Gifts of Vorallon: 03 - Lord of Vengeance

by Thomas Cardin

  All along the hall, only a few blows brought down the monstrous skeletons after their brutal heating and freezing. Of the many ogre and troll defenders nothing but shards remained. The only wounds their forces suffered were a few scratches from the sharp edges of flying bone.

  A distant howl of rage came to their ears through the very stone of the castle. We come for you next, monster!

  chapter 15

  THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE SECRET

  Last Day of the Moon of the Thief

  -inside Blackdrake Castle

  Iris’s eyes widened to huge green pools surrounded by stark white. “I think we just made him mad.”

  To the extent that Lorace searched, nothing could be seen of any other ambushes or undead. The blight lurked just beyond the harsh glare of the glyph’s blue-white light. It had yet to come in behind them and cut him off from his channels of air. Tornin stepped close to the edge of the light and thrust out Defender of the Youngest, making it blaze. The black mass of malevolence leapt back in haste.

  “Happy?” Falraan asked him in a freezing tone when he returned to her side. “Do not dare to do that again, that is an order.”

  Tornin snapped into a salute with his glowing sword. “Yes, My Captain.”

  Lorace smiled at their exchange then turned back to the fore. “Let us move,” he called out. “Keep close to the light of the glyphs—and Tornin’s blade.”

  As the column marched forward, he advanced his companions to just behind the leading dwarves, bringing all the leaders of the expedition together again. “Good work everyone. Keep your minds working for other excellent ideas like freezing the blighted skeletons. It may have seen much of our abilities, but it cannot know what we are truly capable of when we use our heads.”

  “There is nothing more challenging than fighting an intelligent foe,” Moyan said with a grin. “I hope that what we fight figures that out just a moment too late.”

  “Just make sure it is not us that make that mistake,” Adwa-Ki warned. “There are mysteries facing us that demand our attention; what has become of all the risen dead and other creatures overcome with blight? Beyond the birds and the sea creatures, we have seen very few of the blighted life of Ousenar.”

  Lorace nodded. “This disturbs me as well. My sight has revealed nothing beyond the ambush we defeated, but I have not pressed into the depths of the castle. The tracks and dirt continues, leading me to believe that we will face a mass of blighted creatures and risen dead at some point below.”

  “Perhaps they create a final barrier against us,” Prince Wralka said while his hands twisted on the grip of his hammer, “but I feel largely ignored. Birds, fish? A few ogres and trolls? Each of our steps should be opposed. That we are not tells me we are not considered more than a token threat.”

  “We know what we must do,” Adwa-Ki said. “Yet we have not thought of what its plans are. There is only the obvious attack of the blight on Vorallon.”

  “There is another purpose to the blighted creatures,” Iris said as she stepped over a half-trampled shard of ogre skull. “It does not want to sacrifice them to Falraan’s fire. They are not here delaying us because they are too valuable for this other purpose.”

  Lehan nodded, confirming the truth of this. Hethal kept his eyes focused forward and declined to make any form of comment.

  Lorace mulled Iris’s words over as they continued in silence. She and Adwa-Ki were right, the Undead God or the Devourer had another purpose for the horde he had seen from afar. He could fathom no other reason for the empty rooms and side passages revealed by his sight.

  The blight, however, was a constant and pressing threat. The black foulness of it was thickening. Ahead was the transition to the dragon-wrought stone of the original castle. The blight was thickest at that point, a deeper blackness than the stone itself. Lorace noted Hethal drawing close to the light of the lead glyph as they approached the glassy black stone.

  Moyan drew up beside him. “This hall leads straight to the great spiral concourse which descends down to the level of the throne room. We are at the end of what has been added by the hands of men. The passage broadens from here for it was built to allow Kamunki room to travel to and from his lair.”

  The march slowed. The priestess bearing the lead glyph held its light up high, forcing the blight to sluggishly retreat before its brilliance. It oozed back into the black stone as Lorace halted the column a mere step before the transition. The ranks of dwarves parted to create a passage for him as he continued to the front.

