Battle of lindly, p.17
Battle of Lindly, page 17
A foot from the secret entrance to his chamber, the voice returned, its words penetrating his mind and settling deep within his soul. “Turn back now. Or be damned.”
Nibarn hunched over, gasping as if he had been punched in the stomach. Within him, he felt his soul cry out in protest, fighting against his body as he tried to stand again. It was crying for him to listen. The sliver of light left in the man fought to overcome the darkness. “Nooo! I am a servant of Lestar and she will make me immortal!”
He composed himself, stood upright, caught his breath, and entered his study. Upon entering, he went straight to the desk and pulled out a drawer. Desperately, he grabbed two orbs and swallowed them whole. Sighing, he whispered, “Ah...now that is better.” Instantly revitalized, filled to the brim with confidence, he checked himself in a mirror. Brushing some of his hair back from his face, he smiled as he looked himself over in the small hand-held mirror. “Magnificent.” The orbs removed some of the wrinkles and smoothed out his skin, making the man look and feel younger than he was. He gave a glance to the door and looked from his desk out his window at the sun. He muttered to himself, “They should be here now.”
He rose from his desk and moved to the cabinet holding his tonics, tinctures, and wine– pouring a glass, he raised it in a toast to himself and then quickly refilled it. He twisted his head towards the door where a guard was standing. “Have my guests arrived?”
The guard’s voice answered, “Yes, milord. Arrived only a few moments ago.”
Nibarn shook his head in frustration. “Usher them in, please.”
The guard opened the door, moving aside to allow the substantial bearded dwarf into the room. The human guard realized he needed to move out of the doorway because the dwarf was so large. As the guard moved to close the door behind him, he uneasily watched as the twenty or so companions of the dwarf moved to follow their leader. The guard glanced back at Nibarn and the leader, a gray-skinned dwarf who said, “No boys, ye sit and wait. No harm comin’ to me here. But if this one–” He pointed directly to Nibarn’s personal guard in the doorway. “Gives ya any grief, kill ’im.”
The guard’s face went white as he closed the door and watched the others turn back to sit, wide grins on their faces. Inside the study, Nibarn gave a half-hearted bow to the dwarf known only as the Collector. “Wine?” he asked the dwarf.
The dwarf walked over to Nibarn’s cabinet. “Ye got something stronger?” His large fingers found a bottle of rut-gut grain rum near the bottom.
Nibarn tried to dissuade him, “I use that for cleaning only.”
The dwarf barked a laugh, “I be using it for drinking.”
Nibarn gingerly slipped past the dwarf and sat back in his chair. “Please sit, Collector.”
The dwarf took a big swig straight from the bottle and sat himself down in one of the guest chairs. The image of the dwarf sinking so low in the chair gave Nibarn amusement, and he cleverly used his wine glass to cover his grin.
“Damned chair is too small.” The dwarf was looking like a giant potato as tried to sit up taller. After a few wiggles and grunts, the dwarf sat, obviously uncomfortable.
Nibarn placed his wineglass down, turning his hands up in a gesture of parlay. “Have you brought the rest of the retainer?”
The dwarf belched before his response, “I brought that and more– do you have my bride?” Though the dwarf was paying for a bride, he had no interest in her as one. He collected things and people, placing and keeping them in a magical stasis underneath his palace in Asmadine. He wanted Serin because she was of noble birth but in his mind, she was also the most beautiful human he had ever laid eyes on.
Nibarn nodded gleefully, “I do. She is here in the palace. My personal guard will have my daughter brought here momentarily.” He looked past the enormous dwarf which proved difficult to do. But he was able to remain dignified as he yelled to his guard, “Go and fetch my sweet daughter, Bolo.”
The guard’s voice bellowed through the door. “Milord, are you certain I should leave you alone?”
Nibarn snapped, “I gave you a command.”
The guard quickly apologized, “Sorry milord. Right away milord.”
Nibarn returned his attention to his guest, who he saw was finishing the cleaning liquor bottle up. Belching again, the dwarf asked, “Ye got any sweets?”
Nibarn shook his head no, reclining back in his chair. “May I see a sample of what you have brought me?”
