Mystic Firestorm 2 Page 13

  “Why would they try to kill you?” King Fallqron looked up, “why should I aid you?”

  Lady Saunder sat back and then explained her opinion of the incredible story. “We were ambushed by a battalion. Our group fought and was killed. We took secret tunnels that weave in and out of the mountains. No one could have followed us without being spotted. We came to a clearing and they converged all about us. They were dressed in the Nomad's clothing, but Prince Alec recognized one of the attackers to be a messenger of the Darkmages. We escaped with our lives.”

  “It doesn't explain what your problem is.” King Fallqron snapped and clapped his hands. A servant dressed in white with a small cloak came in with a tray of hot ale. He offered the two guests some and they thanked him- When the servant left the Prince then stood up.

  “War! A march to destroy the Nomad Kingdom and the Gnomeholden,” the Prince lifted his hands. Lady Saunder put her mug down as King Fallqron pounded his fist on the table.

  “You come to my Kingdom and threaten me with war! How dare you! I should have you locked up and thrown down into the pits!”

  “You misunderstand me,” Prince Alec ignored the threats while considering a better way to explain his opinion. “The Darkmages would divide and conquer by separation. If they take over Gnomeholden, they could then cut off Shadow Still and Sellers Peak. Those area's would then cease to exist without trading of goods, food and water. They would march and cut off those areas.”

  “Ingenious! A bluff. They would cut the cities off and blame it on me. They would wage war and bring the other cities down on Gnomeholden, but what for!”

  A dark cloaked figure entered the room, his brown cloak dragging on the black stone floor. The answer stunned Fallqron as he motioned the Cleric to enter the room.

  “The Darkmages would see us destroyed,” the Cleric sounded firmly. “We are an equivalent match to the powers of the Dark Ones. Thus, Gnomeholden poses a threat, but there are other reasons.”

  “What are they?” Lady Saunder inquired.

  “The Darkmages seek the power of the Blue Star.”

  “Blue Star?” Prince Alec repeated as the Cleric began to explain.

  “A source of magic misunderstood and sought by others. It is a legend born out of the folklore. Long ago, the Fire Rock Crater exploded and released a shower of fire. The molten lava poured down along the Ice Wall and became blocked by the Stormy Divide. It was a time when magic ruled the lands and men were wizards of great power. A battle enraged and a horrible magic released through the Mythical World. Creatures and Demons came out to destroy those that walked the earth. The wizards in a last effort sacrificed themselves and gave their lives, thus creating the Blue Star. The Blue Star is a powerful weapon which can regenerate age and give anyone the power. It can also withdraw age, its magic is unpredictable, but it destroys evil. The Star drove back the Demons. The magic was so powerful that it altered the lands and shook the earth. The wizards and Demons were destroyed, and the magic lost. It was never to be seen again. It is believed that the Darkmages have retrieved this magical weapon.”

  “How?”

  “Found it or took it from a Mystic,” the cleric turned away. “These things do not disturb me. We are a match as long as they do not possess this strange magic.”

  “We must destroy them.” Fallqron screamed. “I want a dispatch of highly trained guards ready,” the King turned in a blaze of anger. “The Darkmages will be faced with our equal force of cunning and surprise,” he viciously boasted. “Besides, we have things that will keep them busy, but beware the magic we call upon may turn against us as well. The magic will be equivalent to the spells of the Blue Star. We need volunteers of highly trained questers which will fight to the death.”

  “You are a fool,” Lady Saunder said in a guttural tone.

  “What can be equal to the power of the Blue Star?”

  The Cleric clutched his fingers and pulled an amulet from beneath his cowl. It was an emerald which sparkled brightly in their view.

  “I will call upon magic’s bestowed to me.”

