At first Martok thought he was dreaming. He could not move, and whenever he tried, pain shot through every muscle in his body. The faint light of a lamp in the corner of the bedroom was enough for him to catch shadows moving somewhere to his left.
“Who’s there?” he demanded. “What the hell is happening? Release me at once!”
Instinctively, his tried to cast wards around himself, but fear took over as he realized he was completely cut off from magic.
“It’s useless to struggle.”
It was Miriam’s voice. She had somehow made him completely powerless. It was then he felt something around his neck. “What have you done to me?” he growled.
She sat on the bed and leaned over to look at him directly. For six months she had shared his bed. And for three of those he had seen love slowly growing whenever their eyes met. Now though, there was nothing there but hate and malice.
“I am ridding the world of you, my love. And I am taking back my children.”
“What are you talking about? I've already promised you. They will come home as soon as the treaties are signed.”
“The treaties will never be signed. Your rule ends now. And I will raise my children as I see fit.”
“Please, Miriam. Whatever you are thinking of doing, you must stop. You cannot find them without me. And Gracio will not return unless I summon him. Release me and I promise to take you to them.”
She sniffed. “No more empty promises. No more lies. And no more of this madness with which you have tried to infect the world. The other great houses will aid me in retrieving my children. I no longer need you.”
“They are lying,” he insisted, doing his best not to allow the fear to seep into his voice. “They cannot find them, no matter what they have told you. They are using you to get to me.”
“Stop wasting your breath. You have precious few left to take. It is done, and nothing you can say will change it.”
Martok could hear boots stomping their way toward his room. They were only seconds away, and whatever she had placed on him had rendered him utterly unable to defend himself.
“Do not be the murderer of your children’s father,” he told her. “Let me go before –”
He thought he saw a hint of indecision pass over her, but it was too late. The door flew open and three men in leather armor bearing the standard of the House Goldsong stormed in.
Shoving Miriam aside, they jerked him up from the bed. Just before a cloth sack was thrown over his head he caught a final glimpse of Miriam's face and knew the awful truth. The love he had believed he had seen in her eyes was never anything but a clever ruse. Nothing was there now but anger and contempt.
He had been defeated by his own carelessness. A soft heart - the very thing he had told Gracio would prevent his victory - had been the instrument of his downfall.
He was a fool. And soon to be a dead one.
* * * * *
“Do you have anything to say, Martok Dragonvein?”
The sack was removed and tossed aside. The soldiers had not taken him far. Barely beyond his wards, in fact. His hands were now securely bound behind his back and he had been forced to his knees. It took a few seconds to see who was there in the darkness. Only the light of the quarter moon revealed the face of his enemies.
“Vrundin Kurigan,” he spat. “I should have known you were behind this.” He spotted Miriam standing several yards back, glaring spitefully. “Only you would have thought to use my wife's love for her children to capture me. I just wish I could be alive to see the look on her face when she learns the truth: That you know full well you cannot find them. And even if you could, you would never have the courage to make such a journey.”
“If that is all you have to say…” Kurigan remarked, flicking his wrist and ignoring the accusation. “Then we should proceed.”
Martok straightened his back. He would not cower. His children would live. Through them the Dragonvein line would endure. “I add only this,” he said. “What you have done will one day be the doom of Lumnia. Your petty hates and prejudices will undo this world. And when it does, I will be laughing among my ancestors.”
“Then let us not delay your reunion,” Kurigan replied, his expression like stone. “As leader of the Council of Volnar, I sentence you, Martok Dragonvein, to death for crimes against Lumnia and her people. Know that your name will be spoken as a curse from this day forward. Nothing will be known of you other than that you were a blight on this world. Furthermore, it has been decided that your line will end with you. Your seed must not be allowed to spread and infect Lumnia with its poison.”
For an instant it was as if Miriam was too stunned to react. The words then exploded from her mouth. “No! You gave me your word!”
She made to rush forward, but before she could take a single step, two of the mages close by wrapped her in a coil of green light, preventing any movement.
