King Of The North (Book 3) (17 page)

"May the Great Mother welcome you, my friend," he whispered.

He turned and went to the stairway that Mahan had ascended earlier, intent on finding the Jindala man and ending his life. From the staircase's location, Garret guessed that it led to the tower that overlooked the town square. It would make a perfect place to ignite the rebellion with a dramatic signal.

Drawing his blade, Garret padded his way up the spiral staircase, sticking to the inside wall. He kept himself pressed flat with his hands out to the sides, blade ready to strike. After making a full revolution, the sound of voices echoed from the top, causing Garret to slow his pace and crouch low as he continued his climb.

After another revolution, he saw the shadow of a spear point coming around the corner on the outside wall. He stopped, gripping his left hand around his blade. When the spear appeared, he grabbed it with his right hand, then spun back, knocking the spear loose with his hip and striking with his blade. The Jindala groaned as he was disemboweled. Garret knocked him out of the way, leaping over the body as it tumbled down the stairs.

The second guard, stunned, managed to raise his spear only slightly before the assassin sliced off its tip and struck again with a backhand swipe at his leg. The guard let out a gulp, but was quickly silenced with an upward thrust through the gut. Garret smiled at the man as he casually tossed him aside to join his partner in the long tumble down.

Garret continued upward, making another turn around the staircase. The torches along the wall began to flicker, telling the assassin that the door to the uppermost room was open. If Mahan was awake, he had to have heard the short and furious scuffle, not to mention the sound of two armored guards tumbling down the stairs.

Garret crept upward, sliding across the inner wall to avoid casting shadows in the torchlight. It was effective, for the most part, but the hilt of his blade could be seen jutting out from the hard line of the wall’s shadow.

When he finally turned to face the door, his fears were realized. Mahan stood, sword in hand, awaiting the intruder. The man glared at Garret, with both an expression of fear, and a scowl of anger. His scimitar, jeweled and gilded, was pointed straight at Garret, and a dagger was in the other hand.

“Who are you?” Mahan demanded. “What are you doing here?”

Giving up on stealth, the assassin drew his blade, climbing the last few stairs and calmly walking in the open door. He said nothing, but blankly stared at Mahan, his blade hanging limp in his hand.

“Guards!’ Mahan called. “Guards!”

“They won’t come,” Garret said, flatly. “They took a tumble down the stairs. I’m quite surprised you didn’t hear them.”

“What do you want?” Mahan asked, shaking the point of his scimitar in Garret’s direction to emphasize the question.

“King Adolus asked me to kill you,” Garret replied. “I thought it was the least I could do after relieving him of his mortal coil.”

Mahan scowled, then furrowed his brow in fear. “You killed him?”

“Of course.”

Mahan began trembling, his scimitar’s point dancing wildly in small, shaking motions. Then, without a word, he lunged forward, attacking with a backhand slash.

Garret dodged, slapping the scimitar away with his blade. “You’ll have to be quicker than that,” he taunted.

“Go to Hell, assassin!” Mahan cursed, slashing again. Garret blocked and countered. His strike was blocked as well.

“That’s better,” he said.

Mahan growled, charging wildly, and slashing from side to side in surprisingly quick motions. Garret parried and countered each blow, and grinned as Mahan blocked each of his counters. Garret stepped back quickly, taking himself out of range as he circled around to stand in front of the door again.

Looking behind Mahan, he could see a balcony beyond a set of double doors. It no doubt overlooked the town square, where Tregar and his minions would be awaiting his signal. Garret grinned again as he decided that Mahan himself would be the signal.

“Stop smiling!” Mahan hissed. “There is nothing amusing!”

The Jindala attacked again with a diagonal downward slash. Garret blocked, locking blades with him and pushing him back. He unleashed his own barrage, striking with lightning speed and driving Mahan back even further.

“Who are you!?” Mahan demanded again.

Garret sliced from side to side, clashing blades with Mahan as he laughed and drove the man back through the double doors.

“Who sent you!?”

Garret laughed again, striking one final time. He alternated diagonal attacks, disarming Mahan with the first strike, and slashing through his leather jerkin with the second.

Mahan groaned as his sternum was split in two. He stumbled back against the balcony’s railing, never taking his eyes off of his killer. He struggled to speak, but his pain was too great. He merely coughed and wheezed as the blood filled his lungs.

“The Great Mother sent me,” Garret said, grabbing Mahan by the loose flap of his jerkin. He leaned Mahan over the railing, looking into his eyes as the man began to tremble.

“One last thing,” he said. “Be sure to pray to
The Lifegiver on your way down.”

