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Revenge of Evil
By Dany
Rated R
Summary: Third installment of The Chronicles. Mithrandos and Kandaar are enjoying their life together, but the queen of the Evil Forces has a terrible plan for them…
Slowly and sluggishly he awoke from the few rays of sunshine that filtered through the dark drapes. He did not need to open his eyes to know that he was alone in bed, but a sound from the kitchen area downstairs told him that Kandaar was near. Mithrandos stretched lazily, cracked an eyelid open and waved a finger at the window. Promptly, the heavy curtain drew aside and the sunlight invaded the bedroom loft in full force. He had to blink a few times before his eyes adjusted to the sudden light enough to judge the time according to the sun’s position, and he was surprised to realize how late in the morning it was. But then his mouth split into an impish grin.
‘After all the strenuous exercises from the night past, it is no wonder I slept like a stone.’
He rolled over onto Kandaar’s side of the bed and simply lay there for a moment, breathing in his companion’s scent and letting his gaze drift across the room; their bedroom.
The thought made Mithrandos smile. Nearly two weeks had passed since their move into this quaint little house. He would never say it out loud, of course, but he had had his doubts whether he could ever live with someone in this way, but it had turned out to be nothing less than sheer bliss so far. Granted, it was very different from life at the temple, but between their work at the sanctuary of The Light and their private lives in this house, Mithrandos had to admit that his life had certainly turned out much better than he had ever dared to hope for.
Since their first night together on that fateful day all these months ago, Mithrandos and Kandaar had made no secret of their newfound relationship, and no one in the temple begrudged them their happiness. For several months they had lived thus, dividing their nights between their respective rooms, until they were both summoned to the High Wizards’ official chamber one morning. And there, with three identical smiles on their wizened faces, the three leaders of the temple had presented them with the keys and a document of ownership to one of the many properties the temple owned; a house on the outskirts of the village at the bottom of the temple hill.
Stunned and exhilarated, the two Guardians received this gift, for it also represented the official acknowledgement and blessing of their union from the Temple of The Light.
The house was small but cozy; an airy, two-storied place with an open loft on the first floor connected to the downstairs kitchen and living area by a narrow, open staircase. Behind the house was a small garden in which Kandaar had tried to make something, anything, grow from the day they had moved in. Unfortunately, as brilliant as he was in creating art with words and drawings, he was equally unsuccessful with creating anything green, living and edible. And since he stubbornly refused to resort to magic potions to aid him in his gardening endeavors, the sight of either the dark-haired scribe or the blond captain among the food stalls in the market place of the village was by now a common one.
Mithrandos grinned at the memory of one particular day when he had been watching Kandaar fumble with yet another hopeless planting project in the garden.
“At least you have quite a way with weeds,” he had teased him good-naturedly, eying the impressive growth of wild bushes and tangled vines and then ducked with a laugh as a well-wielded clump of said weed flew right at his head.
Yes, life was good. Very good.
A slight creaking noise made him turn towards the stairway, and he watched as a barefoot and bare-chested Kandaar ascended into the bedroom, wearing only his white Guardian uniform trousers. He was carrying a ceramic mug and Mithrandos could see a faint curl of steam escaping from within.
He smiled and propped himself up on one elbow as Kandaar sat on the edge of the mattress and held out the mug to him with a smile of his own.
"Good morning."
"And to you," the captain said, accepting the cup with a nod of thanks. “Do I need looking after so badly?" he said teasingly just before he brought it to his lips.
“Nay.” Kandaar looked at him with warm eyes from beneath long lashes, tousled brown curls dancing as he shook his head. “But even if you did, it would be a pleasure rather than a chore.”
Mithrandos smiled into the cup. The pleasant - and by now familiar - tang of Kandaar's special blend of herbs filled his mouth and he drained the tea in two deep draughts.
"Mmmm." He sighed with pleasure. "The Light has blessed me with you, Kandaar."
Kandaar trailed his fingertips down Mithrandos' smooth chest. "And me with you. I can fix you something to eat before you have to leave for the temple, if you are hungry."
Mithrandos placed the mug on the bedside table. "It is not food I hunger for," he said huskily and Kandaar laughed.
