by Jason Jones
“Thank you, and farewell Vanessa. Enjoy your whorish fate.” Eliah Shendrynn stood, smiled, and vanished with arcane power. A small flicker of purple dust settled to where he once had been. He was gone.
Still confused, half in shock and dream, she stood. Vanessa looked around the empty ruins that shook in the night. Her scimitar was out in a flash as something broke the ground behind her, something large. Then ahead of her, and then on all sides it trembled and shook as many things ripped up through the very earth.
“Ogre could not have gotten here so quickly, nor the trolls. Show yourself beast, for you will find me no easy kill!” Vanessa balled a bit of arcane flame in her hand and twirled her steel as the rumbling grew closer.
Shadows grew, like giant snakes from a horrible nightmare, and they came closer. She tried to magically vanish herself from her spot in between them all, yet her spell was disrupted by a strange sorcerous whisper. The tentacles grew closer, it was no dream. As thick as castle towers, black and sickly gray with slime, the writhing behemoth tentacles encircled her. They did not touch her, just curled and moved to surround her, three of them, and they whispered yet had no mouths. They saw her, yet had no eyes. She ran, yet another one was waiting for her. They were everywhere, long as galleons and thick as ancient trees. Vanessa was trapped.
Come with me, my scarred beauty, I am below now…come with me…Do not make me take you by force…
It was a voice she had heard before. Raspy, old, it was Salah Cam. The tentacles could crush her in a moment, she knew, and she was alone. One of the tentacles wiggled and flattened a bit, and edged toward her feet. Vanessa felt a tear come to her eye, yet she held back. She had no choice.
Sapphire of the East sheathed her scimitar, and stepped onto the grotesque appendage, her boots sinking in a bit to the soft wet flesh. It flattened more, curled up around her as if to make a chair out if its tip in which for her to sit. She sat, her robes already wet, now covered with a film of slime. The tentacle, like the others, withdrew into the earth, slowly, and all went dark.
Such wonders I must show you, Vanessa, such things you will want to see. Below here lies power the likes you have never dreamed. And now, it is mine, all mine…you will see and stay with me as my apprentice, forever…
The whispering words of Salah Cam finally overpowered her resistance. The tear fell onto her scarred cheek. She felt her magic would not get past the forces around her, there was nowhere to run, and nothing to do but wait. Vanessa watched as the dark tunnel opened into an orange light. Closer, then lower, the tentacles had no end it seemed. Deep under Arouland she went, to a place with no stairs, to where she would never be found.
My body has been most busy to where it fell, months ago now. It seems it is not alone in the depths of these ruins…
She stifled a scream, and closed her eyes. For a moment, as she passed out of the underground tunnel, she thought she saw the rotted face of Salah Cam. It looked massive, like a giant gray and black mound of flesh in the bottom of a fiery pit surrounded by flowing lava. She thought she had seen hundreds of tentacles, of every size, some thousands of feet long sprouting from this face that was as large as a palace.
“This is not real, just an illusion, it’s not real Vanessa.” She opened her eyes after speaking to herself aloud.
“No, it is all too real…come to me…” The corrupted necrotic mass that looked as Salah Cam smiled, and spoke with its mouth of hundreds of feet in width, deep in the cavern far under the earth. The tentacle brought her lower, closer, and then she screamed like there was no tomorrow.
“Do not be afraid of me, Vanessa.” Salah Cam winked with his black eye he had formed in this ancient creature that he now was a part of. His body had been very busy, corrupting this titan of the deep places the past months. It was as if it wanted his spirit, a conscience, it craved the completion. So, he did what any old necromancer without a body would have. Now, he was it, it was him, there was no arcane bond or trick here.
“I will need you for many things, I am not going to consume you.”
The mouth that spoke right below her had teeth as large as bridges, the tentacle held her right above it, and she was paralyzed with fear of being eaten. She trembled, pushed back with her feet, but there was nowhere to go besides an endless lake of slime that was burning with orange flames on the surface.
“You, you are not going to kill me?” She stuttered.
“Not unless you disobey. Ha ha ha ha…ha, ha!!!!”