Mahan’s eyes widened as Garret pushed him the rest of the way over the railing. His head hit the stone supports, causing him to flip into a feet first position as he began his fall. He screamed as he realized his predicament, wailing like a banshee on his way down.

Tregar stood with his companions near the town square. Townsfolk casually walked by, acknowledging him with a nod, and going about their business. All was quiet, for the most part, until a blood-curdling scream was heard from above.

Everyone looked up as Mahan’s body plunged into view and splattered on the stone. Jindala guards rushed to the body, glaring upward at the mysterious figure that stood at the balcony above.

Tregar looked to his companions, drawing his sword. “Well,” he laughed. “That works for me.”

Garret watched the chaos erupt below. Tregar’s men fell upon the guards, killing them quickly. More guards were rounding the corners and emerging from the alleyways, but it seemed that Tregar’s allies were everywhere. It was an epic battle, and Garret enjoyed watching the good people of Thyre engage in their much-awaited insurrection.

The deed was done.

Behind him, in the tower’s chamber, he heard the telltale sound of a vortex opening up. He turned, seeing the swirling mass of energy open into a deep blackness. Tiny points of light appeared in the darkness, twinkling like inviting candles on a cold, dark night.

Garret approached, waiting for the whirlpool of magic to fully open. Beyond, the Great Mother’s realm, and his next mission, awaited. With one last look behind him, he smiled, and jumped into the vortex.

The Devourer pulled itself onto the southern shore of Eirenoch, its long, spindly claws digging into the sand to drag its twisted, pale form over the beach. It was weak, barely able to maintain its own form, and struggled to gather strength from the sparse plants that grew among the rocks nearby.

Behind it, dead fish floated in the water, and all of the small creatures that lived on the shore scurried to escape its innate, life-drawing power. Like a Defiler, the Devourer had the power to steal life energy, but, unlike the Defilers, it was a single creature. A single, fearsome beast that had been unleashed on the island to destroy all that lived upon it.

As the creature reached the edge of the beach, it felt the living soil. Its long fingers splayed out into a fan-like formation, driving themselves into the soil like roots. The Devourer felt comfort as the tentacles reached deep into the ground to draw the life from the land itself. It could feel its power grow, its mind clear, and its body heal.

Finally, it stood on its two feet, its fingers still embedded in the soil. It growled as it wrapped itself in a cloak of darkness that billowed and swirled around it like an ethereal shroud. The Devourer was alive again, and now it would feed. Until it regained its full strength, it would remain in this spot, drawing the life energy from the surrounding area until it was time to move on and seek new sources.

New sources other than The Dragon.

Chapter Thirteen

Freezing winds blasted the Druid’s bare skin as he hung upon the crudely-fashioned cross. Farouk had fallen in and out of consciousness during the past few hours, and now the cold was taking its toll on his battered body. He could no longer feel his hands or feet due to the cold, for which he was somewhat thankful. Rough spikes had been driven into each, attaching him firmly to the cross, and he was certain that his right hand had been mangled.

Through the haze of pain, Farouk looked down at the snow covered plain. His friends, Bjorn and the warriors, were scattered at his feet, lifeless and mutilated. The Jindala had slaughtered them as they knelt helpless at the feet of the bastard Sultan. Even the women among them, who were brave enough to stand against the foreign invaders, lay dead in the snow.

Farouk wept for them, hoping that the rest of the tribe, Silka especially, had made it safely to Falgraf. Cannuck would protect them, and would send his warriors to avenge the village and drive the enemy away. What a glorious battle it would be. It was a thought that brought Farouk hope, and warmed his heart.

It was the last thought he had before he fell into unconsciousness once more. 

He dreamt of a strange realm, knowing full well that he was dreaming. He sat upon the hard ground in front of a small fire that burned with an odd, red flame. The smoke that billowed from it was tinted green, and the embers that drifted around were bright blue. Looking up, he noticed that the sky was faceted like a giant, dark green gem.

Curious, he held his hands over the flames. They were warm and comforting. The heat radiated around him, driving away his pain and the chill of the winter wind. Somehow, he felt, the flame was keeping him alive in the real world, not just here.

He was startled by a rustling sound on the other side of the fire. He looked up, seeing the dark silhouette of a strange yet familiar creature crawling closer to the flame. He knew that he looked upon the black Defiler. The creature that had sought solace within his amulet. He immediately knew where his mind had taken him.

He was inside the gem of his own amulet.

Farouk stared wide-eyed at the Defiler as it coiled its tentacles around it and settled into a relaxed and neutral position. The creature was still strange to him. Though vaguely man-shaped, the Defiler was covered in a soft, leathery skin, with plates of hard chitin-like material. Its tentacles appeared skeletal, like an animal’s backbone, only longer and equipped with a sharp Bradann at the ends.