"For someone so ancient in years you have the stamina of a young horse, Milord," the scribe said with a mischievous grin, for these days he used Mithrandos' title only in a playful manner. He made no move to even pretend to fend off the hand that wound into his hair, then tightened around the curls, holding his head in place as Mithrandos kissed him thoroughly and with abandon.
"I shall grow soft amidst all your pampering," the blond warrior said when they finally parted to catch their breaths.
"That would be a pity," Kandaar purred, "for I like you hard much better."
Mithrandos pulled him into his arms, growling ferally at the thinly disguised insinuation and Kandaar's mouth descended upon his hungrily once more as they fell backwards and into the pillows.
Mithrandos smiled as he buried his nose into his companion's neck. Kandaar smelled like, well, Kandaar, musk and parchment. So fitting.
During their first night together, Mithrandos had been surprised to find out that Kandaar was untouched; the scribe had turned out to be a quick and enthusiastic learner, however, and he now demonstrated his passion anew as he quickly shed his pants, covered Mithrandos’ body with his own and plastered fervent kisses on the captain’s face and neck.
"When are you expected in the temple for council with the other officers this morning?" Kandaar murmured into Mithrandos' neck some moments later.
Mithrandos' reply was noticeably hoarse. "There is still some time. And even if I arrived late, I think that shall be excused."
"I think so as well, for who would dare chastise the Lord Captain Mithrandos?"
"Other than you? No one." Mithrandos grinned and fixed him with that bright green gaze that never failed to make Kandaar's heart skip a beat before he playfully nipped at the scribe's nipple. Kandaar snickered, but his laughter changed into the sound of sucked-in breath and a groan as Mithrandos' lips abruptly went from Kandaar's chest to decidedly lower regions.
Yes, the meeting could wait indeed.
'A vocation I adore, a house in which I dwell with the man I have loved all my life by my side...'
There was a time when all Kandaar had hoped for was to be able to observe the legendary captain from the Seventh Era from afar and maybe, if he was lucky, exchange words of greeting should they happen to meet in the temple hallways.
Now, just a little over a year after Mithrandos' awakening in this era, they were exchanging words of love instead in the privacy of their own bedroom.
Much better.
Rolling onto his stomach, his outstretched arm running slowly across the sheet on Mithrandos’ side of the bed, Kandaar wished he was still here. Most likely, he would not be seeing his companion until dinner time, and even then, they would not be alone.
More times than not, they still took their evening meals in the communal dining hall of the temple. Today, however, Kandaar did not feel like sharing Mithrandos with the other Guardians.
'I could prepare our evening meal at home tonight,' he thought suddenly. 'Maybe a stew of some kind...'
The idea made him break out into a smile. He wasn't the most talented of cooks, but when it came to stew, he had a secret weapon. His mother.
Still grinning, he rose from the bed and pulled one of his Guardian uniforms from his clothes chest. His mother would provide him with one of her famous recipes, he was sure of it. Maybe even relinquish some of her secret spices...
He dressed quickly, then bounded down the stairs and towards the door. If he did not linger too long at his parents' cottage, he could make it there and back with enough time to spare to get to the temple in time to teach his calligraphy class.
And since his mother did not appreciate people abruptly materializing in the middle of her kitchen, he made ready to set out on the twenty minute hike towards the other end of the town.
Once out the door he did not look back, therefore he never saw the ominous shadows that moved behind the cover of the bushes growing between his house and the next. Eyes were glowering at his retreating figure, watching until he had disappeared from sight before they moved quickly and stealthily towards the front door.
However, now it was getting late and lest he arrive at the temple too late for his own class he only had a moment to spare to drop off the recipe and ingredients at home and then be on his way.
He was about to push open the door when he paused; a feeling was creeping through the back of his mind, a sense of awareness of something he could not quite place. Almost as if a dark cloud had descended upon his senses.
He blinked, but as quickly as it had appeared, the feeling passed. Shrugging inwardly, he stepped across the threshold.
The door had barely clicked shut behind him when three things happened at once: A rotten smell wafted over him from behind and he heard a hissing noise just as a dirty, grey-clad arm wrapped itself around his throat. Kandaar dropped his bag and let out a small noise of surprise which was promptly choked off by the crook of the elbow digging into his larynx.
