The Spirit of Revenge (33 page)

‘Before Ivandar retreated with his men, he found the sword of Abaddon that was lost to him in the battle. He took it, unaware of its true power.

‘For the rest of his years, he kept it as a trophy in defiance of Abaddon. The sword’s power would go unnoticed by Ivandar and all of Tarsha, until it was forever lost to time.” Malecai paused and leaned against the side of a boulder.

“As the war progressed and Ivandar found his Alliance slowly crumbling, he led a battalion to Izadon, in hopes of rallying more forces to his banner. Somewhere along the way however, a battalion of Andreds ambushed them. Ivandar’s men fended off the attackers in a fierce battle and soon lay waste to the enemy. They may have won the battle, but Ivandar had fallen in the battle, and the last hope of Tarsha died with him.

‘Ivandar was the last thorn in Abaddon’s back, and with him out of the way, all the world lay open to his wrath. Realizing this, Ivandar’s men could not face this grim truth, for it was their fault that all of Tarsha would soon fall to genocide, for they failed to protect their king.

‘So…they began to dig a grave for their fallen leader. As the days passed in the heat of the sun and the cold of night, their numbers began to dwindle to hunger and disease. More and more of them died, and the survivors buried their fallen brothers.

‘They grew over emulative in the grandeur of their creation, and as the weeks turned to months; the last of them succumbed to death. They at last received their wish, release from this sorrow-filled world.

‘They left behind a great catacomb, vast mazes of tombs buried beneath the sands of Atuan and hidden to the rest of the world. Tarsha never knew the whereabouts of these tombs, and soon forgot the legacy Ivandar’s men left behind. Eventually the tombs slipped into legend, and now most believe it to be nothing more than myth.”

Cain tossed a pile of brushwood onto the fire. “That’s great and all but I don’t see how that fits into anything we’re doing.”

“Ah but it does!” Malecai jumped up from the boulder, suddenly filled with enthusiasm. “It has everything to do with you! Ceerocai is buried somewhere beneath these sands with the body of Ivandar!”

“So?” Silas questioned.

“Do you not understand? Abaddon’s soul lives on inside that sword. That is how he has lived these four hundred years!” The group fell awestruck as this realization left them at a loss for words. This was the answer to their questions. This was why their enemy was undying. This was why he was so powerful. Ceerocai was the key to it all.

“It’s called the Lost Tombs of Atuan for a reason,” Isroc said after awhile, “people have searched for it for four hundred years and to no avail, what makes you think we can find it?”

“I do not expect us to find it,” Malecai answered, “but if someone does, then we may be able to use it against its master, and in doing so we may kill that which cannot die. If someone finds the lost sword of Abaddon, then we may at last put an end to this war…”

T
hree days passed as the Warriors continued through the Eastern Desert. The sun was now atop the horizon and the desert sands glowed with the light of a new day. The sands glistened gold and the shrubs trembled with a whisper of wind as the travelers awoke.

They donned their armor and fastened their weapons and wiped their eyes of sleep. They ate a hastened meal and threw their bags over their shoulders, more than ready to reach the gates of Izadon.

They began walking once again, tearing through the endless sea of sand.

Soon, the all too familiar heat greeted them. Sweat began trickling down their brows and their armor and clothes seared against their skin. They continued through the sifting sands as the sun arced its way across the cloudless skies above.

The travelers marched on for several hours under the scorching sun, time passing to memory with every reluctant step.

They eventually came across a strange, graying tree, its twisting trunk and branches splayed out to catch the sunlight. They passed it and soon came to a large thicket of the thorny foliage.

They crossed under the trees, their long overhanging branches casting shadows over the beleaguered travelers. “We are close,” Malecai informed them as he brushed a wall of thorns aside.

They walked on through the trees and eventually came out the other side.

Through the iridescent waves of heat, they could see the distant walls of a city. They sighed with relief at the sight and left the trees, walking with newfound vigor towards the city. The waves of heat slowly dissipated as they neared, allowing the travelers a clear view of Izadon.