The dwarf reached down to his belt but could not find his waist so he stood to retrieve the coin purse. The chair rose with him, and with that, so did his anger. The dwarf’s face flushed darker gray, and he grabbed the arms of the chair and broke them off. Standing now unencumbered by the chair, he grabbed the purse and tossed it on the desk in front of Nibarn. He looked inside and saw a black chalky powder and dumped it over on the desk. The dwarf smiled broadly. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Nibarn’s eyes widened as he gazed upon the exquisite black powder, noticing the way the light caused it to sparkle like a thousand stars.
Nibarn looked up from the desk, “Is this what the ancient dwarves used to craft with? Is this really void-powder?”
The dwarf walked over to the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of rice wine and crunched the top of the bottle clean off. Chewing, he answered, “Aye, that is the stuff Clan Hewer used long...long ago. Then swore themselves from ever using it again.”
Nibarn nodded. “Yes, I have heard the tales. Too powerful, too dangerous. My interests are purely academic. No need to worry.”
The dwarf, clearly not worried, swallowed the broken glass and then the cork. Lifting the jagged edges to his lips, he drank the bottle in one large gulp. “I wasn’t caring what ye did with it. Honest and fair trade. The rest of it is being stocked at the location you requested.”
Nibarn leaned up from his chair and swept the powder back into the bag. As he swept, he noted it left no residue. It reminded him of gun powder but was dazzling to look upon and much less messy.
The dwarf turned his head as he heard the clinks of mesh armor and the steps of boots running down the hall to the study. Nibarn too heard the sounds and took the small pouch and placed it off to the side where it would be less noticeable.
Nibarn rose from his chair as the door opened to the room. “How dare you!” He scolded the uninvited intruder, stopping when the guard interrupted him.
“Your daughter is missing. She is not in the castle. We have our guards and the high elves scouring the city for her.”
The dwarf laughed, “Bah ha ha! Timid bride, eh? Never ye worry. Me boys can stay and help locate her. I need to be heading back for the tourney.” The Collector, above all things, treasured his master of ceremonies’ role in Asmadine. He had been running it for the last two hundred years. His guild was the largest and most powerful in the city. In all the events, games, and duels, his ‘Princes of the Rose’ were unrivaled, unstoppable, and undefeated. And the dwarf made certain it stayed that way every year. His guild’s advantage rose from his own rise to archdom under Eu’rok, after a long and painstaking agreement with Asmolor’s own archs, he resided comfortably in Asmolor’s capital city, Asmadine. He swore an oath never to join in any of the wars that the two god brothers may have. Though he honored that on the surface, he undermined the authority of Asmolor’s hierarchy in the city. Any rivals that would rise, he absorbed into his criminal network or if that did not work, he would have them killed. Instead of the guilds operating as they were created for– to offer a centralized location for engaging caravan guards, securing loans, or identifying specialists in diverse domains for mentoring or innovation, most were nothing more than criminal organizations now. Now they were nothing but thugs, stealing and killing anyone who stood in their path. Each guild was a petty little kingdom within the realms of the mortal races.
Nibarn thought over the dwarf’s words carefully, not wishing to give offense or openly decline his offer of aid. However, he accepted the aid, albeit begrudgingly. “I appreciate any assistance you give us. I do believe, though, if my men cannot find her, the elves certainly will.” Smiling behind his gritted teeth, he gave a small bow to the large dwarf.
“Ye may be right, but I be needin’ to be certain then they will accompany her to Asmadine,” the Collector said as he walked out of the room, squeezing himself through the door and out into the hall. Waiting for him in the hallway was a dark-skinned dwarven magic user, who Nibarn saw but could not make out their words. He could see the smaller of the two dwarves drawing on the ground. After a few flushes of his hands and inaudible words, an emerald-colored portal opened, and the Collector walked through, leaving his twenty guards behind.
The guild members led themselves down and out of the hallway and eventually out of the castle. Splitting into small groups, melding into the busy city’s populace looking for the young girl.
Nibarn’s guard bowed and began to apologize for the interruption, but Nibarn was waving him out of the room. “Who does that dwarf think he is? The fool will rue the day he allowed me to have void powder. Someday soon, I will be powerful and wield unlimited power in service to my mistress...” His words were trailing off as he stared down at his desk. The guard overheard some of what he was saying, but decided to shut the door and not press his luck.
