As Loric walked, his thoughts were drawn to the blade he held firmly in his hand. His mind filled with images of blood and killing. Through the magic of the sword, he could remember the face of every kill he had made, and occasionally, the magic `woke up` and challenged him to justify his actions.
He dimly thought he could do without the distraction at this moment, but Soul Crusher could not be denied. He would have to face his memories on its terms. His memories took him back to his mercenary days...
* * * * * He was a young dragon, reckless and dangerous. As a dragon, he considered himself above the petty lives of mortals and cared only for the fight. He would fight anyone, anywhere, anytime for no cause other than his own adrenaline rush. He had been hired to raid deep in the elves’ forest. The mysterious tree city of the elves. Their ancestral seat of power. They had built a new battle fortress here and his employers wanted it destroyed. As he bore down on the area he had been told about, he noted that it didn’t look much like a fortress, but it was definitely the right place and elves had some strange ideas about designing buildings so he thought no more of it. In fact, he was barely thinking at all, lost as he was in the lust for battle.
As he tore into the fortress with tooth and claw, its inhabitants began to pour out into the wider forest, screaming in terror. Loric was a bit confused as to the lack of resistance. Where were the archers? Why wasn’t he being assailed with arrows and powerful spells?
Obviously, I’ve caught them off guard, he decided, arrogantly. Man, I’m good! They’ve probably heard of me and fear my reputation!
As he dived closer to the ground, spitting acid at will, he noticed the children. Children running, screaming, crying, dying…
Why would there be children in a secret military base? He couldn’t understand it. That wasn’t a tactic elves would use. Still, he had been hired to do a job and so the slaughter continued. Then he saw her: Li’thana. A name he would remember forever. She was a highborn elf lady
– the ruler and protector of her noble house. A queen among elves. She seemed to glow before his eyes as the world around him warped and faded. She was beyond beautiful to him. She was the centre of the universe.
Even as he had slaughtered her people, Li’thana had worked her magic. She hadn’t tried to fight him, but had instead managed to capture him and snare him with a charm spell. Rather than seek revenge, she worked to train and rehabilitate him. She made him see that what he had attacked was not a fortress or even a city, but a quiet village with little interest in the outside world. She had been simply visiting. Somehow, Loric’s employers must have discovered her plans and decided to use the obsidian to raze the village to the ground with her in it. They had used magic to encourage his aggressive tendencies and help him ignore anything that didn’t fit with what they had told him. It did not negate his guilt. He could have resisted if he’d made the effort to think, but he hadn’t. He had slaughtered innocent people, innocent children, and he had revelled in it.
Li’thana took Loric as her own personal guard, ensuring that he wasn't out of her sight for a moment and so it was for half a century. Then came the day of the great wars, when the elves rose to battle the orcs. His blade had no name until that day when she named it Soul Crusher. The elf queen had it enchanted through the combined talents of necromancy and Techmagic.
Freeing him from the charm that bound him, she said, “For whomsoever this blade touches, they shalt surely die and a reflection of their soul shall become one with the blade. Then forever shall you remember that face, that life. It shall not prevent you from acting as you will, but it will demand that you can justify the killing that you do.”
Already the blade was imbued with the images of the elves he had killed during his raid...especially the children. Her magic ensured that he would never lose his blade. He may have other weapons, he may kill in other ways but Soul Crusher was forever bound to him. Its magic played its part in every battle he fought, even if the blade itself remained sheathed. Soul Crusher was a necromantic curse, a punishment. Whenever he took a life, he would have to be certain in his own mind that it was justified. Only then could he live with the memory without it adding to his waking nightmares.
* * * * * The raw violence of Loric's youth was still a part of him, and it could still surface in times of extreme stress and pain. His attack on the prince was proof of that. But the ministrations of the elf queen, Li’thana, combined with the constant reminder of his sword were usually enough to temper his actions.
Even now, as he walked through Marina Fells mine, his sword was playing a lightshow in his mind. The elven forest, so long ago, was as clear and real to him as the here and the now. The innocents he had killed. The deaths had caused. The children who never grew up because of his actions. He would see them always.
Soul Crusher was well named, but not for the reasons most people thought. It was not his enemies whose souls it crushed...it was his own.
In a flash, he returned to himself as he felt Lady Hannah's strong but gentle touch and was met with, “What troubles thee?”
He smiled, grimly. “Ghosts from the past.”
“I see,” was her only response, respecting another warrior's right to conceal or share his past as he so chose. During their exploration, they found the body of a half ogre. He appeared to be some kind of local warrior. Having taken some serious injuries fighting on the surface, yet somehow he had managed to take the fight down here. By the looks of the fallen rocks strewn about, Loric considered, perhaps he had thought to cause a cave in. He had not survived, but he had taken a great many of the enemy with him, judging by the bodies of chaos creatures littered around him.
“Doubtless this is the reason for the poor trapped spirit we didst encounter earlier,” Hannah told her comrade. Removing her helm, she bowed her head and clasped her fist over her heart, offering a Knight’s eulogy, expressing honour and courage in this fallen warrior, fighting for his home. “I salute thee, noble warrior. May your deeds be sung in the halls of heaven!”