  “Do what is needed. We shall march our army into the Kingdom of Iclandia,” King Fallqron echoed. He rose from the table and eagerly dismissed himself, his stocky body rumbling down the stone corridor. The cleric determinedly rushed away leaving them with an empty-feeling, exhausted and confused. Prince Alec’s deep-seated feelings went adrift for a minute as Lady Saunder thought about the new confounding situation. From her perspective, she surmised that their mission succumbed to failure. No real resolutions to their exile would help. Prince Alec watched the Cleric’s shadow fade into the dim torchlight. Footsteps echoed with a thudding of a wooden door, posted guards left their posts as the couple watched the shadows dissolve like poorly drawn caricatures. As far as Prince Alec was concern, an indisputable distrust loomed concerning the Cleric. The brown-robed man had a surreptitious character that beleaguered them. As the last of scuffling noised dissipated, they spoke in soft whispers holding each other’s hands.

  “You’re dissatisfied,” Lady Saunder approached, instantly forming his secret thoughts into words.

  “The Cleric cannot be trusted. There is something inherently evil, some type of dark magic at work. King Fallqron is foolish, too hot-headed. We shall rest here this night and make our way out tomorrow morning.”

  “I don’t think they’ll let us go.”

  “We shall see.”

  Night draped over the dusky sunset as Lady Saunder and Prince Alec secretly discussed their possible escape. If need be, they would sneak out and head directly north to Sellers Pass then to Alalon. The city lie before the towering mountains of the Giant Spikes, which was a pair of mountains capped with ice-spikes that towered through the clouds. Shadowstill and Cydell were further west, two cities that were parallel to one another with trading. The cities were independent of rule, mostly built upon the trading skills. Alec’s intolerance of Gnomeholden gradually left him bitter, the prospect of receiving any other assistance appeared convoluted. The Nomads were a few day’s journey from Iclandia baring any imminent danger. Prince Alec figured that from Cydell, they would be able to enter Ridge Row Line and make their way to the safety of Sunny Vale. Many friends Iclandia were proven allies against the Nomads. Anger and resentment grew as Prince Alec considered the accumulation of circumstances. Maybe it was wrong to flee, maybe he had to face the Darkmages and have them relinquish their power, but how? The irritation grew as his face twisted into a funk, bearing his feelings with accuracy.

  “You wish to return to Iclandia,” she whispered.

  “I am a fool,” his voice combed the solitude of the fortress.

  “No, you trusted the Darkmages. They were supposed to protect you, educate and abdicate their positions and make you King. They betrayed you. If you return, they will kill you. I care for you.”

  “I came to King Fallqron looking for assistance, but it appears that I’ve left a poor impression on him.”

  “Go and speak with him,” she softly begged.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Cast your pride aside. I will wait here for you.”

  He nodded and examined the fringes of her lips, he earned to kiss them, but held back his desire. Skeptical of his own words, action and motives, he rose and trotted down the hall. A moment later, the door slammed with a pounding thud.