Though eyeless, Farouk knew that the Defiler could see him, or, at least, sense him. It moved its head in the fashion of someone looking over an old friend. Despite its fearsome appearance, its nonaggressive stance told Farouk that he need not fear. The creature seemed to be protecting his body from freezing. For that, he was grateful.

“It is good to see you again, friend,” he said. The Defiler cocked its head to the side, as if listening.

“You have been with me for some time, and I am grateful for your present hospitality.”

The Defiler raised its clawed hand, turning the palm upward and projecting an image of Farouk’s amulet into the space above it. Farouk nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “You are within the gem. You feel safe here. I know that you brought me here to protect me.”

The Defiler closed its hand, and the image faded. It raised its other hand in the same gesture, showing the Druid another image. This time, Farouk himself appeared, hanging from his cross. He saw his own body, battered and torn, yet somehow still alive and breathing. His skin was still dark, not pale and lifeless, and an aura of blue energy seemed to surround him.

“You are giving me some of your energy,” Farouk said. “The energy that is your own, not taken from others.”

The Defiler closed its hand, relaxing once more. Farouk felt at peace with the creature. Though a fearsome and vile predator under the command of a Jindala handler, on its own, this Defiler was benevolent and kind. Was this the true nature of these beasts? If so, how did they become the demonic entities that drew the life out of everything around them?

As he pondered these questions, the Defiler raised both hands, summoning a large sphere of energy that housed a strange image. Within the glassy surface, there was a rocky terrain. Gathered upon it were creatures huddled together underneath a dying, dark star. It shined with a dim blue light, dark patches of solar storms swirling around its surface. As a flare erupted, the creatures stood. They were pale and slender, with skin that glistened like porcelain. Like the Defilers, the creatures had four tentacle-like appendages on their backs. But on this dark world, those appendages were wings. Not wings used for flight, but wings for another purpose.

As the flare approached the surface of the planet, the creatures spread their wings, absorbing the energy in their gossamer-like membranes. As they got their fill, the pale creatures darkened, becoming a bluish hue, then settled back down to huddle together once more.

Farouk felt a great sadness as he watched them. They were a doomed race upon a dying world. Such beautiful creatures did not deserve such a fate.

“This is your species,” Farouk remarked, sensing the fear and loneliness the Defiler felt. “Your sun was dying, and you would have been destroyed.”

The image changed, showing a great, black, swirling mass in the sky. From within it, a vortex of blue energy emerged, simulating that which the star had produced. The creatures, confused yet grateful, stood again to absorb the warmth that had appeared out of nowhere. The energy was abundant, and the creatures basked in its radiance. They darkened to such a deep shade of blue, they appeared black, like the Defiler before him. They had gotten their fill, and now they were indebted to their new savior.

He who had come to give them life.

“The Lifegiver!” Farouk exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise. “That is why he is called The Lifegiver. He saved your species. But then…”

The swirling mass in the sky opened wider, shining rays of dark energy down upon the creatures. It swirled around them, wrapping them in dark matter, changing their bodies. They fell, writhing on the ground in pain as they were transformed into vile, fearsome, skeletal beasts of terror. Their calm, lucid faces were twisted and split, a great, fanged mouth opening on each skull-like head in a burst of pain. Their wings withered and twisted, becoming the bony tentacles that would serve as secondary weapons for
The Lifegiver’s new warriors.

The Defilers were born.

The creatures writhed painfully, being drawn one by one into the swirling mass as deep, maniacal laughter filled Farouk’s ears. He began to weep at the poor creatures’ plight. They were a non-violent species that drew energy from their star, never needing to kill or destroy for food. They were like the plants that absorbed energy from Earth’s sun. Innocent and part of nature. Now, they were the destroyers of life, forever enslaved to the entity that had given them the life they needed.

It would have been better for them to perish.

“I cannot believe what I am seeing,” Farouk said, angrily. “You are slaves. All of you, slaves. Tricked into accepting servitude in exchange for life. I do not hold you responsible. None of you. Self preservation is the natural instinct of all creatures. You did nothing wrong.”

The Defiler relaxed again and the image disappeared. Farouk now knew why this Defiler sought refuge in his gem. The gem gave off the same energy as the creatures’ sun. It gave it comfort and reminded it of home. He began to wonder where the gem had come from, and if Jodocus knew its nature. Being the devious, secretive, and mysterious Druid he was, he probably did.

“I am sorry for you,” Farouk said. “I will do anything I can to save you and your kind. I promise you I will set you free.”