Nibarn continued his dialogue with himself, “Perhaps when I have ascended myself under the grace of Lestar, I could take his guild over. Take over the city of Asmadine, in Lester’s name.” He rubbed his hands together in thoughtful bliss.
Nibarn contemplated his future but the voice within his mind interrupted his vocalizations. “The path you are on will leave you nothing. Turn away!”
He slammed his arms down on the table. “Enough! I have nothing? I rule one of the largest cities in the north. My service to Lestar has been rewarded by Lestar herself.” His hands pulled open the drawer with his small pearl orbs. “And someday I will become everything.”
While the drawer was open, he grabbed another two orbs and swallowed them. His eyes rolled back into his head as he slipped back into his chair. Intoxicated with the power and lust he felt for Lestar, he nearly nodded off to sleep when the voice again spoke. “In the end, you will be nothing. All that you believe is false. Turn back now.”
Drooling slightly, he fumbled the words out, “Nuh uh...I can feel her power, and it grows in me. Noooow shussshhh.” He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
Upon entering his dreamlike state, he saw himself. However, it was a much younger version of himself standing before his older self. Nibarn watched the older and younger self interacting from a distance. The younger self was warning him to stand down. To stop all that was going on. To call upon what was left of himself to become the hero he always wanted to be. He observed with amusement until he realized that both versions of himself had turned and made eye contact with him.
A sudden rush of wind hit him, and he felt like he was free-falling. As he plummeted downwards, he strained to make a sound, but his voice failed him. In the darkness, he frantically reached out to grab onto something to slow his descent but felt nothing.
Soon, the blackness turned to blurry visions of his past. His childhood and his loving mother’s embrace. The times his father beat him. Still, he fell, swirling in the blurry chaos that was his life. He saw the death of his wife again and the pain struck him deeply. He saw Desa’s soul crying as it was drained with her baby into Lestar’s embrace. Tumbling, he tried to close his eyes away from all the pain, but it was compounding inside his body and mind. He could hear screams and pain and he cried out for someone to help.
In that moment he froze, suspended, no longer falling and no longer seeing the past and pain he had already caused. He no longer felt the pain of his father’s hate for him and all was calm. He opened his eyes and saw a dark sapphire-robed figure before him. “Turn away from your path, Nibarn of House Neske, or a greater torment than this will be your reward.” Nibarn struggled to reach out and grab the man. He screamed and thrashed towards him, but the man did not move. The hooded man shook his head. “I have warned you. Turn away.” The man clapped his hands in front of the suspended Nibarn and vanished.
Nibarn awoke from his brief sleep, gasping for breath and sweating profusely. He felt as if he had been stranded in the desert. The sweat and thirst left him feeling dead. “Guard! GUARDS!” he yelled hoarsely out towards the door.
The first guard entered and then a second. “Lord?”
Nibarn reached out to them, his voice too weak to continue. They rushed over to him, scanning the room for intruders. Nibarn’s raspy voice whispered, “Water. Intruder. Mind.”
The guards turned, expecting an attack or to see someone they had missed. Seeing no immediate threat, one of the guards poured Nibarn a glass of water. Clutching the goblet as if someone would steal it away, he sipped on it. The two guards glanced at each other. “Lord, shall we raise the alarm?”
Nibarn shook his head no, his voice still a whisper. “No, it was just a dream.”
19
Upon stepping through the portal, Victus surveyed the hustle and bustle that was their camp. Biddy had set up his fiery imps to perform tasks such as cooking, in a summoned outdoor shack. Biddy’s fire ants made a line from the woods to the fire pit, carrying twigs and sticks and even a small log. Near the fire pit, which was being expanded by other fire ants, Victus noticed the little fire ants swarming around a wooden structure that was being built to look like Biddy. Victus grinned. The area was being transformed into a magical wonderland for the evening. Biddy’s added efforts to the celebration created a more profound and enjoyable sense of camaraderie. He noted with approval Titus patrolling in between two sets of soldiers on opposite sides of the camp. Off about fifty feet into the woods, he saw a large lava creature walking in large circles around the camp. He heard in a soft but booming voice. “Butterfly, butterfly. Come-here!” Then distinctly heard, “Oh nooo– I just wanted to hold you.” Shortly after that, the lava creature said again. “Butterfly, Butterfly!” Chuckling to himself and marveling at Biddy’s creation, he then looked off to the left. Aris and Serin were playing. It seemed Aris was reenacting the details of his fight with the dark elves. To his right, Jess was moving, having grown tired of waiting for his safe arrival through the portal, her pace slowed when Victus met her gaze, smiling warmly towards her.
