“Ah, so you did make a pact?”
“I didn’t!”
“What were the conditions?”
“I don’t know!”
“What were the conditions?” he repeated, but this time each word echoed in her mind, pushing her to answer.
“I don’t know!” she screamed before slumping unconscious to the floor.
“It seems you truly do not. How peculiar. No matter; I believe I have my answer. It would seem he keeps you in his company simply because you are . . . pleasurable and . . . understanding. It is hard to believe, but he might really pick you over remaining in this realm. I swear, the Shabdkosh will never cease to surprise,” he said, before taking the blanket and pillow out from behind the chair, adding some measure of comfort to her slumber.
Asteroth sat back
with a sigh as he stared at his cluttered desk. He would have never dreamt that, out of everything that has happened, it would be the administration of the Black City that succeeded in overwhelming him.
A task made all the more difficult with the loss they suffered at the Great River. Roughly twenty-five thousand warriors were lost to the demons. Among those lost were the entire Strike Force, as well as most of the cre’per’um armoured vanguard. Though he was told that, if not for them, the yethlo and shang’gomagarr would not have had the time needed to prevent the demon menace from breaking through their lines.
He quickly turned his thoughts from the fallen; yog’murgarr don’t dwell on grief. They all died in battle, an honourable death, and surely found themselves counted among Ve’ndrious’s Immortal Horde.
G’nar entered his study just as he returned to the stack of parchments on his desk. “E’lir needs to see you.”
“Can it wait? There are many matters that need my attention, and I can’t just-”
G’nar placed a hand on his shoulder. “This is more important than anything you’ve got on your desk, Asteroth.”
The hand on his shoulder made his brother’s missing left arm all the more noticeable. “Forgive me, G’nar.”
He did not need to asked what for. “You have nothing to apologise for. How could you have known what Joneras was planning?”
“I am your Tsa’rog. I was the one who led our people into that hellish trap. I am the one who cost you your arm.”
G’nar stared off into the distance. “Many have lost far more than an arm, but you are not to blame. We were all deceived and betrayed by the Eranian Empire.”
“And we shall have our vengence, brother,” he said, his blood boiling at the prospect of war.
“Indeed, but I’m afraid they will have to wait their turn,” said G’nar.
“What?”
“As I said, what E’lir has to say can’t wait,” he answered with a smirk.
Johnathan vi Descrinal
stood nervously in the massive platinum hall. Colossal, ornate columns ran along the seemingly endless corridor, each covered in an infinite variation of impossibly intricate trimmings.
It had an eerie tranquillity as the Duke stood there alone, unable to decide in which direction to go. Then just as abrupt as his own arrival, two gigantic entities appeared on opposite sides of the hall. To his left stood a beautiful woman with glossy cream skin, long golden hair, and bright ruby eyes. Four pairs of wings adorned her back, each pair decreasing slightly in size as they went down her back, glimmering mauve, dark lavender, light pink, and peach respectively.
“Xenusê, Matron of Mercy,” he said in awe before slowly turning his head to the right.
He felt a pang of worry as he looked upon the copper serpentine being. Its body was comprised of segmented carapace covered in complex, dark-coloured patterns, much like those found on tortoises. Its head resembled a bronze rosebud wrapped in flame. It had no eyes or any remotely human features, and the duke said in a whisper, “Inkanak, Passer of Judgement.”
He was about to start making his plea when the two gods turned to one of the nearby walls. At first, there was no indication why, then an imperfection appeared, like the bubbles found in the work of an apprentice glassmith. It rapidly spread across the surface, then suddenly condensed into a central point. There was a loud tearing sound, and a six-foot hole appeared in the wall. There was nothing but darkness on the other side, but then something appeared. A small blue spec.
“It can not be,” said Xenusê in clear disbelief.
The spec was there one moment, and then suddenly a being of the void stepped into the hall. It turned its flaming golden gaze to the duke, and he felt pure dread.
“He is mine,” stated the being.
“Killmar, how are you here?” asked Inkanak, as he backed away slightly in fear.
