The Bane of Karrak_Ascension II of III

by Robert J Marsters

  Lodren could see the disapproval on Faylore’s face and quickly changed the subject. “What do your people do for pleasure, Faylore?” he asked.

  Faylore, despite the fact that her sister had just been so cruelly insulted, composed herself and smiled at Lodren. “Unlike me, very few venture into the outside world. We love poetry, philosophy and craft. Many things occupy our time in Thedar.”

  “What do you mean by craft?” asked Grubb.

  “We make everything that we require. Our clothing, treehouses and pottery are all made by hand. But our smiths are exceptional, the most skilled in the world as you will see if you study my sword and bow.”

  “I have to admit, I don’t know much about weapons,” said Lodren. “All I know is my hammer.”

  “And a most impressive hammer it is, my friend,” said Faylore.

  Lodren had a dreamy look on his face. “Your history must be fascinating. Living in such a beautiful place with no magic, at peace with your surroundings. A real home without petty squabbles.”

  “It has been chronicled for generations. We have thousands of scrolls and tomes should you wish to read some of them,” she offered.

  “I’m not the best reader, Your Majesty. Recipes and the like are my kind of thing. Don’t think I could read thousands of scrolls.”

  “Well, the offer’s there if you wish to accept, Lodren. A thousand-year-old scroll may be of some interest even to you,” she added.

  “A thousand-year-old scroll!” exclaimed Lodren.

  “We have others that far pre-date that, hundreds of them in fact.”

  “How do you manage to keep them that long? Don’t they dry out and crumble?”

  “We have our ways, a process that was first thought of by one of my ancestors, King Peneriphus. He wrote everything down. Even in advanced old age, he would urgently demand a quill and parchment. It was a shame for him in the end, apparently most of his texts were thought to be the ramblings of a senile old soul, but no one ever had the heart to destroy them. They’re all still in the archives, even his prophecies of doom.”

  “Do you keep any pets?” asked Grubb.

  “No. Beasts roam freely in Thedar, we do not hold with the domestication of any animal.”

  “I mean horses and ponies and the like?” emphasised Grubb.

  “None that you would recognise and none are tame. They aid us should we have need and we compensate them for their trouble.”

  “Why wouldn’t we recognise them?” asked Lodren. “What are they?”

  “Well, dragons of course.”

  ***

  “Should I take the Tallarans Eye with me, Emnor?” asked Yello. “It may save time.”

  “Oh no, Yello, I know you too well to allow that,” replied Emnor. “The minute you lay your hands on one of Karrak’s belongings, you’ll be off to face him on your own, you silly old fool.”

  “Who are you calling old…?” laughed Yello, “… I’m younger than you.”

  “I know, and I’d be a sillier, older fool if I let you take the Tallarans Eye.”

  “I hate the fact that you know me so well, Emmy.”

  “I know. But it’s kept you alive more than once, and for that very reason, you should be grateful.”

  “Why don’t I just go with you?” Jared asked Yello.

  “Because Karrak is more likely to attack Borell Castle if he knows that you and your father are inside. No, you stay here for now, Jared, where you’re safe,” interrupted Emnor, not allowing Yello the opportunity to reply.

  “Safe?” scoffed Jared. “You do remember what happened here, don’t you? A hundred wizards couldn’t stop him last time, Emnor. What chance do you think we’ll have if he decides to come back?”

  “He won’t return. He already has what he came for. I don’t know where his next target will be, but rest assured, it won’t be Reiggan Fortress.”

  “Have you considered the fact that he may have already attacked Borell Castle?” asked Hannock quietly.

  Jared had not only considered it, he had agonised over it from the moment he had entered Reiggan. He had tried to convince himself that now that Karrak had acquired the Elixian Soul, he would no longer be interested in the acquisition of Borell. Surely, there were far greater riches to be had elsewhere? But, try as he might, the danger to his father and his subjects haunted his thoughts. “Just be as fast as you can, Yello. Can you be back by nightfall?” he asked.

  “I’m not as young as I once was, Jared. It would have taken at least a day even then. Sorry, my friend, I’ll be gone for a couple of days at least,” he replied.