The Defiler leaned forward, extending its tentacles toward him. Their spikes sheathed themselves, and became blunt and harmless as the bony appendages softly caressed Farouk’s head. As he felt himself cradled, the Defiler leaned in closer, its face directly across from his own. Again, Farouk was not afraid. Then, the Defiler’s mouth opened and a blast of blue energy shot out and into Farouk’s own mouth.

He gagged slightly as the energy poured into him. It permeated his body, flowing warmly through his veins like flame. It was not painful, but overwhelming. He felt it strengthen him, heal him, and fill him with power that he had never felt in his life. He was breathless in just a few short minutes, and struggled to take in air. As the Defiler sensed his trouble, it stopped the transfer, leaning back to settle into a prone position.

Farouk caught his breath, looking across the fire at the creature as it slowly faded from his sight. He was left alone, sitting cross-legged in front of the crimson fire, contemplating the unfortunate plight of the Defiler species. Whatever they were now, it was completely different from their true nature. It was a nature that Farouk felt would be beneficial to the battle against
The Lifegiver.

If only he could figure out how.

As he went over the possibilities, the fire in front of him began to change. It faded from red into a deep purple, almost black. The environment around him changed as well, brightening into a cloudy purple and red, with millions of shining stars that twinkled with life. He looked up in wonder, fascinated with the beauty he was being shown.

Was the Defiler communicating with him again?

Off in the distance, behind the fire, a vortex of purple energy swirled on the phantasmal landscape. It grew into the size of a man, with streaks of brighter energy shooting upward. In its center, the figure of a small, stout man appeared, growing in opacity until it seemed to be a solid black figure with purple, metallic reflections. It raised its arms, looking at its hands and then down at its body. When it seemed satisfied that it had materialized completely, it looked toward Farouk, its shining purple eyes gleaming with ethereal energy.

The Druid swallowed, unsure of whether this being was malevolent or friendly. Whatever the case, its appearance was strange and quite obviously divine in nature.

The being stepped over the ethereal vortex, and began a quick and steady pace toward the fire. It seemed to be keeping its eyes on Farouk, never wavering or blinking. As it got closer, the Druid could see that a slight smile was on its face. It was a smile that carried wisdom and benevolence. Farouk relaxed as he realized this.

“Hello, Farouk,” the being said, it’s voice an echoing whisper.

Farouk slowly stood, but was stopped by with a gesture from the small figure. “Who are you?” he asked.

The being smiled wider, its eyes blinking in a warm fashion. “I am the Keeper,” he said. “And I have been wanting to speak to you.”

Farouk lay back, relaxing in the soft, conforming material that made up the strange landscape. It shaped itself to support the contours of his body, bringing him to a state of peace. The Keeper sat on the other side of the fire, looking up at the swirling sky, speaking softly as the Druid listened.

“I have been here since the beginning,” the Keeper said. “I have been tending the Universe, as it were, and watching it evolve and change over billions and billions of years.”

“Where did you come from?” Farouk asked.

The Keeper chuckled. “I am not sure, Farouk,” he replied. “I was not, and then I was. I witnessed the birth of the Universe, and that is as far back as I remember.”

“So, you are not the Universe itself?”

“No, not the Universe itself,” the Keeper said. “Everything you see around you in the real world, the rocks, the trees, the stars, they are all the universe; energy shaped into useful and functional forms. Every sentient being that exists is part of the Universal entity. We are all a part of it, and when we return to the collective, we will share what knowledge and experience we acquired in each incarnation. Even myself.”

“I imagine you have collected an unbelievable amount of knowledge and experience.” Farouk remarked.

“Oh, yes.”

“So,” Farouk said, sitting up. “What, exactly, is your purpose?”

“Much like you,” the Keeper began, “I maintain the balance, only on a larger scale. You could very well say that I am the Universal Druid. Light and Darkness, matter and antimatter, everything that is dual natured, I maintain.”

“Good and evil?”

“Good and evil, yes.”

“Tell me, why did you choose to speak to me?” Farouk asked.

The Keeper stood, clasping his hands behind his back and looking at the ground as he slowly paced. “Normally,” he began, “I only speak to those who seek me out. I do not have prophets, messengers, or the like. Anyone who seeks knowledge catches my interest. If they ask, I come, in one way or another. You, however, are different. You have a task to perform; a task that you are unsure of how to fulfill. I will explain what you already know, and make it all a bit more clear for you.”

“Silka, the shaman explained some things to me,” Farouk said. “But I do not completely understand them. She seems to know more than the typical shaman.”

The Keeper laughed. “Yes, she does,” he agreed. “She asked for access to the universal records, and I granted it to her. She understands much, but not completely. Her mind is human, as is yours, so it is not fully developed. But she understands what she is capable of understanding.”