The Merchant and the Menace (52 page)

The Malveel lord moved forward and slid his scaly
head past the corner of the midnight curtains. Darkness enveloped the beast and
his eyes fought to capture the scene before him.

The curtain created a small inner room within the
greater chamber. Set near the far wall of the enclosure was a large chunk of
rock, seemingly hewn from solid granite. Standing at least three yards tall,
the slab dwarfed the form of Izgra who stood arms raised and positioned in
front of it. The edges of the giant obelisk were irregular and crudely cut. A
polished black surface lay entombed within the rough-hewn edges of the slab.
The black rock formed a void within the stone. The substance absorbed all light
around it.

Izgra swayed unsteadily in front of the stone, arms
raised in supplication. He chanted feverishly. Sulgor was unable to hear or
understand any of the chant until the warlock threw back his cowl, exposing a
hairless gaunt skull covered in tightly drawn, diseased and decaying flesh.

“Amird, my Lord and Master!” cried Izgra. “I have
need!”

The smooth black surface of the obelisk changed. It
no longer appeared rigid, but more an insubstantial sheath, shifting and
changing before Izgra. Blackness flowed within blackness and bled across its
surface.

“I HAVE NEED!” shrilled Izgra.

Abruptly, red flecks of flame appeared within the
surface of the obelisk. They swirled and sputtered across the blackness,
coalescing toward the center into an image. Smoke rose and slowly filled the
curtained enclosure. At once the image in the center of the obelisk both
heightened in clarity as more of the burning red flecks completed the image,
and grew hazy as smoke obscured the vision of the Malveel Lord.

Sulgor curled a lip into a snarl of pleasure as the
beast realized what he witnessed. There before him, on the surface of the black
obelisk lay the likeness of his true master, Amird, Lord of Chaos. It took all
of the Malveel’s self control not to throw himself toward the base of the slab
and declare his everlasting loyalty.

A deep voice filled the chamber. It boomed from the
blackness and echoed against the walls of the room. A cavernous, pitiless howl,
filled with rage and venom.

“Why do you call me?” demanded the voice as it
faded into the hiss and crackle of a smoldering fire.

Izgra kept his head bowed and arms raised.

“Lord Amird. I have need,” begged the warlock.

“You were warned, Izgra Admir,” snapped the towering
image of Amird. “I expend too much energy maintaining this form! The fiery
winds of Chaos tear at my soul in this realm and force my disembodiment.”

“I implore your forgiveness, my lord,” pleaded
Izgra. “But I seek knowledge.”

“You were given all knowledge held for your task,”
snarled Amird. “You tarry! Finish your duties or others will finish in your
stead!”

“I seek knowledge only you can provide, my lord,”
squealed Izgra. “I seek knowledge from within the mists of Chaos.”

Amird’s fiery eyes narrowed and glared at the
warlock. He considered the request for a moment then replied.

“What do you seek?” questioned Amird.

“Answers, my lord,” sniveled Izgra. “One of your
servants was defeated and his soul was taken to the burning mists.”

Amird’s lips curled in a cruel smile.

 “Methra the Beguiler. I brushed his presence here
within the flames. He was one of my first,” said Amird with an air of
satisfaction.

Sulgor’s lips quivered in ecstatic pride at the
recognition Amird bestowed upon his kind.

“Yes, my lord,” stated Izgra. “He was taken from
your service. He was weak.”

The sputtering image of Amird roared into flame.

“Did you summon me to curry favor and undermine the
Malveel?” roared Amird as flame and smoke erupted from the shifting surface of
the black obelisk. “Your task is all you require to be judged Izgra!”

The warlock took a step backward and lowered his
head in deference.

“No! No! My lord!” whined the Half Dead. “On the
contrary! Methra was close. He was sent to the edges of the Nagur to intercept
Elven messengers. He was successful in his mission yet delayed return. I must
know why. I must see what he has seen and know what he encountered. Only then
will I begin to understand if he stumbled upon the new Seraph.”