  “Well, perhaps we could send a couple of the younger men. They would be quicker, surely?” Jared suggested.

  “And an easier target for any sorcerers who follow Karrak,” said Emnor.

  Jared gave a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Sorry, I just hate to think of what Karrak is up to while we idle away our time in here.”

  “We’re hardly idling, Jared,” replied Emnor. “You need to hone your skills some more. It will be worthwhile, trust me.”

  “Right, I think I’m all set…” said Yello, “… wish me luck.” And with a shimmer, he disappeared.

  “I have to say, I’m not really interested in the whole magic thing, but that vanishing trick gets me every time,” chuckled Hannock.

  Emnor frowned at him. “It is not a trick, Captain. It is one of the most difficult spells for any wizard to learn. Something that Jared, you know, the prince, is about to discover.”

  Hannock snorted and marched off. Picking up his crossbow, he aimed at a target at the far end of the courtyard and continued with his archery practise. Squeezing the trigger gently, he released the bolt. It flew toward the target on course for the bullseye, but a split second before it struck, it was turned to ash by a firebolt. Turning quickly, he saw Drake swinging his arms nonchalantly. “I suppose you think that’s funny?”

  “Who me, Captain Sir…?” Drake replied, grinning, “… I didn’t do anything.”

  Emnor and Jared laughed. Witnessing Drake’s devilment was the light relief they had needed. The next few minutes consisted of Hannock berating Drake and Drake vehemently denying any involvement in the destruction of the bolt.

  “You’re off your rocker, you are. As if I could blast a crossbow bolt out of the air. Who do you think I am, Emnor?” yelled Drake.

  Emnor steered Jared away from the verbal duellists so as to allow them to argue uninterrupted. “I trust you are still wearing the talisman I gave you, Jared?” he asked.

  “Of course, I am,” replied Jared. “You told me never to remove it.”

  “Good, very good. It will aid you in the days to come.”

  “I had a feeling that it was more than a simple talisman,” said Jared.

  “Of course, you did. I wouldn’t waste my time on an idiot,” snorted Emnor.

  “So what does it do?” Jared asked.

  “Nothing, but then again, everything,” replied Emnor.

  Jared smiled, “Oh, I remember these, the barmpot days. I hold such fondness of their memory.”

  “You’re not ten anymore, Jared, be serious,” Emnor said, sternly. “What I meant was, that it has a single purpose. It is a magical enhancement.”

  “Oh my! The possibilities are endless,” said Jared, sarcastically.

  “Jared! We are, I mean you are, about to attempt your first unaided relocation spell,” snapped Emnor. “Concentrate on any point in the courtyard. You must, at first, be able to see your destination. Once you feel confident enough, imagine yourself in that place and you will be transported to it. Now, we don’t have the time for you to study the technique of others so you’re just going to have to try for yourself, understand? Clasp the talisman, it should give you a boost.”

  Drake was now free of Hannock’s abuse and he couldn’t help overhearing, well, eavesdropping on, the conversation between Jared and Emnor. He nudged Harley and nodded toward Jared. Harley, in turn, got the attention of Alex and Xarran and t
hey too, now watched in anticipation.

  Jared took hold of the talisman and in a split second began to wobble animatedly from side to side. This was followed by twitching and jerking that then developed into him thrashing about violently as if he was being jostled by an invisible, angry mob. Two large grooves were left in the ground as he started to slide forward. Leaning back and digging his heels in had no effect as he gained velocity and was now headed rapidly for the wall at the other side of the courtyard, a cloud of dust pluming behind him. He babbled faster and faster, his words completely incoherent as he zoomed toward his fate. There was a loud thud as he hit the wall. Jared remained there momentarily, twitching slightly and groaning. He stared up at the wall, trying to fathom out what he had done wrong. He turned to face Emnor, still gripping the talisman. He pointed at the wall, grinned, and fell forwards flat on his face, out cold.

  Hannock sidled up to Emnor, hands clasped behind his back and nudged the old wizard with his shoulder. “So, tell me something, old chap,” he asked, “did that go according to plan?”

