scar somewhere. There was no sign of him. The hazy environment became thick with smoke, causing Aarian to cough. He couldn’t help but lurch while wheezing and happened to see a dead knight with a sword and shield. Upon taking the equipment, he continued to run, passing through the city’s crumbled walls. Ahead of him and his protectors lay the once green forest of Grisfall—now desecrated with twisted trees and fog that had begun to shroud it.

  “Flames of Zartos,” said Paladin Taveric grimly.

  “Wha’t ar’ we goin’ ta do?” asked Olwe, looking at the paladin.

  “You know what must be done,” he replied, raising his long-handled maul and leaning it over a thick-plated pauldron that made his shoulder look giant. “Beyond the forest of Grisfall lies the homeland of the exiled Mor’vyi’dou—they must be purged.”

  “Tch, you and what army?” asked Eëràndir.

  “Don’t mock me, Eëràndir,” replied Taveric. “You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that your fellow high elves are dead because of them.”

  “Why would they do this to us?” asked Parla’vasa frantically.

  “Hatred,” answered Dargain. “Their hatred never dissipates; in fact, I’m sure their rage only increased when talks of peace between our races reached their ears.”

  “I have no doubt that this is the work of Saldovin Keldoran,” said Frostwarm.

  “Indeed,” said Taveric.

  “Is tha’t so?” said Olwe, scratching his rugged beard. “Th’en I say we fin’d the bugger ‘n put an en’d ta ‘im!”

  With the exception of the prince, the others agreed to this. Aarian turned around, gazing at his fallen kingdom one last time before entering Grisfall’s threshold. In the blink of an eye, it seemed to him, his life had been turned upside down. He wondered to himself, did he deserve this? He’d betrayed his beloved Belisa and never made a firm stand for what he wanted in his life. Yes, this nightmare he’d been experiencing, he concluded, was condemnation allowed by the divine Nine. Because he lacked the will to defend those whom he held most dear, they were taken from him, and he had a terrible feeling that he would never be able to gain a soul no matter how many times he’d try to redeem himself.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THRALL OF IZABALDO

  The fires in Jerelaith gave the forest of Grisfall a reddish appearance, making it resemble a world whose time for an apocalypse had come. Aarian and his intrepid companions nevertheless made their way into the sweltering wilderness that choked them with dense smoke. Indeed the inferno burning what little remained of the capital city had already begun to spread, and that included its lethal smolder.

  From a distance, at least to Aarian, it looked as though his kingdom had been transformed into a living hell. Despite a week of traveling through the forest, he couldn’t help but look back every now and then, wondering why this happened. Thinking of all the people who suffered for his selfish actions made him feel sick to his stomach. He hated himself for feeling so wretched and believed that this appalling feeling had a name—guilt. And it was such guilt that made him feel skeptical of ever being heroic like his entourage.

  “Prince Aarian,” called out Dargain.

  “Huh?” said Aarian, snapping out of his pitiful daydreaming.

  “Don’t drift too far away from us,” said Dargain. “We need to stay close together in order for us to be your shield.”

  Aarian nodded, realizing that he had in fact distanced himself away from the group while daydreaming about his failure, and rejoined them. The forest’s trail was very narrow. As they pressed on, the manmade path eventually came to an end. They had no choice but to travel deeper through the hilly wilderness. An intense fog made it difficult for the surviving company to see ahead, much less aloof what with the smolder diverging from Jerelaith into Grisfall’s canopy.

  Bushes, soft plants, and colorful flowers littered the knoll-like ground of the forest. And moss-covered trees that stood at least forty feet high were scattered all around. There were many thorny branches, and as the band of survivors progressed through the woods they noticed that the thorns expanded onto slanted trunks of trees. It looked as if the trees had been deformed. In fact, even the plants had grown sharp bristles.

  Although the environment appeared creepy to the brigade, it still seemed natural to them. When the prince saw giant stipular spines with prickles, however, he slowed his pace and stayed even closer to Dargain who sliced them apart with his swords. This motivated Olwe to do the same with his axe. Taveric couldn’t mimic their actions since he wielded an enormous hammer, but Frostwarm cast freezing spells on the larger ones, allowing the paladin to shatter them. The wallop of his maul pulverizing them made a much more strident sound than an axe or sword, which only gave out minor thwacks.

  Upon seeing his entourage take action without fear, Aarian, not wanting to be helpless any longer, raised his sword and struck down his share of overgrown stipular. He also battered his shield on the icy ones, shattering them into pieces.

  “A fine shield, Prince Aarian,” said Taveric.

  “Thank you, Lord Taveric,” replied Aarian, a weak face turned slightly confident. “Other than practicing with Master Dargain, I’ve never used a sword before.”

  “You’ve trained well,” said Taveric, pulverizing a frozen plant that had stipular.

  Despite the horrific situation, Aarian smiled at the paladin. Though k
eeping up with his protectors, he continued to occasionally glance behind him; seeing gulfs of flame still spreading from his ruined kingdom made his smile vanish. Dargain noticed this and frowned, feeling sorry for him. Yet he refused to console him. It was time for the prince to take responsibility and pull his own weight, Dargain conceded, and so he pressed on without a word.

  “I sense a great evil approaching,” said Frostwarm, griping his staff.

  Squinting his eyes, Dargain checked the group’s flank. He couldn’t see or hear anything suspicious other than the approaching fire from behind. Aarian swallowed, keeping his guard up yet feeling damned. The rest of the company remained vigilant, especially the high elves who were used to forests regardless of the situation. To their surprise, they sensed nothing abnormal around them.

  “Ar’e ya su’re ‘bout tha’t, laddie?” asked Olwe, his voice low.

  Frostwarm, still alarmed, nodded. The forest’s canopy made it difficult to see; however, the wizard spotted a faint flicker high above. It was difficult for him to make out its origin, but he had a terrible feeling that the phenomenon wasn’t a star.

  “What is it, Magi Frostwarm?” inquired Taveric.

  The wizard did not respond. Instead he closed his eyes, strengthening his senses. Silence descended upon the brigade, broken only by a snapping branch in the nearby distance. Eëràndir widened his eyes and armed his bow.

  “Mor’vyi’dou!” he shouted, releasing an arrow.

  At that precise moment, elves as black as night leapt from the shadows of Grisfall with double-bladed swords. Their wild screams of hatred filled the air, disorienting the Vlydyonians. Only the dwarf roared just as loud, leaping off a hill between two trees and plunging his axe into the grisly face of a dark elf.

  Eëràndir and Parla’vasa took cover by the bushes, shooting arrows at the approaching Mor’vyi’dou whose bodies were covered with crimson war paint. Dargain stood firm, parrying and riposting against two dark elves. Upon another Mor’vyi’dou sneaking up from behind and jumping to dig his blade into Dargain’s back, Taveric swung his maul into his chest, rupturing his ribcage. Frostwarm’s eyes lit up in flames, as did the ends of his oak staff, while three dark elves advanced toward him. He then swerved his weapon forward, melting the colliding blades and setting his foes ablaze.