Martok smiled. Kurigan's words were an empty threat. Gracio, Helen, and the dragons protected their children, and they would be impossible to find. Moreover, though a group of powerful enough mages might overcome a single dragon, there were hundreds of the creatures living in the Dragon Haven. No one would ever risk their life on such a quest. He could have brought comfort to Miriam by telling her this. But he did not. Rather, he took solace in the fact that she was now suffering as he did.
A soldier standing to his right unsheathed his sword and moved in behind him. He felt the tip of the blade touching his back, sending a wave of fear through him. But he would not snivel or weep. Kurigan then nodded to his waiting executioner.
The pain was intense, but very brief. The life drained from his body before he was even aware he was dying. He had heard of how the gravely wounded would try to cling to life. But there was nothing for him to hold onto. The darkness encompassed him as if all the light of the world had suddenly blinked from existence.
* * * * *
“Where am I?” Martok called out to anyone who might hear. No one answered.
Everything around him was blurred, nothing but swirling formless colors. There was ground beneath his feet, but it felt odd…somehow unreal, as though it had no actual substance. He smelled the air. Nothing. He realized that there was a complete absence of any sound bar that of his own voice.
Over and over he kept asking himself how he had got to this strange place. There was something…hazy memories of faces and voices...but they were all far too vague to recall properly. Had he been asleep? Was he possibly still dreaming even? No. Whatever this place was, it was definitely real.
He called out again. “Is anyone there?”
This time, a soft feminine voice that seemed to come from all directions responded. “Yes, we are here. We are with you, and you have nothing to fear. You are safe with us.”
“Where are you?” he asked. “What has happened to me?” He was not afraid. Somehow he knew that the voice was telling the truth.
Nothing
could hurt him here.
The swirling mass of colors gradually began to settle until Martok found himself standing in an open field of tall grass. The sun was high in a cloudless sky, and a warm breeze made the field appear like an ocean of gently rippling green waves. A few yards ahead stood a large oak tree, beneath which was sitting a young woman. He recognized her instantly.
“Heather!” he cried. “You are here. But how?”
Smiling, she gestured for him to join her. Martok was only half the way to her when a face flashed into his mind...Miriam. She was looking at him with utter disdain. But why?
“The memories will come back to you,” Heather told him. As when he was a child, her voice was musical and kind. “Sit. Let us talk for a while.”
He settled beside her. To his surprise, a glass of wine appeared beside him. “What is this place?” he asked. “And why can’t I remember how I got here?”
“This is where all who are of our line come when their time arrives,” she replied. “It is the gift bestowed upon us by our dragon kin. Here, anything is possible. You can rest and be at peace.”
Martok frowned. “Are you saying that I’m…I'm dead?”
“In a sense, yes. Your body is no more. But your spirit lives on. We spoke of this when you were a child.”
“Yes…I…I remember.”
As if a dam had suddenly ruptured, all of his memories then burst forth at once.
“No!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet and backing away. His eyes searched desperately for a way out. “They…the bastards...they…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the rest. If he did, he knew he would have to accept the truth.
“It will become easier with time,” Heather assured him. “Those who lived turbulent lives often find this place difficult to grasp at first. And you lived a life of great and terrible deeds.”
She rose gracefully to her feet and regarded him with the compassion of a loving mother. “But your struggles are over now. Here you can have your heart’s desire. All the Dragonvein line through the ages will be with you. Here, all sins are forgiven.”
Martok clawed at his face, shaking his head violently. “No. It’s not my time. I was so close.” He felt a pair of soft hands on his wrists. Heather’s touch was calming in a way he could not fully comprehend. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Please. Help me go back,” he sobbed.
“There is no going back, Martok. You are here with us. The troubles of the world are no longer yours to solve.” She produced a handkerchief and wiped his tears. “I know it’s hard. But I give you my word that you will soon feel differently.”
He buried his head in her shoulder, clinging to her in sheer despair. How long he wept, he did not know. But after a time he was able to let go and look her in the eyes.