  ***

  Faylore, Lodren and Grubb had now been in the rainforest for three days. To Faylore, it was no hardship. She was familiar with the terrain and the horrendous torrential downpours. Sad to say, her friends were not. Yes, they had both been in similar situations with adverse weather conditions before, but not for so prolonged a period. Even the ever-cheerful Lodren was showing signs that he was becoming a little tired of it. Normally, very careful with his pots and pans, he had now begun to slam them down whenever he prepared a meal for them, which was most uncharacteristic. Grubb, however, was his usual self, he always moaned and complained, so the change in him was barely noticeable.

  “How much longer have we to put up with this rain, Faylore?” groaned Lodren. “My backpack weighs twice what it should. It’s so wet, you could wring it out like a rag.”

  Sympathy was not something that Faylore offered often, and a little rainwater was hardly the end of the world in her eyes anyway. “Not long now,” she replied. “It should clear by this afternoon.”

  “Good. My Buster hasn’t been properly dry for days, poor fella,” chuntered Grubb.

  As Faylore had suggested, the rain eased off by mid-morning. It was obvious that the trees were thinning, but the air rapidly grew colder as they reached the edge of the forest. A light frost was on the ground and small puddles were covered by ice as the travellers emerged from the dense bushes that grew there. Lodren and Grubb were not prepared for what they were about to see. Before them was a desolate scene, for miles there was nothing. The ground was flat, a white plateau as far as the eye could see, covered with ice.

  “I thought you said your homeland was all warm with trees an’ sunshine,” snapped Grubb.

  Faylore looked down at the Vikkery and raised her eyebrows in disapproval at his tone. “And it is,” she replied haughtily. “This is not my homeland, we are still weeks away. At least, we would be, were we to walk the rest of the way.”

  “Well, what do you suggest we do, fly?” asked Grubb, sarcastically. “I know I can if I need to, but you can’t.”

  “We’ll discuss it later, Grubb. For now, let us continue our journey. Two more days and it will be much easier for you both, and your beloved Buster, of course.”

  “Fantastic! First, we nearly drown with all the rain, now we’re goin’ to freeze to death. I’m so glad I came along, wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

  “Stop complaining, Grubb…” snapped Lodren, “… why don’t you shapeshift into that thing with the four arms? It’s covered with fur, that’ll keep you warm.”

  “I can’t,” replied Grubb quietly as he looked down at the ground.

  “What do you mean, you can’t? Have you forgotten how?” asked Lodren.

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten, you pillock,” snapped Grubb. “It’s just that… well… it scares Buster when I change into that.”

  Lodren was lost for words, he turned away from Grubb and looked up at Faylore, thinking that a change of subject was in order. “So, Your Majesty…” he began, “… if this isn’t your home, where are we?” he asked politely.

  “This is Ellan-Ouine. It means land of ice,” she replied.

  “Is that what it’s called in your language then, Thedarian language?”

  “No, Lodren, my native tongue is the same as yours. It is from the language of dragons. This is their homeland.”

  “You mean… dragons live here, and they can talk?” asked the Nibby, his eyes bigger than ever.

  Faylore laughed and smiled at Lodren. “That is precisely what I mean. You seem surprised.”

  “’ang on a minute!” yelled Grubb in a panic. “If they see Buster, they might try to eat him.”

  “They don’t eat horses or ponies, or sheep, or even cows for that matter,” said Faylore, frowning.

  “What do they eat then?” asked Lodren.

  Faylore paused for a moment as she looked at her two vertically-challenged friends. “Anyone less than five-foot-tall,” she sighed.

  “That’s not funny, Your Majesty,” snorted Lodren. “You shouldn’t make fun of Grubb like that.”

  “Would you listen to ’im…” said Grubb, “… you’re no six-footer yourself, stumpy.”

  Acting on Faylore’s advice, Grubb wrapped rags around Buster’s hooves to allow him more purchase on the ice and they set off across the barren wasteland. Lodren was still eager to hear all there was to learn on the subject of dragons. “Are they friendly?” he asked.