“I asked Henensu to deliver this man to me. He mistakenly believed he had a choice and declined,” he answered as he walked over to the recently deceased duke. “I’d suggest you go to his side. I might have been excessive when I enlightened him.”
Without another word, the two gods disappeared, and Killmar grabbed the pleading man by his throat. “Jonathan vi Descrinal, when you were still mortal, you had a City Watch. I want the names of every man who served in it.”
“What?” he asked confused.
“Their names, now!” roared Killmar.
“I can’t remember! I would tell you if I could, but too many men served in my City Watch.”
“You are most unfortunate, Duke. Were you still mortal, I could have just taken what I needed, but now . . .” he shrugged.
“What are you going to do with me?” Jonathan asked, terrified.
“I’m going to introduce you to an old friend of mine. And together, we are going to help you remember all those many names. You were privileged and powerful in the mortal realm. I think it is time you experienced the same treatment you gave to those below your station, with a few creative adaptations,” he said before dragging the screaming man into the void, laughing.
Exotic scents assaulted
Asteroth as he entered the villa. Carefully, he made this way past the rows upon rows of shelves filled with all sorts of oddities. “Where does that woman sleep?” he wondered as he barely avoided toppling several experiments.
“I think she curls up in a corner somewhere,” said G’nar with a smile as he, too, carefully navigated the treacherous terrain.
“G’nar, is that you?” she called from a nearby room.
“Yes, we are just fighting past your defenses,” he teased.
“That’s why I said I need more space!” she replied, irritated.
They finally entered the room where she waited, and Asteroth stood in awe. The room was filled with strange green images hovering in midair.
“Mind the bowls,” said Elizabeth absently as she concentrated on the ancient yog’murgarr tome resting on a lectern.
Asteroth looked to his brother who motioned for him to follow before stepping through one of the translucent green images, dispersing it like a reflection in water. It reformed almost immediately. Asteroth shook his head in astonishment, and then did the same.
“So what is it that is so important that it requires my immediate attention?” he asked, curious.
“I may have discovered a way to solve the yog’murgarr intellect issue,” she answered happily.
“How?” he asked, his fatigue now long forgotten.
Elizabeth motioned to a few of the floating images. “I have determined that there is a magical residue within all yog’murgarr blood.”
“Magical residue? From what?”
“A curse of abnormal power.”
“Curse? You’re saying you have confirmed your earlier hypothesis that someone did this to us?” asked Asteroth in disbelief.
“Or something. Upon determining this, I looked for some kind of reference to it in the tome I discovered.”
“I take it you found something?”
She nodded. “According to the tome, many races were made to
serve
the Bearer of the Black Scale as it continued to conquer all it came in contact with. Eventually, the subjugated outnumbered its undead servants, which ultimately resulted in a revolt led by the yog’murgarr. It is not clear why a being of such power fled, but the tome states that before it did, it meted out its wrath upon the yog’murgarr. I believe that is when it cast the curse.”
“How do I lift this curse?” asked Asteroth anxiously.
“The curse seems to act like a hereditary disease, passing from parent to child, which is why the yog’murgarr are still suffering from the effects today. Interestingly enough though, the blood taken from those of Tribe U’nor is completely absent of the curse. They must have somehow avoided being cursed and thus remain unaltered.”
“Which means that there was probably more to the Time of Proving than we thought,” added G’nar.
“Yes, that is very interesting. Now how do I lift the curse that’s plaguing most of our race?” asked Asteroth irritated.
“For me to be able to develop a method of dispelling it, I require the blood of the creature who cast it.”
Asteroth felt his heart sink and grabbed at the only straw he saw. “But what of G’nar? He is not of Tribe U’nor, why is he so different?”
Elizabeth hesitated as the brothers regarded her with vain hope. “He is an . . . anomaly. There will never be another like him. We need the blood of that creature.”
“And how do you propose we do that? We don’t even know what it is,” he said, his voice thick with despair.
“We have already learned so much from this tome,” she said patting the thick book. “And we have barely scratched the surface of what it contains, so don’t give up hope! I’m sure the answer is in here.”