Salah Cam laughed so hard that chunks of rock fell from his echoes, the underground sea of flame sloshed with the vibration of his words, and he curled his massive appendages in delight. He was but a thing of flesh with tentacles and a face, no arms, no legs, not even a head or neck. Yet in all his old ages of searching for eternity darkly, he had never felt so young and powerful.
Vanessa screamed, Salah Cam mocked and screamed with her, much louder, and the flames danced upon the mucous lake, far below any known civilization.
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Johnas blocked the broadsword with his slender shield, yet he felt the blow even in his armored forearm. The blade of his uncle slashed overhead, a weak feint, and then turned to a backhanded cut. Johnas parried with his longblade, riposted with a lunge, then marched the king back with slashes and attacks directed toward his swordarm. Mikhail was tired, slowing, he saw it. He also saw the emotional victory, already taking place in the hearts of his enemy.
Lord Corey and Lord Burraine were dead, Sir Jallan of Hurne had surrendered, and Lord Dimitri of Addisonia had been captured. General Fandruss of Loucas was on a bloody knee, surrounded by fifty men, alone and without a blade. He had killed Lord Unarvin the traitor, bravely on the field, yet Johnas cared not. The panthers of Farrigus had done their work, obliterating in grotesque savagery the Vallakazz forces. The prince knew they had retreated or been killed, no sign of Shilde nor Lazlette.
The worst blow however, was when the men of Chazzrynn saw Lord Alexei T’Vellon of Southwind fall from the north wall. Now less than three hundred men, led by Marcus Mederris and King Mikhail Salganat, were surrounded by nearly two legions. His gates were closed, his men were finishing the bloody battle in the courtyard, and he had more soldiers scouting the surrounding area for any enemy survivors. Johnas fought his own grin, knowing he had Bryant as well, and the kingdom was as good as his. He tried not to stare at the crown atop the helm of the man he fought at this moment.
“Surrender, uncle. Think of your men and---“
“Never!”
Mikhail swung low, spun with his shield to smash Johnas in the face, then twirled his broadsword in a turn to take his head. He stumbled forward, his shield caught but air, and his blade was parried. His breaths came in heaving gasps, hours of battle had taken their toll. The king ducked the longsword, then blocked another attack with his falcon crested shield, then countered and regained his footing. His blade met the shield of Johnas, then he roared in pain.
Johnas Valhera stepped back after he had cut the hand of his uncle, he waited for that anger filled counterattack. It came, twice, then four times he backed up and avoided each attack as the king swung wildly and bled the ground. The prince waited, then stepped up fast with an underhanded swing that knocked the broadsword high. Then he raised his shield, stepping up close, face to face, his green eyes inches from Mikhail’s blue angry glare. Johnas spun as his uncle’s blade came down on his shield. He saw Mikhail raise his own shield high to protect his neck, and then Johnas spun low instead. His longsword went under the shield at the completion of his turn full circle, and cut deep and wide, across the waist of king Mikhail.
Before Mikhail could even see the mortal wound, his arms went low on instinct, feeling the rush of blood down his legs. Then his felt steel pierce his chest, right below his collarbone, on his right side. His air let out, his muscles tightened, and he fell to the ground as the blade pulled free from his body. He kept one hand on his split abdomen, and the other reach
ed for his crown before it rolled too far from his head. His fingers touched it, yet it was picked up by Johnas Valhera.
“That would be mine, uncle.” Johnas held the crown in his hand, then kicked Mikhail in the stomach as he squirmed for a dagger from his belt. Johnas knelt and whispered.
“Well fought, and entertaining to say the least. Stay with me now, we are not done yet.”
Johnas Valhera stood up, lifted his arm high with the crown of Chazzrynn, then raised his bloody longsword to the night sky aglow with fires and torches from every corner. His eyes caught Mikhail still reaching a trembling hand for his bloody belt, the dagger was freed. He stepped on it, then slid it with a shuffling kick across the cobblestone.
“Your king is dead, your army is defeated, surrender and you may receive the kings’ mercy!” He yelled it over the remaining melee, like a lion released from a cage. Johnas placed the crown on his head as his men, beasts, and masked agents, cheered into the dark and crimson stained courtyards of Castle Valhera.
“Hail! Hail! Hail!”