“Do you know what it is you ask? Methra has been
torn asunder. He is scattered throughout the flaming mists. To call him back is
to gather him in from the edge of madness and force his spirit together if only
for a few brief moments,” rumbled Amird. “I try to build my strength, not waste
it!”

“It is crucial, my lord.”

The image of Amird smoldered and sputtered.
Finally, his red eyes brightened in intensity and rolled into his head. Sulgor
heard more chanting and the fiery red flecks holding Amird’s image dissipated.
They were replaced by new red flecks struggling to coalesce near the center of
the obelisk. An image formed then drifted apart, only to reform seconds later.

After several attempts to gain substance, the fiery
image of Methra hovered in the center of the obelisk. The Malveel’s image threw
its head back and gnashed its fangs, slashing the empty air as if it were beset
by stinging hornets. A deep howl of anguish filled the chamber as the beast
thrashed in pain.

“Methra!” commanded Izgra.

The beast growled and attempted to focus on the warlock
standing before him. Methra’s body jerked in spasms, but his wide, madness filled
eyes searched for Izgra.

 “The burning never ceases!” growled the image of
the Malveel.

 The red flecks shifted and slid across the
blackness of the stone obelisk. At times the image of Methra dissolved, only to
reform moments later. Sulgor’s black tongue ran along the knife-edge of his
fangs in anxiety over the fate of all of Amird’s servants. Victory over Avra in
this world meant never having to face Methra’s fate.

“Pain!” shrilled Methra. “Suffering!”

“Silence!” shouted Izgra. “Heed my words, snake!
You failed your master and you suffer the consequences for such failure. Obey
my commands and perhaps your suffering will be relieved.”

Methra thrashed and spun within the obelisk,
slashing at the burning mists of Chaos.

“What is it you ask?” howled the creature through
his madness.

Izgra’s lip curled in satisfaction, displaying
rotting gums and broken, blackened teeth.

 “You sensed the new Seraph in the Nagur Wood?”
questioned Izgra.

 “Yes!” cried out Methra.

 “You were drawn to his location?”

 “I was drawn toward the Nagur path,” snapped the
beast. “Toward power!”

“Whose power?”

“I found a boy,” wailed Methra. “I killed it!”

“The new Seraph?” asked Izgra intently.

“The boy. I ... it was I.
I
killed him,”
raved the Malveel.

“What of the new Seraph?” commanded an irritated
Izgra.

“He arrived within the day,” slavered the beast
writhing in agony.

“You sensed his approach?” asked Izgra.

“I sensed nothing!” snarled Methra halting his
spasms and glaring at the warlock. “Power surrounded me. The power of creation
shown like the surface of the sun and obscured my senses. Power in the wood.
Down the path. At my feet. Power filled the Nagur. I could not distinguish
between any of it. Great power!  The power of Avra the Creator pushes forth to
flood the world and drown you!”

Instantly, Methra shrieked in pain and flailed
uncontrollably within the obelisk. His wails and howls filled the chamber with
a deafening noise.

“I AM POWER!” boomed the voice of Amird from deep
inside the obelisk.

Izgra stood patiently watching the creature’s
anguish. After a few moments, the shrieks died away and Methra slumped forward
heaving. Izgra slowly continued.

“What of the new Seraph?” demanded Izgra.

Methra appeared not to hear the question. The
Malveel’s image churned within the obelisk, heaving and glaring at Izgra.
Finally, a crazed smile crept across his face. Sulgor couldn’t imagine anything
eliciting pleasure in the horrific place Methra’s spirit was cast into. Through
lowered eyes the beast glowered at Izgra and with supreme pleasure he addressed
the warlock.

 “He comes for you,” hissed Methra in a whisper.
“The boy comes for you.”

Izgra saw Methra’s madness for what it was. No
spirit could maintain a grip on itself when plunged into the realm of insanity
Amird and Chaos created.

“The new Seraph comes for me?” questioned Izgra.

“The Old One assisted the boy within the woods. The
boy was not defeated but raised up. I am the executioner’s sword, but you are
the hand that held the blade. Even now he moves closer to you. The Old One is
with him and he is with the Old One. They are the same. The Father awaits them
and the three King’s are One. The end draws nigh,” snarled Methra.