  “Not friendly as you would perceive, Lodren, but they leave us in peace, as we leave them. It is just a matter of mutual understanding and respecting one another’s borders, nothing more,” she replied.

  “But what do they do for you?” he asked. “You said before that they help you.”

  “Our borders are safe, but we allow them to patrol occasionally. It gives them the sense that we are under their protection.”

  “But you don’t really need looking after, do you?” asked Lodren.

  “No, of course not. Dragons like to think of themselves as intellectuals. They believe they know best, whatever the subject. We simply allow them that belief.”

  “You mean they’re a bit thick,” stated Grubb, abruptly.

  “No, Grubb, far from it,” Faylore quickly replied. “Why do you think they live here?”

  “’Cos they like the cold?” Grubb suggested.

  “Quite the contrary,” replied Faylore. “They hate the cold. It’s the reason they breathe fire, to keep themselves warm in their caves.”

  “So, why don’t they move somewhere warmer?” asked Lodren, baffled by the illogical actions of the dragons. “It’s obvious. If you hate the cold, go somewhere warm!”

  “They would never be left in peace, Lodren, that’s why. Apparently, they have tried to settle in many places. Whenever they are discovered, people want to see them, or even worse, kill them.”

  “So, they live out here because nobody wants to come out into the frozen lands?” asked Lodren, the realisation dawning on his face.

  “Precisely,” replied Faylore.

  “What a shame for them. All they want is to be left alone,” Lodren sighed heavily. “Why would anyone want to kill a dragon? They sound lovely.”

  “Oh, shut yer face, Lodren! He’s lovely, she’s lovely, everybody’s bloomin’ lovely!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Yello held his hand to his chest as he struggled for breath. He had not been exaggerating when he had emphasised how strenuous relocation spells were. A strain with which Jared was becoming fully and painfully aware. In the distance, Yello could see the towers of Borell Castle. He had hoped to appear right outside the gates, but his failing strength had caused him to fall a little short of his mark.

  Sitting on a hillock, he gazed at the impressive façade of the Dunbar Kingdom. Generally, Yello would not be seen in the company of royalty, in fact, he was not the sort who wished to mix with anyone, save one or two of his
oldest, closest friends. Emnor being his closest. He smiled as he reminisced, the memories of their youth flashing through his mind. To look at him now one would have believed that he had always been a serious, determined old man. When in reality, in his youth, he had been a bit of a thrill-seeker. Whenever there was a perilous encounter of any kind, from subduing a rogue sorcerer or dangerous beast to a simple tavern brawl, you could rest assured that he was in the thick of things.

  The castle was unusually quiet. Should he walk the remainder or take a brief respite, then appear within the castle grounds? He decided on the latter, far more impressive for a wizard to appear out of thin air. ‘Always put on a bit of a show if you’re able’ had been the motto of one of his masters centuries before, one he had lived up to whenever possible. Yello’s leg ached. Grubb had done a fine job with its repair, but at his age the natural healing process took a little longer than it used to. Reaching into his bag, he drew out the Abigail’s Mercy and took a small sip. Just to take the edge off the pain, he thought. The potion had the desired effect and, almost immediately, he stood up as his strength began to return. With a deep sigh, he disappeared.

  He appeared seconds later, enveloped by a cloud of bright lilac smoke, an effect that he had perfected centuries before. Now, standing in the centre of the castle courtyard, he waited for the cries of the castle guard for him to stand fast and identify himself, or perhaps the cry of someone who had been startled by his appearance, but as the smoke cleared, he found the courtyard completely deserted.

  No guards, no squires nor serfs were there to witness his grand entrance. Slightly perplexed, he wandered around for a few moments. Maybe there was someone in the wooden hut on the far side? he thought. He entered, but found no one. He headed for the castle. Only then did he realise that something was very wrong. There was no sound, no voices, no noise of everyday life, nothing. Being unfamiliar with the layout of the castle was a problem in itself. Should he turn left or right? Should he take that passage or the one in the other direction? Borell was vast, but after half an hour, Yello still found no sign of life.