  Adwa-Ki glided up beside him and removed a doeskin glove from one finely tapered hand.

  “No!” Oen cried as he too pressed toward Lorace. “I see corruption in this stone, there is foulness inherent in it. Adwa-Ki, you must not touch it. This is Vorallon’s wound that will not heal!”

  “That it is,” Lehan added from behind him. “Lorace, your action is needed here to relieve Vorallon’s pain.”

  Lorace removed Sakke Vrang from his waist and raised an eyebrow at Hethal. “This will not destroy the castle will it?”

  “Not immediately,” the monk of Lorn said with a smug grin.

  Returning Hethal’s grin, Lorace embraced his tranquility and lowered an end of the chain to the black stone. Sakke Vrang coruscated with golden sparks. Lorace’s sight showed the blight within the stone drawn into the chain. Though the blight attempted to draw back, it could not fight the hungry pull. All of the blight that existed within the stone was doomed. Lorace cringed and shook at the bitter sting that flowed into him, but he held it within the vastness of his tranquility until it purified, transforming into raw strength.

  Vorallon spoke within his calm. The Dreadful Other has been feeding blight into these stones for ages! He buried it deep and dormant within until it could be released by his returning champion.

  With severe determination, Lorace drove Sakke Vrang to even greater effort to reach deep into the massive pile. He drew out the corruption wherever it hid, bearing all the sting and bitterness into his infinite tranquility. The whole of the original construction of Blackdrake was one contiguous mass of dragon-wrought stone. From this point, Sakke Vrang drained everything it could of the blight within. Only that which had already escaped the black stone remained free from the chain’s remorseless pull.

  Iris gasped then cried out as a tremble wracked through Lorace’s body. She reached out to him, but Lehan clapped a hand on her arm and held her back.

  “Only he can transmute this foulness,” Lehan said as she tried to pull from his grip. “It is not beyond him, but it will push him to his limits.”

  She relaxed and let him draw her away, as calmness washed over her. The entire force linked to Lorace’s spirit experienced the cleansing of the ancient foulness from the stone. After the calm came vigorous strength as Lorace’s shoulders squared up and his chest rose and fell with a deep breath. The dwarves rattled their shields in exultation that lifted her to the tips of her toes.

  Iris could not look away from her mate. Despite their link, he had shielded them from any hint of the pain he had endured. He would never share the agonies he faced, only his calm and strength, only his joys. Even as he opened his eyes and smiled at her, her concern for him grew.

  Another deep howl of rage, coupled with pain, ascended to her ears from below. Iris swallowed hard and turned her face toward the black walls to hide her fear from him.

  Sakke Vrang balked at interrupting the flow of blight from the Devourer himself. Something in that brief touch of the chain’s influence upon the fiend caused Sakke Vrang to chill in his hands. The godstone remembered its close contact with the demon spirit of Tezzirax. Lorace clenched the chain tighter, but lifted it free of the stone.

  “I am coming for you now, monster,” Lorace said with grim certainty. The sheer power within him now threatened his own mortality. The warmth strained his body against all limits. He funneled more of the excess off into the concert of spirits, but many of them were already at their limits as well. I
must hold all I can bear for what comes, he thought with cool resolve.

  “Lorace, look at the stone, it has changed,” Iris gestured at the black stone of the walls. The stone now had a translucency to it, where before it had been the utter black of obsidian. Lorace could sense Iris’s shiver at what had been so close to her for the years she lived within the brooding fortress. This was what had driven Hethal back toward the glyph’s light as they had approached the original structure. His vision had shown him the foulness that lived within the stone.

  He had purified the stone of blight, but the threat to Vorallon had not changed. The tendrils of undeath still sought out his core, and they remained anchored to the Devourer in the throne room below.