Although taken completely by surprise, Kandaar's instincts nevertheless kicked in and instead of clawing at the limb around his throat, he pushed backwards, throwing the intruder off-balance. They stumbled back a few steps until his attacker’s body crashed into the living-room wall. Kandaar jerked his head back, felt his skull connect with the unseen man’s head and the ensuing gargled wail told him it was a good hit. The arm around his throat loosened just enough for him to break free and get away, and with his heart thundering in his chest he whirled around to deliver another blow when he sensed more than saw more movement off to his left.
Shadows had gathered in the corners of the house, and out of one of those dark places now crept another black-clad figure. A man, dirty and sallow-faced, came lunging towards him. Strands of oily black hair hung into his grimy face, and he grinned an ugly, hard smile that showed a row of crooked, yellow teeth. Even from a few feet away Kandaar could smell the stink of sweat, pipe-smoke and evil.
The scribe blinked in bewilderment. Mercenaries of the Evil Forces? Here?
He couldn't for the life of him think of any reason for this uncharacteristically bold action by the Guardians’ enemies, and there was no time to dwell on it, for the ruffian thrust out his hand and a bolt of dark energy shot towards him. Kandaar had not been involved in any physical altercations in quite some time, but his reflexes were still honed and he threw up a magic shield just in time to deflect the beam. His assailant hissed in anger and leapt forward, intent on tackling him to the ground, but Kandaar sidestepped him, managing to get in a kick into the man's stomach in the process. As the filthy creature doubled over, he followed up with a swift punch in the face, nodding in grim satisfaction when he heard the telltale crunch of crushing cartilage. He had no time to deliver another blow, however, before he heard another noise behind him. He turned in time to spot that his so far unseen first assailant had recovered from the head-butting and was now rushing towards him, a wicked-looking dagger in his hand. Kandaar jumped over the body of the fallen ruffian to bring some distance between them and looked around frantically.
A weapon! He needed a weapon, anything...
The mercenary on the floor was stirring, trying to raise himself on his elbows with a groan and the face of the other assailant lit up with a victorious grin.
His crystal! His Guardian Saber crystal was in his pouch on the bedside table!
Instinctively, Kandaar's eyes flickered up to the loft, but his attacker interpreted the quick glance correctly and quickly moved to block the stairway. Fortunately, Kandaar had no need of the stairs. He simply leapt up into the air from where he was standing, summoning a bout of magic to propel himself upwards towards the bedroom loft.
He had one foot on the loft floor when something big and solid slammed into him from the direction of the bed. ‘Third attacker,’ his brain screamed even as he lost his footing and fell backwards, the unexpected mercenary's arms firmly wrapped around his chest. They careened down in a wide arch, turning in midair from the ruffian's own momentum. Kandaar twisted in the man's grasp and thus managed to land on top of him when they hit the ground. Unfortunately, the other two were on him immediately, yanking him backwards and off their comrade. Kandaar bit back a cry as fingers of steel twisted his arms behind his back. And then the ruffian he had punched was in his face and snarling at him, his broken nose still dribbling blood on the floor.
He fixed Kandaar with a glare brimming with hate and growled, “Soon you will wish you had never resisted us, Guardian.” He wiped his bloody nose with his hand. “Once we have delivered you to our queen, every drop of blood you drew I shall repay you tenfold.”
Then the man's filthy fist came shooting towards him, and held down the way he was, Kandaar had no way to escape it. An instant later, pain exploded in his face and then the world turned black.
He did not spot Kandaar among the many white-clad bodies, but he did spot another familiar face. Lord Samus, the Keeper of the Scrolls, sat behind his raised desk by the large panoramic window, signing documents. He answered Mithrandos’ greeting with a wide smile.
“Ah, Captain. What a coincidence. I was just about to send for you."
"Then I have spared your messenger a trip, Milord," Mithrandos grinned. "I was hoping to steal Kandaar from you for a while."
The portly Master of Records looked up at him with an expression the captain couldn't quite place. "And I would certainly let you - if I knew where he was. He has not arrived yet." But then the chubby face split into a smirk. "Have you exhausted my best assistant so much last night that he overslept this morning?"