Behind him, the Knight’s Threshold blinked from existence and he turned, giving a reassuring nod to Jess. She asked, “So what did the dubious dwarf want?”
Victus looked out towards the other soldiers, who were hoisting a large tent to encompass the entire party. Victus tilted his gaze over to Jess as he moved forward towards his own tent. “He warned me of the dangers we face. Asked me to stand down.”
Jess scoffed, “Of course he did. He is probably worried you will disrupt his work of playing both sides.”
Victus shook his head, his footsteps heavy as he walked towards his tent. “That is not it. He had information regarding the terrible things to come. And wanted for my safety and that of my soldiers to desist.”
Jess scowled. “He knows you would never stand down from your duty. He knows your honor is above reproach. Why would he even ask? What game is he playing?”
Victus stopped mid-stride and looked her pointedly in the eyes. “Because he is a loyal friend to me. And does not wish me to come to harm. I asked him to join us in the fight.”
At this, Jess’s head leaned back from him in surprise. “Will he join us?”
Victus exhaled a deep breath, morphing into a sigh. “No. He is unable to join us. However–”
Jess raised her hands in frustration, cutting him short, “You see! He is not about to help you because it will interfere with his other dealings. Thorm is a selfish and vile creature. He is a turncoat, his clan is disgraceful.” She spat on the ground in disgust.
Victus had heard enough, but kept his anger checked. Jess’s protective nature towards him was endearing and he separated it from his stance regarding Thorm. As a knight specializing in subterfuge, her suspicious nature was amplified. She was always vigilant for angles. Jess was fiercely loyal, always keeping a watchful eye on everyone to protect their best interests. Victus was aware that Jess shared his heavy burden, perhaps even more so than the rest of them. He raised his hand to pause Jess’s rant. When she quieted, he spoke. “However,” he said purposefully, starting from where she had cut him off, “he offered me something. A device that will help us in the battle to come. We toss it on the ground and stomp the gem within it. Once the mechanism has been crushed, it will provide a temporary shield against Lestar’s weapon. But it will not hold for long, and it will only cover a portion of Lindly.”
Victus did not wait for her to respond, he just continued on towards his tent. Jess was thinking it all over, her frustration towards the dwarf slightly eased. As they both neared Victus' tent, Marcella stood beaming, clearly happy with the results of Jess’s recovery. Her chipper voice rang with joy. “You seem to have made a full recovery, Knighturion Jess.”
The knight responded with a polite smile, “I am a little stiff, but Victus is going to help me with that.”
Marcella’s face blushed dark red, her smile awkward. “Ah well, then you won’t be needing anything from me presently. If you do, I will be helping prepare for this evening. Just come find me.” She turned to Victus, giving him a fist-to-chest salute, and moved along, allowing Victus and Jess to approach the tent.
Victus gave Jess a coy smile, a question in his eye, “Help you stretch, eh?”
She returned his look playfully, “Yes commander, you are the only one that can help me in this regard. I assure you I do need you.”
Victus reached out for the tent flap, holding it open for her and chuckled as he trailed in behind her. Victus watched the woman move some of the cots together, centering around a small box. The box would offer them a makeshift table for a game of ‘tum tums,’ a dice game favored by human soldiers. The object of the game was to roll the set of colored dice in a cup and toss the cup over, keeping the dice covered. Then each person playing would guess the colors under their cup. For each color guessed right, a point was issued. The first person to reach thirty would win the game. Victus and Jess had been playing for as long as they had known one another but every time they played, he would lose. Despite possessing psionics, which he refused to employ, he remained unsure of his ability to defeat her. After she had positioned herself in her preferred cot spot, he moved to sit opposite her, a smile on his face. Her particular smile in response led Victus to conclude that the stakes of the game were clothing, not coins. “So what are we waging, my dear? A silver piece or gold for a win? We betting each round or doing a fixed ante round?”