  Prince Alec examined the old stone fortress, half built inside the mountain, half out. Catacombs stretched all over Gnomeholden throughout the Kingdom. The Gnomes were masters at tunneling. He promptly went down a spiral staircase and pivoted to the right through a wide entrance. Not a sound was uttered as he felt a cold chill diverge into the hall. Torches lined the dark-stoned walls, burning quietly with little wooden tables that lined the walls every few feet, tapestries hung with the crest of the Gnomes. The prominent hall spread out as another staircase pinched the light at the end. A peculiar notion scudded throughout his mind, where were the sentries? The entire place appeared deserted as if
a reprehensible drive unrelenting shattered the life from the keep. Prince Alec’s steps mimicked an approaching enemy at the confluence of the hall. A mantle of exhaustion overwhelmed his stiff muscles, the day’s journey made him dogged, without refuge. As he made his way down, he noticed that none of the guards were standing at their usual posts. An incessant fear resurfaced in defense of self-doubt; it was a direct instinctual mechanism to protect him. Wordlessly, he continued down the hall as queries built. The Prince’s sense told him to check the doors, slight sounds reverberated as he pulled at the locked door. Mechanically, he checked the doors and they were locked. The mystery peeked his persistence as he volleyed across the hall checking the locks, then he came to the last door. Instinct told him that a danger was approaching, from where, he did not know. This was something new, never encountered in all of his years as Prince of Iclandia. A second later, he pulled a large pin and jiggled it into the lock of the steel door, a resonate click displaced the silence. Prince Alec opened the door to candlelit shadows. A few men were sitting on the floor, Gnomes sentries. No movement stirred and they did not react. He stepped forward to see a wash of red blood creeping along the floor. Prince Alec stepped back in horror for a moment, immobile and full of shock. A noise broke his concentration, not only were the bodies slashed, but they were mangled as if a wild animal had torn them apart. The Prince closed the door dishearten and walked down the hall. A streak of stubbornness made him check the other doors and when he unlocked them, others were found, mangled and torn immutable faces of twisted horror. He backed away and turned to see a sword on the brackets underneath one of wall-hanging pennants. Everyone in this section of Gnomeholden had been slaughtered, but how and by what? No sounds or cries were uttered, no men outnumbered, no skirmish were evident. Once more, his senses forewarned of a genuine evil forged relentlessly, one ready to spring. Maybe it was the work of assassins, but then one or two would only be dead. Ten sentries were piled into rooms or forced. The Prince strode down defensive and guarded examining each juncture, every convoluted shadow. In the distance, he heard noises from another corridor. Fighting senses that lie dormant were reawakened as he levered himself to see around the hall. It was demurred of life, only the howling whispers of the cold drafts were heard whistling. Torches were out and strewn on the floor as he came upon the mishap shadows of a group of dead Gnomes. To his discovery, their swords remained sheathed, unaware of the inherently evil attack that single-handedly destroyed them. A dilemma fell upon him, Lady Saunder. A possibility tantalized him with far-reaching ramifications. Suppose they were all dead? Was it possible that Lady Saunder was next? Heedless of that possibility, he scooted down the lengthening corridor. Then a noise lurched forward as a thin lonely shadow stirred, a stone-faced man appeared, it was the Cleric. He made no sound and appeared transfixed in shock or disbelief. Prince Alec followed the gaze of his extending shadow as a noise boomed down the hall.

  “Guards! Confounded! Where is everyone?”

  Prince Alec expectantly moved to the Cleric who did not respond as he hesitated. The King shot a characteristic expression unwavering his feelings of anger. The Cleric raised his arm as the King self-restrained himself, then something occurred. The corporeal body appeared to disintegrated, fading away into nothingness leaving a shell of some dark thing, with crooked teeth, muscular limb and tuffs of iron-like hair.

  “Demon!” Prince Alec barley enunciated as it flung itself into King Fallqron. It bowled him over with a powerful blow, but the King rolled away from its crushing grasp. The surreal imagery changed as it appeared to grow in size, raggedly grunting in a cocoon replica of its former human form. Prince Alec struck the creature as Fallqron physically levered himself to strike a blow with his broadsword. Screams and cries were heard in the distance as sudden shadows bemired the flickering firelight. Unimaginable things appeared down the hall as Gnomes joined in the battle to destroy the Demons that walked the halls. Prince Alec struck a blow as the creature crept slowly forward and leapt at him cat-like with full force. The thing vaulted past him, hitting the stone wall, its teeth and muzzle shattering in the stone, blood poured from its mouth as it turned. The expanse of the hall was suddenly filled with fighters, swords and shouts were breached as the thing whirled to attempt a final kill. It lunged at the King as he swung his broadsword. Alec flung his weapon and struck the spine of the beast, paralyzing it for one split second, enough time for King Fallqron to plunge the sword into its heart. The thing exploded in a green crimson fire and crumbled to the ground. Soldiers suddenly grabbed Fallqron and swath him and Prince Alec. Behind them, huge dark bodies of Ogres stormed corridor, flooding with their presence, bodies fell. The King and Prince were stymied by this enigmatic assault. Both reckoned that Gnomeholden must have been infiltrated without warning, all sentries must have been killed. The Cleric must have secretly given them entry to Gnomeholden, but the reasons for the invasion remained elusive. As the battle intensified, Gnome sentries went down before the crushing blows of the Ogres, their battle-axes wielding into the stocky frames. Archers fired slowing their advisories down to a grinding them to a halt as fighters reinforced the area unfazed by the dying. Prince Alec and King Fallqron rushed up the flight of stairs as something black and shrouded by mist leapt at them. Face-to-face, Prince Alec cut the beast down as it collapsed and exploded in green fire. The defenders demonstrated an undying perseverance to defend their King at any cost as well as the protectorate. A faraway beam dawned on his face, mingled with sheer terror and discrete sadness. Suppose it had killed Lady Saunder? No, he told himself. It did not have time to reach her. Men reassembled and reinforced their positions as the huge Ogres collapsed with shaking roars. The Gnomes attempted to herd them into a trap and flank their numbers by both sides. The encroachment of Gnomeholden appeared to be a losing battle.