Mithrandos smiled back indulgently. "He was awake when I left the house." He kept the smile on his face, but inside, an ember of unease slowly began to glimmer in his gut.
Lord Samus stoked it when he rubbed one of his chins thoughtfully and said, "That is quite strange, then. Kandaar has never been one to miss his classes without a good reason."
"And he has sent no message?"
"None."
Mithrandos stared out the window, his mind conjuring up a host of possible explanations for Kandaar's absence to calm the worry that was now distinctly gnawing at his insides. He tried to sound more untroubled than he felt when he turned back to the Keeper. “I better look in on him, then. Maybe he did succumb to sleep once more.”
Lord Samus believed that statement as much as Mithrandos did, but he took pains to appear unconcerned. “You do that, Captain, and tell him that, next time he decides to award himself some extra free time without informing me first, there will be a shelf full of temple supply lists waiting for him to review and re-write.”
Mithrandos worked up a grin and excused himself with a curt bow. The tingling at the back of his neck propelling him on, he covered the distance between the Hall of Records and the temple's main entrance at a swift pace, too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice Eliathar approaching from across the courtyard.
The older Guardian must have noticed the grim expression on his fellow captain’s face, for he promptly changed direction in mid-motion.
"Mithrandos. Why the hurry?" he called out while he fell into step with the blond warrior. Mithrandos flinched at the sudden presence and shot the other man an apologetic look for it.
Mithrandos liked Eliathar. Although the official captain of the Guardians knew war only from the history scrolls, he was a very competent soldier with a quick strategic mind, and the only Guardian so far who could give Mithrandos a serious run for his money during sword practice. Mithrandos also appreciated the fact that, although Eliathar had quite a few seasons on him and officially outranked him, he was nevertheless always open to his suggestions and input when it came to Guardian business. Whether he adhered to any of the given advice was another matter, but at least he listened. Mithrandos considered that a sign of a good leader.
Eliathar looked the part as well, with his powerful build, his headful of wavy salt-and-pepper hair and his mustache and chin beard. The captain was one of the very few soldiers of The Light who were cultivating facial hair.
Mithrandos gave him a quick report of the conversation with the Keeper of the Scrolls, ending the recount with, “This occurrence is unlike Kandaar, and I will be restless until I am convinced of his well-being.”
Eliathar nodded. "I was going to head into town later on as well, but I could go with you now," he said. "Do you mind the company?"
Mithrandos flashed him a grateful half-smile and motioned towards the temple's massive front gate.
"Not at all. But let us make haste, Captain."
The feeling that something was wrong hit Mithrandos right as he was reaching for the door handle. He shot Eliathar a look and saw in the other captain's face that he was feeling it, too. Hand on his weapons pouch, and with a rapidly growing sense of disquiet, he pushed open the door and the feeling escalated the moment he laid eyes on the living area of his house. He also sensed almost immediately that Kandaar was no longer here.
Not that there were many obvious signs of disarray; far from it. The few things that were out of place, however, he spotted right away, the first of which was Kandaar's bag on the floor by the door. One of their colorful throw rugs lay bunched up in a corner, and one of the chairs around the kitchen table was on its side.
And placed on the table, in plain view, were two items that made him feel like his heart was being clenched by icy fingers.
A fist-size rock the color of onyx and next to it a black-hilted, black-bladed dagger.
A hazy film of red seemed to descend before Mithrandos' eyes, and through the gut-twisting dismay that came with it he heard Eliathar curse beside him. Apparently the older captain had drawn the same conclusion at the sight of the calling cards of the Evil Forces.
By leaving a part of the cursed Black Mountain and one of their weapons behind for him, they made their message more than clear: Your companion is in our hands.
“Mithrandos.”
Mithrandos tore his gaze from the sinister tokens to find that Eliathar had moved and was now crouched down a few feet from the loft stairway, staring intently at something on the floor. Mithrandos swallowed heavily at the sight. Half a dozen dark red, almost black, dots on the wooden floorboards. Blood.