The city was cradled in a vast, cragged bowl. The sands flowed like the hills of greener dells, split hither by great gorges and ridges of stone. A lofty wall of mountains formed a crescent around the capital, their sharp peaks emblazoned with crowns of brilliant white.

The outer walls of the city were made of dark russet sandstone, towering thirty feet in height, arrow slits cut intermittently across its stone facade. A gate made entirely of stone served as the only entrance to the southern half of the city.

Several sentries peered over the walls in the direction of the approaching travelers. “We are the Warriors!” Malecai cried out to the guards as they approached. “Open the gates!” The guards made no movement to open the gate and instead stared curiously down at them.

Malecai sighed and looked up at the guards above once more. “I am Ambrosia! Open the gates!” The guards hurried off as if suddenly lashed by an invisible whip. The Warriors walked forward as the gates slowly opened.

Cain looked at Malecai curiously. Malecai saw his expression and smirked as they walked through the shadow of the archway.

The gates slowly slid open as the massive stone doors grinded against the sands of the outside world.

The Warriors crossed under the gates and came out into the city of Izadon. The guards under the gateway saluted to the Warriors and stared curiously after them long after they had left.

They came to a large sand road that sloped gradually upwards, cutting its way through the middle of the city towards the crest of a massive hill at its center.

Tall buildings of sandstone and brick lined both sides of the street. The buildings had flat roofs, and cut out windows revealed the mostly lackluster rooms within.

Few people roamed the streets, solemn and silent. They wore strange robe-like garments, dull colored and roughly woven.

The Warriors left the gateway and approached the main road. Few people glanced at the travelers as they passed, every eye cast to the ground with disinterest, every eye hollow as a grave.

They continued up the gradually ascending road and passed hundreds of buildings, all filled with an oppressed silence, not a noise daring to stir the stillness of the day.

“Is it always like this?” Adriel whispered to the front of the group.

Malecai shook his head. “It is much like the streets of Morven, or your Dun Ara. It has never been like this, this concerns me…” The group walked with apprehension as they approached the crest of the hill.

They reached the hilltop and the road soon leveled out and stretched far ahead. A group of armed men approached them from the other end of the road; weapons ready at a moment’s calling. “What men are these to approach the King’s quarters?” A soldier questioned as they stopped a few feet before the Warriors.

“I am Ambrosia,” Malecai said, “and these are the Warriors. We are to speak to King Creedoc under commission of Lord Darius.” The soldiers lowered their glaives and whispered intently among themselves for a moment.

“Follow,” One of the soldiers ordered tersely. They turned and led the Warriors down the road. After several minutes, the road turned and sloped steeply up a hill. The guards led the Warriors up the hill until the road narrowed toward a thin stone bridge that spanned over the crest of two hills.

The group crossed the bridge, the edges mere inches from their feet, the sharp rocks of the valley floor looming a hundred feet below. They stepped onto the second hill and noticed a small white building atop its cragged top.

The building was nearly identical to the palace of Morven. It was fashioned of imported ivory marble, a near replica to the jewel of Morven.

“Creedoc is the brother of Darius,” Malecai whispered to the others as they followed the road up the hillside and toward the palace. “He had the palace of Izadon reconstructed to look like his home in Morven.”

“Where’s the statues?” Adriel asked as she eyed the vacant spaces beside the stairs.

Malecai frowned at this. “Let us just say there is no need for them here…”

“Does Creedoc know you, Malecai?” Cain asked.

“You could even say he knows me well.”

The guards led them up the flight of stairs towards the door of the palace that lay hidden behind several rows of marbled columns.

The Warriors climbed the stairs and passed the columns. The guards opened the ebony doors and the Warriors stepped through the doorway, coming out into a massive hallway.

Walls of sandstone surrounded them from every side and polished ivory granite covered the floor and roof. In the middle of the hall was a large golden throne with brown furs draped over the seat and arms.

At the other end of the hall behind the throne was a large archway that spanned across the entire wall. Sunlight filled the palace, bounding into the room abreast a scorching wind.

The Warriors walked across the hallway, their boots clicking loudly on the polished marble and leaving behind a trail of sand as they approached the archway. They crossed under it and came out into a small courtyard.

