TST (21 page)

Toron set his food down on the plate before him and stood to his imposing height of seven feet, just over eight if you added the horns—the one on the right anyway.

“I believe I shall take a third option if you please and depart with you if you will allow me to accompany you,” he rumbled in a deep, gravelly voice.

Zeb considered the request for just a second, before answering. He was glad the old minotaur was not going to fight them. Even past his prime, it would have been a brutal and costly fight.

“Suits me fine I guess. I don’t know where we’re going but a powerful fighter like you would be most welcome so long as you never give us reason to doubt your loyalty. Grab what you need and make for the top of the big tower. Azerick’s got us a way out.”

Cook and crew grabbed large sacks and stuffed them full with food from the pantry and smoke room. They filled bladders and jugs with water and slung them over their shoulders with leather and rope cords. Every man slipped a kitchen knife into his belt before hurrying upstairs to the top of the tower. They met Toron near the top of the stairs dressed in a thick leather kilt reinforced with steel plates, a chain hauberk, and a large, double-bladed battle-axe strapped to his back. Zeb gave him a nod and they made their way to the meeting point.

The door at the top of the stairs was open and they all scrambled inside. Azerick was standing near a bookshelf stuffing scrolls into hard leather tubes as nearly a score of men and a few women from Lord Xornan’s household staff piled into the room.

Azerick paused and looked at the big minotaur that stood amongst them, his horns nearly scraping the ceiling. “He’s coming with us, lad, if you’ll have him.”

“Any that wish to flee this horrible place is welcome to come. I need everyone to pack away and carry everything on that table,” he ordered, pointing to a stack of books, scrolls, and a few baubles of various sorts.

Everyone promptly obeyed as Azerick finished rolling and packing scrolls away into rigid tubes. A loud crash resounded from down below as the heavy doors gave under a tremendous force. Heavy, booted steps pounded up the stairs and throughout the rooms below as guards searched for the rebels.

Azerick stepped over to the multi-colored gemstones and entered the same sequence that Lord Xornan had used on his last expedition. The portal snapped open and revealed a wall of darkness beyond.

“Everyone step through, quickly now. I’ll follow in a moment and provide light,” Azerick instructed his group of refugees.

Azerick made his way through the stream of humans and closed the vault door. Brackets were bolted on each side of the doorframe and a thick cross bar leaned in a corner, its top surface covered in thick dust. He started to reach for the oak beam but got another idea. He grabbed the black, evil-tainted staff that leaned against a bookcase and dropped it into the slot instead.

“C’mon, lad, everyone is through but us,” Zeb called to him.

“Just a moment, Zeb, I have to do something first. No one will ever run slaves or gladiators out of this house again,” he swore as he cast his sunder spell on the artifact.

More hard thumps sounded against the door as guards threw themselves against the magically reinforced barrier. The artifact was extremely powerful and resisted Azerick’s attempts to tamper with it. It felt almost like a living thing and tried to return Azerick’s attempts to destroy it with the black energies it contained.

However, his determination finally won out and the spell weakened the physical structure of the ebony rod. He followed Zeb through the gateway as blows that were even more powerful shook the entire chamber. As soon as he passed through, Azerick closed the portal behind him.

A score of guards stood waiting for battle as five psylings launched their powerful psionic attacks against the barred door.

“The door and chamber beyond is protected by powerful magic,” one of the evil creatures told its kindred. “We will have to join our powers together to overcome it.”

“So be it,” the others answered.

The psylings clasped hands and stood in a half circle before the door. They all concentrated and sent their psychic energies to their brother who stood in the center gathering and focusing their combined strength. As the power built to a crescendo, he released it all against the resilient door in one massive burst. The stubborn wood and steel yielded under the titanic assault and split asunder.

When the door and the ebony staff barring it were sundered, all the power pent up in the black rod detonated with such force that it caused an instant chain reaction of destruction. Every magical staff, ring, gem, necklace, piece of armor, and scroll that contained magical power, as well as the dimensional gate and the powerful enchantment that had protected the chamber, detonated as well.

A colossal blast erupted in a bright white light so intense that it seared the eyes of anyone that had been looking in that direction seconds before the explosion washed over them. In that same instant, a massive explosion sent a shockwave of destruction through the city, killing everyone, and reducing every building to rubble in a miles wide radius. Thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands perished in an instant. The great psyling city was virtually wiped out of existence.

Teraneshala, the powerful abyssal elf wizard, felt the blast and the mental control her psyling master had over her slip for just a brief instant. But that instant was enough for the spell she had prepared the moment of her capture to enact its purpose. She saw the wall bow under the intense force of the blast at the same instant her spell whisked her across the planes and back to her deep, subterranean home.

The elf staggered away from the rune-inscribed circle carved into the floor of a secret chamber, of which only she knew the existence. She paused to consider what had just transpired. The wizard replayed the event, ran the “smell, taste, and feel” of the magic that had surly destroyed that warren of evil.