Heather was still smiling. “Come. Your kin await. They are very excited you are here.”
“Is my father here too?” His voice sounded almost childlike.
“Of course he is.” She took his hand, but after only a few steps, Martok resisted.
“And what of Sylas?”
“Yes. But as I told you, all sins are forgiven here.” She flicked his nose playfully with the tip of her finger. “You will understand soon enough.”
As they walked, Martok could see a massive gathering awaiting him at the top of a low ridge. Their welcoming faces and bright smiles told him that there was nothing more to be troubled by. And though he still desired to return to the realm of the living, he had to trust that the feeling would fade in time.
Just as Heather had promised him it would.
Kat regarded Martok with what appeared to be genuine sorrow. “I’m sorry it has to be this way,” she said.
He could not take his eyes away from the platform. After all the long centuries of waiting to be free again, he would
not
be delivered back into the abyss by a child. He would arise victorious.
“As I have told you many times already, this is a waste of time,” he responded.
“If that is so,” Lylinora cut in, “Why do you look so afraid?”
“Because I have no desire to destroy Ethan’s spirit. And that is precisely what you are forcing me to do. The place where he now dwells is one of tranquility. In time he would come to accept it there.”
“Like you did?” Kat pointed out.
“Do not compare me to Ethan. He is a boy without ambition or purpose. Whereas I…”
“You are a ghost,” said Kat. “One who should have never come back. Whatever purpose you had, it died with you a long time ago.” With a wave of her hand, she levitated Martok’s body onto the platform. “Now it’s time for you to go back to where you came from.”
“And when I return?” he challenged. “Be warned that you will no longer have any control over me. This cursed collar will cease to function the moment I cross the barrier. With all my magic restored, I will be able to discard it by thought alone if I wish. Think on this while Ethan’s spirit is being sent into oblivion.”
Kat merely turned her back on him, making it impossible to know how deeply this threat had struck. Martok dropped to his knees. He could feel the barrier weakening. In seconds he would be faced with the choice he had been praying he wouldn't have to make: Whether or not to actually destroy Ethan for all eternity.
Heather had told him long ago that the place where the Dragonvein family dwelt was one of forgiveness. This was true, even with Sylas. The moment he had seen his uncle, he no longer cared what the man had done. And it seemed that his father didn’t either. In time, his children had joined him…and their children. No crimes committed in the living world were of any consequence. The only thing that mattered was that they were together.
Despite all this, one thing that Heather had told him was certainly
not
true. His desire to return to the living world had never weakened in the slightest. For centuries he had sought a way to regain his life. And in his quest, he had become as powerful in the world of spirits as he had been in the world of magic. Ethan could not hope to stand against him. Only Heather was his superior. And he knew she would do nothing to stop him if he was forced to carry out his threat.
* * * * *
Ethan could see the haze thinning. The barrier which prevented him from returning was weakening. Kat must have somehow managed to bring his body to the platform.
“Do not underestimate Martok,” a voice from behind said.
Ethan turned to see a tall man with close cropped black hair and a grim demeanor staring at him. Though he was sure he had never seen him before, he somehow knew his name.
“Sylas. You…you’re Martok’s father.”
“In a way, yes. Though I was never aware of that fact during my life. Only when I came here was it made known to me.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But that no longer matters. In just a few moments you will be facing him…and you will be defeated.”
“I think it is
you
who are underestimating
me
.”
“I have no doubt you are formidable. But Martok spent most of his time here trying to find a way to escape. Through his efforts he has gained intimate knowledge of the laws which govern this place. In time perhaps you could challenge him. But to do so now would be suicide.”
Ethan threw up his hands. “What do you want me to do? Just surrender and let him possess my body?
That’s
not going to happen. If he kills me, he kills me. I’m not afraid to die.”
“You have no idea of what you are saying. Death here will be true death. Should Martok destroy your spirit, there will be nothing…a void. You will cease to exist.”