Eliathar’s hand hovered over the biggest of the splotches, so low that his fingers almost dipped into it. He stayed motionless for a moment, then looked up and shook his head in answer to the unspoken question on his fellow captain’s face. “Not his. The enemy’s. I can sense it.”
‘Kandaar, attacked by the scum of the Evil Powers in our own home…’ The thought twisted Mithrandos’ insides into a knot. He took the steps up to the bedroom loft three at a time. Upstairs, he pulled open the dresser drawer next to the bed and his heart sank at the sight of Kandaar's leather pouch. A quick look inside revealed that his partner's Guardian Saber crystal was still inside.
‘He never had a chance to draw his weapon.’
Clutching his lover’s weapons’ gem, Mithrandos heavily sat down on the edge of their bed as rage warred with near debilitating fear inside him. An almost primal urge to draw his own sword and teleport right into enemy territory seized him, but he forced himself to stay seated, to think clearly.
Even with the black stone as evidence, Mithrandos still couldn't be completely sure that Kandaar had indeed been taken to the Black Mountain. It could very well be a diversion. They were dealing with the Evil Forces, after all, and trickery was one of their trademarks.
And then there were the questions of Why? and most importantly Was Kandaar all right?
The blood on their living room floor was the intruders'; that told him that Kandaar had not gone down without a fight and for a brief moment Mithrandos felt a grim pride at that. It was, however, not enough to stifle the fear for his love's well-being.
A few feet away, Eliathar stepped into the loft from the stairway. He approached the bed, but said nothing at the sight of the familiar bag clutched in Mithrandos’ fist.
“I do not understand.” The blond warrior’s puzzled and worried gaze slowly transferred from the pouch to Eliathar’s face. “What could they possibly want with Kandaar?”
The captain let his broad shoulders rise, then fall. “I would not know. Unless the Queen needs a scribe for her memoirs…” He scratched the back of his neck pensively. “Nay, Mithrandos, there has to be some other, hidden reason behind all this.
“Besides,” he added after a moment of contemplative silence, “who is to say that it is Kandaar they were after in the first place?” His dark gaze settled on Mithrandos, and the younger captain’s eyes promptly widened.
“Me?”
Eliathar nodded gravely. “Forgive me, but can you think of anyone else the Queen has reason to hate more than you?”
With nothing to refute that statement, Mithrandos averted his gaze from Eliathar’s pointed look as a new wave of anger washed over him. As misguided as it was, the Queen of the Dark Powers probably did hold Mithrandos responsible for the death of her son simply for the fact that he had appointed himself the sorcerer’s sentinel until his demise. Therefore – yes, there was a score to settle between him and the Mistress of Evil, but to use Kandaar to get to him was a despicable act.
And thus exactly the kind of thing the minions of the Evil Forces would do.
When he first awoke from his enchanted sleep, displaced in time and with the weight of his past on his soul, all he wanted had been a quiet existence and contentment. He had been so weary of battle - still was - but back then he was also alone, utterly alone.
And then Kandaar had come into his life and had given everything a newfound meaning.
Balling his fists, and without taking his eyes off the leather pouch in his lap, Mithrandos whispered, "If Kandaar has met with any harm…"
The worry for his partner extended a ring of emotional pressure around his chest that felt so real, he wouldn't have been surprised to see actual steel encircling his ribcage when he looked down on himself.
He couldn't give up hope, couldn't give in to the paralyzing dismay. Kandaar was alive. He had to be!
He willed down the nauseating fear that was coiling in his gut and rose. If Kandaar was indeed being held inside the Black Mountain, as the evidence implied, then he had to hurry there.
Before he knew it, he was on the move, bounding down the stairs and heading for the door, but Eliathar’s strong grip around his arm stopped him before he could reach for the handle.
"I fear I know what you are about to do, my friend, and while I feel your pain I beg you to heed my advice," the captain said. "Let us take council with the High Wizards first."
"There is no time...”
"Time must be made for well-laid plans, if we are to get him back alive,” Eliathar countered. “Storming blindly into the enemy’s midst will do you no good, Mithrandos.”
Mithrandos merely sighed.
When he passed the window jamb Eliathar was leaning against, the older captain put a hand on his shoulder.