Teraneshala threw her had back and laughed deeply, her melodic voice echoing off the cavern walls. “Oh, very nicely done, little human, well done indeed.”

The elf was certain the human had played a hand in whatever it was that had just transpired though she could not know what exactly that was. She hoped he had somehow escaped that destruction.

Far beyond even the abyssal elf’s home, across planes of existence that few could and even fewer would want to reach, another shared the elf’s laughter.

Yes, my hand, send me more souls,
the goddess of death cried out in exultation as thousands of new souls flooded into her dark afterlife.

On the other side of the dimensional gate, a mass of humans huddled in darkness and muttered in fear. Azerick scooped up several plumb sized stones from the cave floor and cast an enchantment upon them. Bright white light flared from the stones that lay in his cupped hand. He passed them around to a few select people along with a scroll tube.

“Carry this light. If we call for the lights to be extinguished, drop them in the tube and cap it,” he instructed the light bearers.

“What do we do now, Azerick?” Zeb asked.

Azerick looked at the huddled refugees and the cavernous chamber around him. He looked at the wall of stone behind him, using his own light to illuminate its hard grey surface. Several runes were deeply etched into its surface. Azerick traced each rune with his finger and felt the remnants of magic that resided within them.

The anger and adrenaline that had been fueling his body left him in a rush. Spots swam before his eyes and vertigo overcame his balance. His knees buckled beneath him and he slowly slid down the wall to a sitting position.

“Azerick, are you all right, lad?” Zeb asked worriedly.

“I’m all right, Zeb, don’t worry about me. I just overdid it today. I need to rest right now is all. We can figure everything else out later. Just have everyone relax for now.”

Unable to keep them open any longer, Azerick’s eyes closed despite his best efforts and he fell into a deep, fitful sleep. When he next opened his eyes, he found himself staring into Lord Xornan’s soulless black orbs.

Did you really think you could defeat me and escape so easily?
The psyling gurgled in his mind mockingly.

“No, this isn’t real, you are not real!” Azerick shouted and rubbed his eyes.

Reality is what I make it, my pet. Have you not learned that by now?

“I killed you! I killed you for real this time!”

Just like you killed me the first time and escaped? Just like you killed your mother? You are mine until I decide otherwise, pet. You will serve me for the rest of your life. I will not let you escape and I will never let you die.

Azerick trembled in horror, looked down at the ground, and saw Delinda still lying dead on the flagstones by his feet.

“No!” Azerick cried out as the guards grabbed him roughly and dragged him towards the manor.

CHAPTER
7

Despite the apparent pacifism of the monks, General Baneford ordered a small group of guards to stand watch over the men sleeping in the dining hall upon their own bedrolls. He had wanted to continue the search but he and his men were exhausted and the succulent stew and fresh bread had made them all drowsy.

The continued hospitality of the men whose homes they had invaded and were essentially robbing perplexed the general to the point of hostility. This was not how people were supposed to act! He almost hoped the monks would try to sneak in and attempt to drive them out by force. At least he understood that kind mentality.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep refused to come.
Damn Brother Paul and his tolerance and hospitality and damn his goat stew too!

Unable to find peace, General Baneford got up, strapped his sword around his wool-clad waist, and stomped out of the dining hall with no purpose or intent other than to try to clear his head. He stalked down silent corridors where only the tiniest flame flickered in every third oil lamp to guide him. He felt a draft to his left and found the door leading to the outside.

Maybe some fresh air will clear my head.

The general stepped out into the cool night air and almost returned to his bed as his body shivered involuntarily at the sudden drop in temperature. He chose instead to walk a ways beyond the door’s threshold, gazing up into the night sky. The view was amazing. Not a single cloud marred the night sky and no moon shown in an attempt to compete with the luminescence of the stars. The surrounding peaks made it look as though he were gazing into the very depths of the heavens from the bottom of a huge well. A slight rainbow of wavering lights swam in the currents of invisible ether just above the peaks to the north.

“One of the first things our few visitors ask when they come to this remote place is how can we live in such isolation. The lucky ones see this and never ask again,” Brother Paul said, his voice preceding him out of the darkness.

General Baneford flinched inwardly at the unexpected noise but passed it off as a shiver born of the chill wind.

“Do you always wander about in the middle of the night or only when you have uninvited guests?” the general growled.

Brother Paul’s teeth flashed in the faint starlight. “I seem to recall inviting you and your men to sup with us and to enjoy the warmth of our fire.”

General Baneford snorted. “We would have been here regardless.”

“Then it is fortunate that I extended our hospitality before any further rudeness occurred that could have caused some embarrassment for either of us.”

“What are you really doing out here?”

Brother Paul stared up at the humbling night sky. “Much the same as you I would imagine. I feel a restlessness born of duty and a feeling of unease at the wrongness that you and your men are committing.”