“You don’t know that,” he countered. “Not even Heather knows for certain what happens outside of this place.”
“You’re wrong. Heather does not know what will happen to our spirits should they leave here. But Martok will destroy every single trace of who you are. There will be nothing left.”
“I don’t care. I have to try.”
Sylas sighed. “Then you will need help.”
“So you betray me in both life
and
death, Sylas?” a third voice said.
Martok was standing only a few yards away. His eyes were aflame with rage and his fists were clenched tight.
“I cannot undo what I have done,” Sylas retorted. “But you have a choice. Return to us. Please. Do not damn your soul.”
Martok huffed. “Damn my soul? I have liberated it, you old fool. At last I understand my destiny. And not you, or anyone else, will keep me from it.”
“I
am
an old fool. Perhaps my love for you makes me precisely that. I have tried to reason with you, Martok. We all have. But you refused to listen. And now you intend to murder the innocent. You come to kill your own kin. A direct descendant. Is that not the same as killing your own child?”
“I've already killed my own father, as you well know.”
“What you did to me, I deserved. Ethan has done nothing wrong.”
“Ethan will bring about the end of Lumnia. The end of us all. And I for one will not allow that to happen.”
“You underestimate him. He possesses more power than you care to admit. And with his connection to the elves – the very connection you used to gain control of his body – he has a far better chance of ensuring Lumnia's future than even you. But you
must
give him the chance.”
This silenced Martok for a moment. Scowling, he glared at Sylas and then turned his back. “I cannot do what you are suggesting.”
“You claim to be willing to sacrifice all to save us. And yet you stop short of
true
sacrifice.”
Martok spun around. “And why should it be me? Why not
you
?”
“Because I am not the greatest among us.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Ethan. “If there is a way for me to gain the knowledge I need to destroy Shinzan, then give it to me.”
“Martok believes that it should be
he
who saves the world. Isn’t that right?”
“You think this novice…this child could do it?” he snapped hotly.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Well it doesn’t matter what you think. You haven’t the power to stop me. And if you try, you can join Ethan in oblivion.”
“Would you send the entire Dragonvein line there as well?” he asked.
From behind Sylas appeared hundreds upon hundreds of figures.
Ethan was stunned. The voices in his head had never held true form. They felt more like a school of fish swimming in a vast ethereal ocean. To see their faces was astounding. They did not approach, but their eyes were fixed on Martok.
“Not even this can stop me,” he replied. “And you know it. While you have spent your time living in a fantasy, I have dedicated myself to growing strong - strong enough to leave this place.”
As he spoke, Martok waved his arm in a wide circle. A shroud of mist appeared, cutting off the newcomers from sight.
“Now it's just the three of us,” Martok said, his tone hard and unyielding. “Make your choice, Sylas. Stand aside or be destroyed.”
Ethan turned to Sylas. “Please. This is my fight. There is no reason for you to die.”
“Very noble,” mocked Martok. “What is it your friend Markus calls you? Ah, yes. A Boy Scout. If that means what I take it to be – some kind of virtuous soul - I can understand why. Do you really imagine you can defeat Shinzan with a soft heart and a weak will?”
Ethan ignored the insult. “This is between you and me. No one else needs to die. Or is it just a bunch of bullshit when you say how much you care about our family?”
This merely drew a derisive laugh from Martok. “As you wish,” he said, jerking his head sharply to one side. Sylas was instantly lifted from his feet and thrown through the mist as if he was no more than a small child.
Remember, Ethan. Here, anything is possible, so he is no more powerful than you. You must believe this in your heart
.
It was the voice of Heather calling out to him. He looked over to Martok, but it was clear that he had heard nothing of the message.
“Are you ready?” Martok asked. His expression was one of absolute conviction. “Know that I take no pleasure in doing this. It is simply the way things must be.”
As his hands extended, two thin beams of white light shot forth, burning through Ethan's shirt. He felt the impact deep inside his chest; as if he had been attacked by a thousand red hot needles at once. The pain was beyond anything he could have imagined possible. It felt as though his very essence was clinically being torn to shreds. He now knew beyond doubt that he was indeed facing a death that offered no hope of an after-existence.