  “We must leave,” the King ordered.

  “Not until I have reached Lady Saunder.”

  “Get her now!” he commanded. “My men can hold us off for a moment,” he winked, staring resolutely at the prince.

  The sedentary mood of Gnomeholden changed as shouts and screams erupted from all corridors while Gnomes encountered Ogre. With a small click the wooden opened to find Lady Saunder standing before the table, her position unchanged.

  “Quickly, Ogres have breached Gnomeholden, we must go.”

  Lady Saunder did not move at first, she gave a gleam of dissatisfaction and appeared to break down in tears. Prince Alec made his way over to her as she peered into his eyes, tears streaming down. Lady Saunder wiped her reddened cheeks and outstretched her arms wanting him to hold her, comfort her and protect her from this madness. “It will be okay. We must go,” he snapped. As he made his way over to her she went to outstretch his arms, unemotionally, he jabbed the sword into her side. Stunned from the blow she stepped back, teary-eyed and wild-haired. Then her form changed and convulsed, reminiscence of what was once human. The thing counterattacked vaulting at him with laggard speed, it coiled back then hurdled. Prince Alec’s scream shattered the isolation and the thing collapsed with a howl. Meandering about, he found the unconscious body of Lady Saunder. She was not dead, but badly injured from the things attack. Without indecision, he gently picked her up and cradled her. The door was open as King Fallqron stood in disbelief at the unimaginable events that threatened their mortality. Ogres, Demons and Shapechangers invaded his homestead, destroyed most of his men leaving the fighters perplexed as to motive and cause.

  “This is the work of a Dark magic,” the King whispered.

  “She is alive, but gravely wounded. We need to flee.”

  “We’ve pushed back the Ogres but cannot hold them forever.”

  “We need to exit by the catacombs.”

  The King nodded and gave the command to a sentry. The Ogres pushed forward as Gnomes rushed back, blockading the corridors in a crazed frenzy. The creatures moved with slow clumsy speed, their huge muscles withstanding the strikes. Two Gnomes charged forward with gray sticks
and lit them. A moment later, the room filled with smoke like a swirling mist, engulfing everything. The Ogres rushed to combat their evader then a fiery explosion rocked the corridor causing it to collapse. A moment later, when the smoke cleared and more reinforcements were sent to destroy the defenders, the monsters found Gnomeholden empty.

  Raggedly the Gnomes and Prince Alec exited the keep by accessing secret tunnels. The surviving sentries guided them through the stone excavation. A silence castoff while they regrouped and discussed plans for their evacuation. Miraculously, the King and Lady Saunder remained alive, but their lives were irrevocably altered by a fairy-tale nightmare. King Fallqron ordered the Gnomes to assist them to Iclandia. The combatants ostensibly followed orders without questions in sleek, rhythmic movements. Doors and passageways emptied into caves and crawlspace. The Gnomes knew exactly where they were going, each had been trained, it was fundamental to their own, but virtually elusive to their trackers.

  After an hour of travel, Prince Alec, and King Fallqron emerged into the cold, dark night. In the distance, torches roamed the great carved stone halls of Gnomeholden. The Gnomes had stocked up on five days of ample supplies. Thick clothes had been secured by secret stockpiles hidden within the tunnels. The twelve survivors stooped over rock boulders thick evergreens. The stern chiseled face of the King compressed into a dim sadness at the loss of his comrades. The Gnomes lifted Lady Saunder onto a sled that could be easily pulled over rough terrain.

  “Why?” Fallqron asked.

  “I have no answer,” Prince Alec whispered.