“She’s right, brother. Besides, our people are in no condition to confront an ancient horror of the past right now. First, we need to grow strong. Then comes the settling of old debts,” said G’nar, knowing that his optimism would improve his brother’s mood.
Asteroth smiled. “You are right. We first need to reinforce our position here and grow as a people, as well as cultivate our new friendship with the yethlo. E’lir, you shall have as many of the shang’gomagarr as you need to decipher that tome. Speaking of which, where is Father? I would have expected to see him here.”
“He is still resting with the others. The battle against the demons was the most taxing on the shang’gomagarr; most of them are still unable to move.”
“I suppose their rest is well deserved. But I should get back to work. One day, we will find that monster and repay him for what he did to us,” said Asteroth before setting off, his fatigue long forgotten.
“It is time.”
Jessica groggily opened her eyes and saw the enormous auburn creature looming over her. She found coherent thought slowly coming to her as she was struck with the distinct impression that she had only just fallen asleep.
Tal smiled at her reluctance to wake and added in a hopeful tone, “You are welcome to stay here for another day if you so wish.”
She jumped off the bed as if he had doused her in cold water. “No, we go now. Killmar would want me to get there as soon as possible.”
“Very well, follow us,” he said with a sigh as he led her back through the teal, gemlike object.
She gasped for air as they exited it. “I don’t think I would ever get used to that.”
“Few do. Come along,” he answered as he led her towards the northern shore of the Draconian Sea.
Jessica glanced at the sky and saw the sun was cresting the horizon, which explained the lingering chill in the air from the previous night. A thin blanket of mist covered the dale, allowing the early morning sun to glitter off the dew on the grass, flowers, and trees. It was a welcome sight of beauty. She heard the shore before she see saw it as they crested a small hill. Talvirnia motioned for her to wait as he continued on towards the surf.
He waded into the crisp blue water until he was about waist deep, then took a deep breath. His right head awoke and began singing. There were no words, only the vocalization of emotion. The song seemed to resonate with the Draconian Sea itself as ripples started to disturb the water’s surface far into the distance. A large shadow appeared underneath the disturbance, and the right head began singing softer as the left said in Dragon Tongue, “We humbly ask for safe passage across your dominion, Shi-narok, Serpent King of the South.”
Water bulged then exploded as Shi-narok, Serpent King of the South, surfaced. Jessica gasped. Despite the distance, the creature towered three hundred feet into the air. Its head was linear with a mouth similar in form to that of an eagle’s beak; colossal teeth protruded over its lower lip; and a singular blade-shaped horn extended from its nose, arching backward across its head. Several other smaller horns followed suit, all exploding finally into five giant fins near the back of its head. Each of the fins seemed equally spaced from one ear hole to the other and were connected with the others by webbing.
Masses of water poured off its rough, maroon, leathery skin, and its words carried easily over the distance. “Where to do you seek passage?”
Tal replied, applying magical means so his words would reach the Serpent King. “We seek passage to Sa’leeon.”
“Why do you seek the Dragonlord?” asked Shi-narok, the words seemingly pouring from his open maw.
Jessica did not understand the exchange, but she knew the serpent creature was a being of great power. She recalled how Killmar had explained to her that beings who possessed high quantities of quenru had a certain
presence
about them; perceivable sometimes to those who had less by means of two physical manifestations: experiencing an unexplainable weight upon their bodies, and finding it harder to breathe.
“We are but the Ferryman, her business with Lathrion is none of ours,” answered Talvirnia, pointing towards Jessica.
Dark orange retinas, each the size of a small tavern, turned to her, and she felt her heart leap. He studied her in silence then returned his gaze to the Ferryman. “I do not understand. Is she an offering? A delicacy to curry favour?”
He replied surprised. “We have never known you to be so . . . curious.”
The lack of an answer seemed to displease the Serpent King of the South. “She is strange, different . . . dangerous. Who is she?”
Tal hesitated, then said, “Jessica, wife of Killmar.”