“Mithrandos, do not despair,” he said, compassion evident in his dark eyes. “Kandaar is a Guardian of The Light, so even without his weapons he is not defenseless. He has his training, his magic and his wits.”
“Then I hope that this will be enough to keep him alive until I can come for him,” Mithrandos only mumbled, his green eyes darkened to a shade of dark emerald with worry.
A few feet away from them, having apparently concluded his assessment of the enemy’s tokens, the High Wizard’s wizened face had crinkled up even more than usual from the deep frown he was wearing. He placed the items before him on his desk and fixed the two warriors with a look. “There was no note with these things?”
“None,” Mithrandos said. “I believe the stone and the dagger are the note, and Eliathar believes that it is me it is addressed to.”
“I concur with this conclusion,” the old man said. “It seems a logical explanation in light of the fact that Kandaar has never done anything to draw the wrath of the Evil Powers upon him.” He came around his desk to stand thoughtfully before his captains, gnarled fingers brushing through his long beard. “A Guardian of The Light being held by the Dark Forces is an intolerable situation. We must act quickly.”
Eliathar punched his fist into his palm. "Milord, I could have an army of Guardians gathered within the hour, we will launch a frontal attack on the mountain..." he stopped when he saw Mithrandos shake his head.
"Forgive me, my friend, but I disagree with this approach," the blond warrior said. "The Black Mountain is unchartered territory for the Guardians. No righteous man has ever been inside, and no maps of a layout within exist. Even if we launch a full-scale attack...by the time we breach their defenses and I can find my way to Kandaar he could be slain already. I cannot risk that."
"What do you suggest, then?"
Mithrandos looked thoughtful for a moment before he gave his answer. "An army cannot enter the enemy stronghold as a solitary man can. I have been summoned, and I will answer the summons."
“Out of the question,” Eliathar exclaimed, and the High Wizard looked ready to argue as well.
“How will you go?” he inquired. “Teleportation and any other use of Light magic will render a stealth approach into the enemy base impossible, Captain, since the Evil Forces are attuned to the vibrations of our magic. Yet you also cannot simply walk into the Cursed Lands as you are.” The old man indicated Mithrandos’ white uniform. “You would shine like a beacon and evil eyes would spot you from far away. You would never reach the foot of the mountain.”
“Who says I will go as I am now?” the blond captain said, and for the first time since setting foot into his house, there was a hint of a smirk on his fair face.
As a fellow soldier, Eliathar was quick to catch on to Mithrandos’ intentions. “Sneaking into the enemy's midst is not the Guardian way," he said, scratching his head. "However, in this case it seems the only effective strategy to reach Kandaar. Definitely worth a try."
Mithrandos nodded to the two men before him. “It is decided, then. I will go and find myself the proper garments.”
The High Wizard prevented his hasty retreat with a raised hand. “Wait, Captain,” he said, a thoughtful look on his face as if he had not yet quite come to a certain decision. But a moment later he squared his shoulders. “A Guardian’s rescue from the Black Mountain is an extraordinary situation that also requires extraordinary armament.” Retrieving his walking stick from where it was propped up against the desk, the old man moved towards a wall lined with scroll shelves.
“Normally I would take council with my brother Wizards, but since both are traveling, they cannot be reached in time, and speed is of the essence in this matter.”
Behind him, the Guardians looked at each other, puzzled, as the ancient man came to a halt in front of a section of the wall, raised his stick and tapped a seemingly random spot between two shelves. The wall began to shimmer, then fade from view, replaced by a tall, round opening in the stone. Their mentor turned to the two warriors before he stepped through the hole. “Guardians, I can rely on your discretion regarding the things about to be revealed to you?”
The response was two bewildered nods.
The old mage’s scarlet robes rustled slightly as he walked through the tunnel entrance. Mithrandos and Eliathar followed, and the opening closed behind them, undoubtedly with the illusion of the scroll wall back in place on the other side.
The passageway tilted almost immediately to lead downwards. The sharp descent was illuminated by light orbs placed into the stone walls every few yards as the High Wizard lead them steadily on, into the bowels of the Sacred Hill. His voice reverberated eerily off the stone.