Loric could not help looking at the half-ogre's armour. It was called scale armour - a significant improvement on the protection of his chainmail, being a design based on the interlocking scales of a dragon. It was not as strong as the plate armour that Knights wore, but was lighter and offered greater mobility. He wasn't sure how the Lady Knight would react if he took it for himself.
His thoughts must have been playing on his face, because Hannah said, “'Twould be a great honour to wear the armour of so proud a warrior. Not many would be worthy, but I perceive that thou mayest well be one of those few. If thou doth feel so moved, thou wouldst do well to take it and let it assist you in completing what he started. Indeed, one couldst even say that by such an act, thou art allowing a part of this fine individual to complete his quest for righteous vengeance. Wilt thou accept this challenge, Loric?”
The Knight certainly had a way with words and her view on this almost drove the dragon to tears, so moved was he by the nobility. When he looked, he had seen only a fallen warrior with armour worth taking. Hannah had seen the fall of a champion and a chance to honour him. The fallen warrior no longer had any use for his armour, but it might help Loric to get the bastard that kidnapped the princess and brought all the chaos creatures here to rape and slaughter the village of Marina Fells. There was honour in that.
“Yes,” he whispered, “I will accept the challenge.” The armour fit his large frame quite well and he took the gauntlets for good measure. The chest piece could do with some repairing, he observed, but it was still better than his old, battered chainmail.
“We shouldn't leave him here like this,” Loric said. “It's not right. But we can't bury him down here and removing him seems like sacrilege.” Hannah came up with the solution. “The Sacred Code of Paladinius doth state that when in the field, and proper burial for a fallen comrade is not possible due to rocky terrain, a cairn may be built as an acceptable alternative.” There was no shortage of rocks lying around, so a cair
n was constructed in next to no time. “We canst but hope that his mate shalt now be able to move on and find peace,” Hannah said, finally.
* * * * * As it turned, out, neither Phaer and Bunny, nor Hannah and Loric got very far before they each reached a dead end and started back. When the four of them met up, they decided that rather than wait for Eilidh to return, they would follow her up the northerly path. Sitting around didn't seem to make any sense, given that there was only one possible way to go. Whenever they reached a junction, two of them would stay there while two others scouted the side tunnels.
After a while, they met up with Eilidh's group and set up camp to compare notes. Phaer noticed the Catalyst gain a look of concentration in her eyes. She seemed to be paying particular attention to the exact pattern created by the tunnel network down there.
“What is it, Eilidh?” Toli wondered, as she too caught onto this. By way of answer, she drew on the black rocky wall with a piece of limestone. “That is the pattern we've established by our exploration so far. Granite, does the pattern suggest anything to you? Think of the flow of Life when casting a certain spell.”
Granite shook his head. “Sorry, lassie, I was never any good at pattern recall.” Like most dark Catalysts, he was interested only in controlling the power of magic, whereas Eilidh was fascinated by its intricate workings, such as the patterns of Life Flow created by spells.
“Well, for a start, as many of you will have noticed, these tunnels have been reshaped by magic. Quite recently. There is a lot of magic down here and I believe the tunnel reshaping was done for a reason. That reason is almost certainly to magnify the power of a spell.”
“If that is so, what spell are we facing here?” Loric asked. “I can't be sure, the pattern isn't complete enough yet...but I do have some nasty suspicions.”
Before she could say more, Artisho sneezed violently three times. With a sheepish grin he apologised.
“It’s always three,” he remarked.
Just then there came a snarling sound and half a dozen large grey wolves appeared like ghosts in the dim light. The party rose to their feet, grabbing weapons, preparing spells. “Don't worry!” Artisho called out, shoving his way to the front of the party and pushing up the sleeves of his robes, which promptly fell down again, “I know a spell that'll send them packing! Now, what's it called again? Leather Ball? No. Measure Pall? Weather Fall?”
“I think you might mean Fireball, Old One,” Rochelle offered, helpfully. The old man brightened, “Ah!” Then he frowned again. “No, I don't think that's it.” He snapped his fingers. “Got it!” He manipulated the flow of Life and suddenly feathers filled the air, making everyone cough and sneeze. “There!” he announced, proudly. “Feather Wall!”
To everyone's surprise the wolves sniffed the air, turned around and fled back the way they had come.
“I wonder what made them leave.” Toli spoke up while all around them, the feathers slowly settled on the ground like the aftermath of the world’s largest pillow fight.
“Isn't it obvious?” Artisho demanded, indignantly. “Feather Wall - works every time. Wolves are allergic.”
“They didn't seem frightened,” Taka disagreed.
“Actually, if I didnae know better,” Granite offered, “I’d say they were magical constructs.”
“You think someone conjured them?” Eilidh wondered.
“Nonsense,” Artisho insisted. “There's no-one down here but us.” They followed the passage north, ignoring all side tunnels at Eilidh's insistence, walking more purposefully now that she had a pretty good idea where the pattern was leading. The tunnel took a sharp bend to the right.