“Your rule…will not…last…someone…will kill you…” Mikhail felt his body growing cold, his blood was warm though, as it drained to the stone. His hand holding the wound would not move, he felt his insides would release if he did.
“Doubtful. Still, stay alive Mikhail. I want you to see your only son hang from my walls before I take your head.” Johnas smiled and wiped his blade with his cape. “The end of house Salganat, and you are the guest of honor. Now, it is the age of house Valhera, as it should have been. Glory to Chazzrynn.”
The men of Valhirst took prisoners, disarmed the few remaining men, and secured the castle. General Fandruss, Marcus Mederris, Sir Jallan, and Lord Dimitri were marched past the now shivering Mikhail Salganat. They fought to be free, to have a word, to even die by his side. All they saw was their king reach his trembling fingers toward them, as if trying to touch them, yet he did not speak and they were carried off by their captors. They spat at Johnas Valhera as they passed, and in turn they received a brutal escort to the prisons below Valhirst.
“Bring me the heir prince, bring me Bryant Salaganat, and some rope!” The new king of Chazzrynn smiled as the cheers for more death, for the passing of power, and for his new kingdom to wash away the old issued into the dark above.
“Lord of Heaven…He who sacrificed all for man…kind, take me with honor…and protect…my son…Bryant. Alden…my only dying…wish…to die…well…without…fear of him being..harmed…Amen…”
Mikhail was whispering, but not by choice. His lung punctured, his body failing, his words came out low and raspy as his heart drummed slower and slower. The sign of the cross, from a blood covered trembling hand was made. He stared at the keep, where his men had been taken, sure he would see his beautiful boy brought before him soon. King or not, his tears fell at the thought of his son dying. No father ever wished to witness such things.
“Pray all you like, Mikhail, it is over. It is meant to be, or your pathetic faith in God would have done something by now.” Johnas knelt down upon a knee. “You see, uncle, men that want something, for themselves or others, they must take it. Taking and ruling are two very different things, yet when combined with unrestrained ambition, you have a formidable monarch, as in myself. Your reliance upon prayers and God, well, this is where that faith led you. Enjoy the show, Mikhail.”
Agents in black came from the keep, carrying a body that struggled and screamed in pain. Johnas smiled as he watched them march fast toward him. He heard Mikhail moan, heard his tears, and he smiled more. Two masked assassins rushed ahead to speak, Crimson of the North, Farrigus now, was walking behind them and adjusting a patch back over his white dead eye.
“News from the field, we have all the captains?”
“No, yourrr grrrace. The Lord of Southwind has escaped north, the remnants of Vallakazz to the west. I need my men, and some of yourrrs to hunt them down.” Farrigus purred and kept his distance, he knew what the agents had seen below. He wanted out of this city as fast as possible, for any reason.
“Granted. Alexei T’Vellon first, I will deal with Vallakazz soon enough. I want our betrayer to hang, that signed agreement of ours nailed to his forehead. Hurry, Crimson of the North, hurry.” Johnas nodded and turned toward the two nervous agents waiting to speak.
“Yes, yourrr majesty.” Crimson of the North needed no prod to get him out of Castle Valhera any faster, he knew to stay far away for now. Changing into a large panther once more, he sprinted on all fours out the south gates, heading north, half a legion of cats and soldiers following.
“Prince Johnas, there is something you need to----“
“That is King Johnas Valhera, your majesty, I dare say, unless you have forgotten recent events. String up Bryant there, in front of his father, quickly now, before he expires.” Johnas was alive with wicked energy, yet the screaming youth did not sound like Bryant, and there was a loud hum coming from the keep. His smile fell to a serious expression.
“This is not prince Bryant, your majesty, it is Oggidan Chilar. He is badly cut, and Vermillion of the South is---“
“Where is the heir prince?! Where is Vermillion?!” Johnas grabbed the agent and put his blade across the man’s neck.
“Your majesty, the heir prince is gone. An elf and a knight of Southwind had him, and escaped to the waters, your sword, the curvy one, is buried in the mouth of Vermillion and it is making a loud---“
“No!”