  Adwa-Ki knelt to touch her bare hand to the glassy stone and gasped. She pulled away and shook her head to clear the horror written on her face. “Lorace, I require your blessing. None should know the hate that was held within this stone. Hate of everything. Hate of life—of us. It exists only to break us.”

  Lorace reached out to clasp her hand in his, allowing Sakke Vrang to pull the hatred from her through this contact. He drew out the pain of hundreds of years and released it to the cold coals of his rage, never to be forgotten. Let this be my only concession to vengeance.

  “Is the blight gone now?” Moyan asked as Lorace led the column into the wider hall of dragon-wrought stone.

  He shook his head. “The blight still lingers, it flows from the Devourer and the pit he stands above. Any that was not in direct contact with the stone also remains free, but it hides, seeking deep places.”

  The column took a moment to close ranks. The passage ahead could hold twenty or more men abreast. Prince Wralka assembled his entire force of dwarves to the front with a few low-voiced commands, and they continued onward.

  They reached the descending concourse, a great ramp that drilled downwards. The hoof prints and dirt they had first seen within the entry remained in evidence.

  Burning with power that filled the air with golden sparks of his spirit, Lorace stepped past the ranks of wary dwarves, and led everything he valued, more than his own life, downward. Enormous scratches gouged the smooth stone of the walls and the ramp, stone that the tools of men could not mar. The memory of Kamunki’s countless passages in and out of his lair clawed into the stone. The spirit of Kamunki awaits me. He squared his shoulders and refused to slacken his pace.

  They circled downward for what seemed an eternity, the weight of the castle growing heavier upon them. The air thickened with the smell of decay and rot. At the bottom, the great hall was built to an even grander scale. From the base of the concourse to the throne room, the hall was broad and straight. Countless side passages pierced the hall, but his sight revealed nothing lurking within the many twists and turns and dead end chambers.

  The Devourer snarled at him when Lorace’s sight came close to the throne room, but there was no hiding their presence from one another any longer. He looked out further, to the surface of Vorallon and across the extent of Ousenar. Many small pockets of blight remained, seeking new hiding places. There were no signs of any men or beasts anywhere, neither was there any sign of life. Nothing remained alive in Ousenar. The only traces of the thousands of undead cattle and men that had descended to the depths of the castle were the prints and dirt tracked upon the floor.

  He turned to Hethal and Lehan. “We are almost upon him. Is there anything else you can share with me before I face him?”

  “I cannot tell you what you must do,” Hethal said. “But I can tell you that you are going to fight more than just the Devourer and the will of the Undead God.”

  “Can I possibly have any choices left?” Lorace asked. “Success or failure is not a choice.”

  “Yes, but know there are many ways you can succeed,” Hethal said, his voice lowered to a whisper. “Some bear a cost that may be worse than failure.”

  “Some victories are greater than others,” Lorace said, recalling Jorune’s parting words.

  “The path to the greatest victory will be the hardest of them all,” Lehan said to his back.

  Iris looked down the narrow passage that led to her former chambers. Her furnishings sat where she had shoved them out in the hallway to clear space for the spell of distant travel. Chests full of books containing arcane knowledge from the far corners of the world drew her toward them, but she made no move to step free from the column. She looked up to find Lorace’s gaze upon her, he felt her yearning through their link.

  That treasure of knowledge reached out to her, tomes and scrolls written by fledgling mages who had defied all to study the art of channeling the spirit of Vorallon. Those men named it magic and wizardry, never knowing that the true source of their power was the life essence of the world. The gods destroyed those who stole magic from Vorallon and bent it toward corruption, like the wizard Losqua. Their instruments of vengeance were their chosen godstone heroes.

  This was Lorace’s destiny. His task was to be vengeance against anything that would harm the spirit of Vorallon. Iris’s mind drifted back to those days before his chain had cleansed her of her fears, when her only release was within those tomes of knowledge. How close had she come to twisting Vorallon’s magic into something corrupt? She turned her back on those reminders of her past. If it was possible to survive what they faced, her life would be in Halversome raising their daughter, not here lurking in these grim halls and pouring through dusty scrolls refining formulas and spells.