“Now I'm sure,” she remarked, breaking into a run, so much so that some of the others began to have difficulty keeping up. They followed the right hand tunnel at the next junction, confirming that Eilidh had completely abandoned her left turn strategy. The time for strategy was past. Now was the time for action. It was time to finish this rescue.
They were confronted with a door, and Eilidh stepped through it without hesitation, the others following right behind. Less than fifty yards along the passage, the door behind them disappeared, replaced by a sheer rock face, making her companions gasp, involuntarily.
Eilidh didn't even spare it a glance. “Don't worry,” she said, “It's only a trap.”
Chapter 21
“It's a magical one way door,” Eilidh explained, “and not the last one, I'll wager. Just ignore them. Getting out does not concern us at this point.”
“That doesn't sound very practical,” Phaer pointed out.
Eilidh flashed him a smile. “No, it doesn't really, does it?” The young Catalyst proved to be quite correct in her prophecy of further one-way doors; there was one every time the tunnel took a sharp bend to the right. It was always right, and it didn't take too much spatial awareness to realise they were spiralling inwards.
At last, Eilidh stopped before a pair of double doors to the North. “Is everyone ready?” she asked.
They all confirmed that they were. “OK then. One last thing, this is vitally important. As soon as we’re on the oth er side of this door, move sideways, not forwards. Stay close to the wall, as tight as you can. Anyone who doesn’t will die. If you understand, show me by looking very, very scared.”
They all did their best to comply.
“Let's go in. I don't think we need to worry about knocking.”
Once inside, they saw a large rectangular room - just for an instant, before all their lights went out. Taka tried to cast a new light spell, but it was instantly extinguished.
“A darkness spell,” Eilidh observed, unsurprised. “Just as I thought. That was part of the pattern. The rest was powering that big death snare in the middle of the room.”
“Is that what that is?” Bunny remarked. “My scrying spell is telling me there’s something dangerous, but it’s not telling me how dangerous.”
“Good thing you recognised the Life Flow pattern, Eilidh.” Toli said, sounding relieved. “Otherwise we might have just walked right into it!”
“Well, maybe not. As Bunny says, our scrying spell is warning us, too.”
“That's what worries me,” Phaer put in. “Me too,” Eilidh agreed. It was not unusual for the ranger to echo her thoughts. Indeed, she felt the two of them had developed a very good working relationship. Still, she was always a little surprised to hear him voice knowledge of magical matters, and told him so.
“It's nothing to do with magic,” the half -elf said, shaking his head, not that Eilidh could see it. “It's simple common sense. What's the point of going to the trouble of laying down a death snare if you're going to signpost it?”
“If I’m right, this is the kidnapper's main chamber.” “In the heart of the labyrinth,” Rochelle mused. It could have been a recitation from just about any adventure story ever told in Mythallen. The villain of the piece was always `in the heart of the labyrinth`.
“Of course, the kidnapper is himself a mage,” Toli realised, “so the last thing he would want to do is cut off his own powers with an antimagic zone.”
“Precisely,” Eilidh agreed. “And signposted or not, he’s done a very nice job of restricting our movements, wouldn’t you say?”
“If this is true,” Hannah pointed out, “then surely he shouldst be here himself to deal with anyone who hath survived the many trials up to this point.”
“Yes, I expect so.”
“But,” Phaer said, not liking where this conversation was going, “that would mean that we've just walked into-” “ -A trap?” Called out an unfamiliar voice from the darkness. A focused cylinder of light appeared, revealing a man dressed in the orange robes of a sorcerer with the black hood and cuffs of his alignment to dark magic.”
Eilidh was calm and unsurprised as those around her went for their weapons.
“Ah-ahah!” the sorcerer scolded. “I fully congratulate you on getting this far, but I really must insist that you do not take even one more step
.” Another beam of light appeared, revealing a girl in her mid-teens sitting on a chair. She was tightly bound, while a strange man-creature with green skin and reptilian scales stood over her with a sharp dagger not far from the girl's throat. The girl had long jet-black hair, dark eyes and her face shared some features with Prince Garald. Despite her situation, and her young age, she held herself with strong, defiant, regal dignity. There could be no doubt - this was Mystaya and every inch a princess.
“I assume you know who this girl is.”
“Princess Mystaya,” Eilidh said.
“Ah, honesty. Good. That will save time.”
“There's no point lying about it. We are here on behalf of Prince Garald to negotiate for the freedom of the princess.”
Suddenly, Mystaya screamed, “Vorden!” and the kidnapper instinctively looked her way, betraying recognition of his name in the process.
The green scaled monster backhanded her across the face and moved his dagger to prick her throat and bring forth a drop of blood.
Mystaya glared but refused to give him the satisfaction of crying out. “Master?” the creature asked.
Eilidh’s party all cried out, “No!” and thankfully Vorden agreed with the sentiment.
“Not this time, but this is your last warning, girl! Your next word will be your last and you won’t even get to finish it!”
Chosen (Majaos Book 1) Page 23