With teeth bared, Martok intensified the light until Ethan could see and think of nothing else. Then, just as he was on the point of abandoning himself to the abyss, Heather's words echoed in his mind. Was she actually repeating them, or was he experiencing one final pre-death hallucination? It didn't matter. For a brief few moments her words seemed to somehow blot out the all-consuming agony and create a fleeting window for rational thought. Was it really true that anything was possible here? If so, now was the time to find out. Belief of this was the only thing he had to fight back with.
An instant before the window slammed shut and the suffocating pain returned, he seized this precious opportunity to imagine his skin turning into a layer of impenetrable stone. Desperately, he clung to this thought. It was all he had standing between himself and oblivion.
At first nothing happened. Just a continuation of the same blazing hot needles tearing at his spirit. Then – almost unbelievably - the pain began to dull. Looking down, he saw the lights that had been piercing his spiritual flesh were now being reflected away from him. He also noticed tiny flecks of light drifting up from the scorched patches on his skin. They were pieces of his soul. Bits of spirit ripped away. The blood of the dead.
Martok lowered his arms causing the lights to vanish. “Impressive,” he said. “I didn’t count on you having learned so much so quickly.”
Even though his chest was still burning ferociously, Ethan knew better than to respond with mere words. Making a sharp circular motion with both hands, he surrounded Martok with an orb of blue light. This drew a short yelp of pain as the encircling light closed in. But this was short-lived as Martok threw his arms wide, shattering the orb into a million tiny balls, each one giving a final sizzle when striking the ground and then popping out of existence.
It was clear from Martok’s rage filled expression that he had not been expecting his opponent to be capable offering any sort of resistance. In a flash, a long blade appeared in his right hand. The steel shimmered with ghostly light as he charged forward.
Ethan countered with a barrage of flaming arrows, but these simply vanished the moment they got close to their target. Roaring with battle lust, Martok brought his blade savagely down. Ethan dove hard to the right, though not quite fast enough to prevent the tip of Martok’s weapon slicing painfully across his left shoulder. More flecks of light emitted from this new wound as he urgently summoned a sword of his own.
Rolling quickly to his feet, he brought his blade up defensively just in time to block Martok's next attack. Now more than ever he was glad that Markus had given him instruction in swordplay. But as the attacks kept coming, it was evident that he was over-matched. Martok was obviously highly experienced with a sword. Very soon he had opened up three fresh wounds on Ethan’s arms and chest. Though none of these were deep enough to be fatal, he could feel himself becoming weaker. Spiritual blood floated around him like a swarm of fireflies. How much could he lose before he was completely drained?
He tried to close the distance between them with a series of tight thrusts, hoping to bring the fight to a hand-to-hand level. At least in this type of combat he'd had more training. But Martok easily stepped away, giving him a sword point to the thigh for his trouble.
“You fight well for someone with limited training with a blade,” Martok told him. “But you must know this is futile.”
Flakes of Ethan’s spirit continued to break free. He knew this fight was coming to an end. Soon he would be drained utterly. Already his legs felt abnormally heavy and on the point of collapse. And it was taking every bit of willpower and determination simply to raise his sword arm from his side.
But he refused to accept defeat. Spitting on the ground, he widened his stance. Unable to charge, he waved Martok in. “You think I’m done? Come on.”
Martok sighed. “Very well.”
Ethan knew this was it. Defiance alone would not be enough; he was now far too weak to offer anything much in the way of resistance. Martok came at him with blazing speed, effortlessly penetrating his feeble defense and thrusting the blade deep into his abdomen. As a loud gasp issued from his lips, he was aware that his own sword had blinked out of existence. A moment later, a heavy boot to the chest sent him flat on his back. Gazing up, he saw Martok looming over him with the freed weapon now raised high vertically for a final, double-handed plunge to his heart.