Johnas sliced the agents’ throat, then took his head off with one vicious backstroke of his longsword. Blood showered his face, the head fell next to Mikhail, the body slumped and spurted crimson onto the courtyard. Everyone backed away from king Johnas Valhera as he stalked toward the keep, then he stopped and turned.
“Thank you Alden…praise to you and to Heaven…thank you Lord…”
Mikhail sobbed, having heard his boy had escaped, he tried to thank Alden for Liogan Andellis and Lavress Tilaniun but the words faded beyond whisper.
Johnas nodded to his men, and dropped his shield. He placed two hands on the hilt of his blade, and marched forward without a word. His soldiers lifted the body of Mikhail Salganat, and placed him chest down over a barrel. They stepped aside as his insides fell out onto the cobblestone, his hand had been holding them in place. They stretched his arms behind his back, then rolled him over so his face stared up at their new king.
“My son will be king…your brother deserved…to die…you..” His words were too hard to project, his breath would not come, yet Mikhail smiled.
King Johnas Valhera looked down at Mikhail, and saw his uncle smile a knowing grin up to him. His breaths were short, fluttering, and he was covered in blood from battle. Johnas raised his blade, looked at the bulge in the outstretched neck, and cut down with a clean chop of steel.
Thump
Thump
The head of Mikhail Salganat rolled toward his feet, grinning, and eyes wide open. Johnas picked up the head by what gray hair remained, and carried it as he stepped toward his castle.
“Make sure he lives.” Johnas pointed to Oggidan as he passed.
“And if anyone interrupts me inside, I will take their head just as you witnessed here.”
No one spoke, no one moved, thousands just watched as their new king walked alone to where the sad humming noise and eerie green light was coming from. His shadows were huge, his head was low, and he spoke to no one.
King Johnas Valhera stalked into the darkness of his walls, the remains of his enemy in his hand, and the crown of Chazzrynn resting on his head. He went to see what had become of his brother, and what sorrows he would hear from his mother in the blade. Johnas hoped that she had not taken Jehrale inside the emerald, to be with her, for that could never be undone.
“All hail King Johnas Valhera!”
Hail!
Hail!
Hail!
The men shouted, raised blades, and watched their prince, now the king, walk into his throneroom. Th
ey saw him raise the head of Mikhail, but little more, and disappear to the shadows of Valhera Castle, in silence.
Intermezzo
South of Gillian
Shanador
My eyes close, head on my desk, in the study above ground. Nothing stirs, Alesandeir is asleep in his room, late into the night. The dreams have been calling as I decide to simply rest my eyes for a moment. It quickly turns to a vivid recollection, a nightmare of my past, like so many other nights. Though my purgatory is over, it is never forgotten. The memories are so real, perhaps it is this time, by chance, they have found me.
No, it the sleep that recalls, nothing more, Sodom.
…The flames are black and red as far as my eyes can see, the smoke that rises is death incarnate, and the black pits in the crimson stone swirl with screams from souls that endure torment like no other can imagine. It is Infiernum, the lowest pit of Hell, and in the valley of the throne of the fistborn son. Shukuru roars with a might that shakes all the seven Hells above his seat of power and damnation.
His throne, it is made of blackened feathers, the skeleton of a long dead serpent, golden skulls, and rises high into the black sky with inverted mountains. The mountains drip blood like rain, for tens of thousands hang in eternal damnation, from chains of green steel that burn them constantly in the horrid afterlife. They are squirming, shaking, hooks and blades of green at the ends of their chains, through them, hanging as trophies by uncountable thousands from these mountains. Shukuru spreads his bat like wings from his towering twenty feet in height, and at his whim, souls perish to nothingness.
I remember now when this was. Not the day or the year, for those things do not exist there. But, I recall this moment, and I will as long as I live. I am hiding, like so many others, as the Lord of Hell is never pleasant when angry. Yet, in my cavern in the mountain ceiling, I have learned to use my infernal magicks to a degree. My blood has dripped into a small fissure, from wounds of self inflicted nature, and I can see in the reflection of my crimson stain until it dries. I have been watching the world, from afar, hoping one day to see it again in the flesh. I am careful, only being caught and flogged on a few occasions, yet I have seen Agara once more, and it is worth the potential pain. Demons fly past by the thousands, still I stare into the view of the mortal world.