Several sandstone columns lined the sides of the court. There was no roof, but the open skies formed an azure ceiling overhead.

A large pool filled the middle of the court, its surface glistening like crystal, undisturbed and strangely beautiful. The sky above reflected off its mirrorlike surface, and at the bottom of the pool was a thick sheet of pure glass, magnifying the brilliancy of its waters. A strange tree dangled its emerald fronds over the water, casting half the court in shadow. On the opposite side of the court was a thin flight of steps that led up to the second floor of the palace.

“Wait,” a soldier commanded. The guards crossed the courtyard and ascended the steps. After several minutes, they returned, leading their king down the stairs.

The King stopped at the foot of the steps and turned to his men. “Leave us.” The soldiers bowed obediently and clambered up the stairs.

“Welcome, Warriors,” greeted the man as he began walking alongside the pool. “I would have better prepared for your arrival, but I did not know you were coming.” The man’s voice was much like Darius’s, smooth and lucid.

He stood tall and daunting, a dignified air about him. Sandy eyes looked over them wearily. Black, neatly groomed hair flowed down his high-cheeked face and down to the small of his back. A large scarlet cloak fell from his broad shoulders, covering a red tunic and dark leggings. A silver gauntlet covered his entire left hand and forearm. He walked with a pained limp and his left arm hung uselessly at his side.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Warriors,” he said as he stopped before them. “I have heard much of you over the past weeks and the hope you bring to Tarsha’s people. It is an honor.”

The King bowed and looked over the group. They quickly felt the same scrutinizing gaze his brother often gave.

“Skip the formalities, Creedoc,” Malecai replied dryly, “there are matters at hand we must discuss; their outcomes depend upon our immediate action.”

Creedoc laughed lightly and extended his right hand to Malecai, “Ah, Malecai, I knew it was only a matter of time before you would join the Warriors. I see you haven’t changed, always to the point. It’s good to see you again.”

Malecai smiled and grasped his outstretched hand. They shook hands for a long moment and Creedoc attempted to pull his hand away but Malecai held it firm. The King looked at him uneasily as his friend eyed the bandages that covered his hand.

“You were hurt,” Malecai stated simply.

“What of it?” Creedoc retorted as he pulled his hand away. “When you live the life of a king and a warrior, you put your life at risk to protect your people.”

Malecai merely stared at him with sharp, searching eyes. “You would need something to fight to be hurt in this manner…what happened?”

“Come. I will show you,” Creedoc relinquished. He turned on his heel and led the Warriors across the court.

They ascended the stairs and came out onto a causeway. A wide walkway of sandstone followed the length of the palace walls and the stairwell they had followed opened out into the bowels of these catwalks.

The sun fell quickly over the horizon before them, staining the skies with the blood of the dying day.

Creedoc pointed over the edge of the causeway to the northwest. “Look.” The Warriors slowly approached the wall.

The north section of the city stretched out before them, spanning half a mile before coming to the outer wall of the city. A scene of horror awaited them, pain and anguish tearing instantly at their hearts.

Nearly the entire northwestern wall had been disintegrated, nothing now but an endless mountain of rubble atop a sea of ashes. Where hundreds of buildings once stood, nothing but charred earth and ruins remained. Half the city had been leveled and razed to the ground.

Thousands of bodies littered the rubble, lifeless corpses buried beneath a cloud of festering birds. Bodies lay face down in the ashes as if bemoaning their fates, yet others stared up at the sky with pupils dulled by death, glaring like famished ghouls into an abhorrent abyss.

Corpses piled high in masses across the ashes, mountains of rubble and debris crushing thousands of bloated bodies now mangled beyond recognition. Limbs scattered the bloody sands, gashed, torn, and broken bodies strewn everywhere. The innocent lay dead alongside their defenders, soldiers’ mutilated heads, limbs, and entrails littering every inch of the battlefield.

The setting sun cast the city in a bloody light, sky and clouds above painted red with death. Thin plumes of smoke rose from the charred earth as the wind then stole them across the desert.