“As you are well aware, Captains, this fortress is the biggest and oldest of all temples of The Light, but what you might not be aware of is that the location of this particular structure was not chosen randomly. It had been built on this very hill to safely house a very special object that was found here by our forefathers – the first Wizards of The Light.”
The stone corridor abruptly ended in a cavernous chamber. By now Mithrandos suspected they were well into the heart of the sacred mound. He wondered just when this tunnel had been constructed – two hundred and fifty years ago he had grown up in the very temple above them, and there had never been even a rumor of the existence of a secret chamber below this sanctuary of The Light. But then again, who was to say it had not been constructed more recently?
The cavern into which they now stepped was spacious, the ceiling looming twenty feet above them. More light orbs all around the room gave off a warm amber glow, but they also illuminated a curious sight: The floor, walls and ceiling were covered with runes depicting the ancient language of Light magic. Mithrandos recognized some of them; powerful spells to ward off the Evil Powers, anti-teleportation spells as well as a host of incantations to guard against intrusion and thievery.
Whatever was being kept in this room was definitely more safely protected than anything on the surface.
“What…” Eliathar began, but the old wizard took that moment to take a few steps to the right to reveal the one content of the otherwise empty room, and the rest of the sentence died on the captain’s lips.
There, hovering suspended in the air a few inches above a pedestal of polished grey granite, floated a familiar diaphanous shard-like object; an item identical to the ones both Mithrandos and Eliathar were carrying in their weapons’ pouches.
“A Guardian Saber crystal?” Mithrandos said, but even as the words left his mouth he sensed that there was something special about that gem.
“Not only an ordinary Guardian Saber crystal.” The old man smiled. “What you see before you is the secret I and my brother wizards, as well as every other High Wizard before us, has pledged to keep. Behold the First Crystal, the original crystal of The Light! From it, every other Guardian's weapon crystal had sprung. The Evil Powers have no inkling of this gem’s existence, so you see the necessity for absolute secrecy in this case.”
He gazed fondly at the roughly triangular jewel. Although none of the light orbs were directed at it, the gem was luminous with a light of its own. “Since the beginning of the brotherhood of The Light, very few non-wizards have been allowed in this chamber, Captains.”
Transferring his gaze to Mithrandos, he said, “Take it on your mission. Should it come to an altercation inside the mountain, it - and it alone - holds power enough to smite the Queen.”
After a moment of stunned silence, Mithrandos reached out, but stopped short of touching the gem. “I…”
“Go ahead, Captain,” the wizard coaxed. “Purity of heart is all it takes to activate its powers.”
Carefully, almost reverently, Mithrandos’ fingers curled around the shard and plucked it from the pedestal. It took scarcely more than a thought for the gem to convert itself to sword mode in a bright flash of light. Power the likes of which he had never experienced before surged up Mithrandos’ arm and through his body, and it felt warm and right. The weapon was very much like his own in design, only that it shone much brighter. The hilt seemed to mold itself to his hand, and the intensity that radiated from the weapon made the blond captain’s heart race.
“I will make sure to return this treasure to you, Milord.” Mithrandos bowed respectfully to the old wizard. "I will make ready to leave immediately, then."
He had not yet straightened up from his bow when the deep voice next to him was already speaking. "You mean we shall make ready, Mithrandos."
“Eliathar…”
The older warrior however, only fixed him with a stern look and crossed his arms before his chest. "From what I remember, the minions of Evil are hardly ever seen alone," he said. "They always walk in pairs or more, therefore I shall accompany you." He held up his hand, stifling Mithrandos' protest. "It has been decided, my friend. Do not make me pull rank on you."
Mithrandos held Eliathar's unblinking stare for a long moment before he acquiesced. "To the mountain, then, but not inside. If things go awry inside the enemy stronghold and Kandaar were to perish, I have no reason to return, but you do." Now it was Mithrandos' turn to hold up a hand. "I will not have your wife and children cry over your grave, Eliathar. These are my terms. Do not make me pull age on you."
The reference to his Seventh Era heritage was the same joke he shared with Kandaar on occasion, and a well-used source of teasing between him and the other Guardian officers.
Eliathar sighed, and his tone of voice changed to one of resignation. “Very well, old man. To the mountain.”
TBC…