Izgra stared at the raving Malveel and considered
his words. Surely this creature’s madness affected much of what he said, but
there could be no denying he encountered the new Seraph in the Nagur.

“Your rant has given me much to think on, Methra.
Return to the mists,” said Izgra with a wave of his hand.

The image of the beast shimmered. Izgra turned from
the obelisk.

“What of my torment?” questioned Methra
frantically.

Sulgor quickly ducked from the curtain and
retreated to the main chamber’s opening.

“Your torment is eternal,” hissed Izgra.

 The image of Methra the Beguiler flickered and
disappeared.

Aemmon stood on the Nagur path staring into the
forest. Panic enveloped Kael. His brother was unaware. Kael wanted to shout to
Aemmon. Warn him. Methra! Methra lurked in the woods! Aemmon turned and hobbled
back toward the camp using a fallen limb to support his injured leg. Methra
crept from the opposite side of the path. Kael’s heart ached. His thoughts
raged. Why can’t I save you?

Aemmon turned as if in response. He stared directly
into Kael’s eyes. His expression was forlorn. He knew. Without seeing the
rushing Malveel he knew it was coming for him, and he accepted it. Aemmon
smiled weakly a moment before the Malveel’s jaws widened and the creature
leapt.

Light flashed. The figure of Aemmon transformed
into a brilliant silhouette of blinding radiance. The light was so intense that
Kael could see nothing else. The path was gone. Methra was gone. The trees were
gone. Only the shimmering white magnificence remained. It hovered for a moment,
strong and reassuring, flared once more and was gone.

In Aemmon’s place stood Hilro, spirit of the Nagur
Wood. The giant, old man calmly stared at Kael with the same winsome smile
Aemmon had, but Hilro emanated the same reassurance Kael saw in the light. Kael
knew things would be alright. Instantly, Hilro spun on the leaping Malveel and
snatched it by the neck in mid flight.

CRACK!

Kael awoke with a start. He was curled on the small
window seat in the Rindoran palace. The river’s steady flow pushed past the
fishing boats that worked below. The sun had shifted across the sky since his
discussion with Ader. It must be afternoon. The boy’s racing heart slowed. He
stood and shook his head. His legs and shoulders were stiff from sleeping on
the cramped seat. He walked about in order to get the blood flowing in his
legs. After several tight rounds through the room, Kael stopped and frowned.

“This is silly,” he mumbled to himself.

Kael walked over to the door and opened it a few
inches. He peered down the hallway. No guards were posted outside his door or
at the end of the corridor. He swung the door wide and stepped out. Heavy
tapestries hung on either side of the hallway. A pair of tridents, nearly as
tall as Kael, was affixed to the wall above the stairway. He strolled close and
admired their workmanship. They were most certainly steel, and the craftsman
embossed the image of an otter in the area where the three tines met.

Kael turned and studied the tapestries. One held
the image of Rindor. Birds wheeled above the sun-dappled citadel as the river
rushed past. Fish leapt from the river’s water and otter basked on the muddy
shoreline. The other tapestry displayed the image of an ancient battle. Men in
armor and chain mail stood on barges and drifted toward ancient Rindor. The
barges also held catapults clamped to their decks. Rindorans in small skiffs
with crews of three or four moved amongst the barges. The Rindorans wore no
armor. Their tridents and nets of meshed steel were their only protection.

The scene was utter chaos. Armored invaders spilled
from floundering barges spinning in the strong currents of the Ituan. Images of
struggling armored men sprang up all over the tapestry. Rindorans easily leapt
from skiff to barge and back again. Their nets flashed out and incapacitated
their rivals. The heavily armored assailants were unable to use their weaponry
standing on such unsteady surfaces. The length of the Rindoran tridents kept
the attackers at bay. The Rindorans were also able to use the tridents as boat
poles, steering the barges away when they posed a threat and drawing them
closer when their defenses were down. Kael marveled at the Rindoran mastery of
the weapon.