  Lorace looked upon Iris and sighed. She would not seek those books again, not of her own doing, so great was her revulsion of her past. He groaned inside as she turned her back on those treasures, leaving them to rot in this pit. Do not make that sacrifice, Iris. Vorallon wants you to herald his spirit. Magic is his legacy to you.

  Lorace shook himself of these thoughts. There will be time afterward.

  He took a moment to pull down more air from his channels and funnels, blowing away the stench of death and building up a fresh reserve of air. It was a large area down here, but it would require a huge volume of air to create the forces he may have to bring to bear. I need to take this battle elsewhere! He dismissed this thought as well, everything completes here, where it began ages ago in Vorallon’s memory.

  Turning to the precious few who arrayed themselves at the bottom of the concourse, he addressed everyone, “None of your weapons will harm the Devourer. Your magic will not affect him—he will only feed upon it. However, you will be a priceless advantage to me. Direct your will to me, to be my wards as the glyphs of Halversome were against the horde of Nefryt. This is our last secret we withhold from the presence within.”

  “Lorace,” Iris said as she embraced him in a tight hug. “You are wrong. We hold another secret: we love you. Whatever is in there has no comprehension of this power. I will pit my love for you against the might of a dreadful god and you will triumph.”

  “You are my own personal blessing, Iris,” Lorace whispered while she lingered in his arms. “There is still not enough air in the world for me to give voice to how much I love you.”

  “Then you shall have to use more than the air of just this world,” Iris stepped back and allowed his dearest friends to embrace him as well. Everyone had a word of confidence to share with him.

  The light of two suns sparkled in Adwa-Ki’s eyes as she told him, “Do not be shaken in your convictions, you are meant to succeed here.”

  “Your spirit is ablaze,” Oen said as he clapped strong arms about him. “You are the true warden of Vorallon now. Nothing will withstand your light.”

  Finally, only Sir Rindal and Tornin stood before him, swords drawn. “We fight at your side,” Sir Rindal said, his eyes once more turned to steel. “We are both sworn to defend you.”

  Lorace shook his head. “Your will is the sharper weapon for this fight, Sir Rindal. I shall rely on it heavily for none other has the focus that you are gifted with.”

  He let that word sink in to the paladin. Sir Rindal’s ey
es narrowed, but no surprise showed on his face.

  “Yes, you are gifted,” Lorace continued. “It is your will alone that was able to trigger the wards of Halversome and direct them as you saw fit. The words the Lady told you are nonsense; ask Iris or the priests who wield these glyphs. It is your gift to empower others, to empower godstone beyond all limits. I would use that gift, drive the strength of my chain beyond all else as I use it to flay the spirit of the Devourer, the spirit that was Tezzirax, and before that Kamunki—the original source of all Vorallon’s pain. Will you stay back from this fight and do that for me, my protector?”

  Sir Rindal knelt and bent his head low, laying Brakke Zahn before Lorace’s feet. “To the last, my Lord.”

  He turned to Tornin. “I would ask the same of you and your sword, I will need its power and vigor, but more, I need you to ward your wife, she is the Fist of Vorallon and will need your protection. I know you are sworn to protect me, and I have not forgotten that I named you my first paladin. Serve me in this for you have another charge as well, Sir Knight. You ward the Voice of Vorallon, my own mate and mother of my child. Will you stay and guard these precious treasures, my friend, my defender?

  “My destiny is forever bound to yours,” Tornin said as he too knelt and offered his sword.

  “Are you going to challenge the Devourer to a fair fight as well?” Oen asked with a thin smile.

  “No, this is going to be anything but fair,” Lorace replied, his eyes narrowing. “He must answer for inflicting pain to Vorallon for ages, and laying waste to much of the world. Indeed his foulness has put this entire universe at dire risk. Compared to that, the ravages of Lord Aizel amounted to no more than a rabbit loose in a vegetable garden.”