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A/N: Hey everybody. I was originally going to focus this chapter upon Gorith Svenza, Goula Grey, and Rekrig Sigli, the goblin troops mentioned by Croth two chapters ago, but I do not want to create too many viewpoints as the story progresses. Though the things Gorith and his friends encounter in the Woods of Isdri are an interesting tale, I will refrain from showing you first hand, as Gorith will explain all later. He will still be an important character, who we will meet soon. This chapter will continue directly after the events of the last two chapters, and the fate of Isdriash will be decided shortly as well.
The Saga Of The Isdrian Book
Book One:
Pages Of Nightmare
Chapter Four : The First Spark
Dragaurza tugged the great scimitar from it's place upon his hip as he rushed towards the double doors that led to the courtyard below, where presumably the Malidant awaited them. His glittering armour rang musically as his legs pushed him forward. The last thing he expected as he sped towards battle was an elven hand to sieze him by the tail and wrench him backwards. He fell roughly upon his backside and whirled with cold fury in his saphire eyes.
The fury turned to confusion as he looked up at te face of King Tahl, which was contorted into fear, and also calculation. "No, Blackgate! You do not fight now!" He roared into Dragaurza's face. The fat King was quite a sight actually upon his feet, and had he not been to utterly disoriented about his rough treatment he would have been quite amazed.
"But, my lord, may I ask what the blood you're talking about?" Dragaurza managed to say. He was very tempted to run the sizable elf through with his trusty blade, but he was too overwhelmed to actually consider the thought. Never had anyone touched his tail, never mind use it to bring him down. Tahl must either be insane or have a relatively good idea to dare to treat his Commander as such.
"It means little if I die; my time is near anyhow, and I do not fear Worlds Beyond. My son however is young and full of life, and is heir to Zeideroth and the rest of the elven province. He must not die, so take him from the city." Tahl declared as he helped Dragaurza to his feet. "You are a skilled warrior; one of the best, so it is not for lack of confidence in you. The exact opposite. My son needs you, Commander. Do your King proud, for I fear this is my last charge."
Rahniliss was beside him, but the prince remained silent. He had little to say. What could he do? No matter what he said he would collect contempt from these two men. If he demanded to stay, his father would think him an overzealous fool who simply wanted bloodshed. If he expressed a desire to leave, Dragaurza would think him a coward. Dragaurza's respect was something that he held very dear, as well as his father's. Losing either of these warrior's faith seemed a fate more terrible than death.
So saying nothing seemed to be Rahniliss' only option, and in kind he kept the respect of Dragaurza and his father. The dragonman stared at Rahniliss and then back at Tahl. "Sir, what will I tell my men? 'I'm leaving on an erand to the king moments before you all die. Wish you luck, boys.'"
"Say whatever you will." Tahl said and motioned to Croth. "Go and hear Shadorsis' demands. Be wary, for I have heard of him. He is intelligent and powerful. Do not speak down on him or underestimate him, he is as volatile as he is wise. If, on the occasion he will not reason, do your best to kill him."
Dragaurza felt a heavy sense of irony as Croth wordlessly nodded and scurried to met King Tahl's orders. Here was Croth, High General of Zeideroth, who would never take any man save for himself seriously tossing his life aside for a fat elf. Yet there was more than that to Tahl today, the dragonman could see it in his eyes. He was ready to fight, his health and age be damned, and he was ready to die to make ure his son wet free.
Then, as Croth had done, Dragaurza nodded and sheathed Omega's Smiter. Tahl gave him a grim smile. "Thank you, Blackgate. Go with my blessing, and the blessing of th Gods. Zeideroth owes you."
"Many people do..." Dragaurza muttered and turned to Rahniliss. "Quickly; if this Shadorsis is anywhere near as powerful as I think, it won't be long before Isdriash burns."
Surprisingly, these words did nothing for Rahniliss, but he shouldered his pack and followed as Dragaurza turned to leave. The Commander halted abruptly though, an the prince almost collided with his rear end as he stooped to grab the large black book he had been holding earlier. Rahniliss said nothing as the dragonman commander stared at it for a few moments before inserting it into his pack on the table.
Commander Blackgate turned on Rahniliss. "Get only what you need. Lostrinz isn't far from here, only a days walk. I think we should go around the forest on the coastline to get there, otherwise we'd be there faster, but Isdriash feels wrong today." The Prince agreed. The very air he sucked into his lungs seemed filled with dark humor; like someone who knows the end of a play before you do, and gloats about it without actually revealing the secret.
"Lostrinz is good. I have been there before. Nice taverns, and decent beer." Rahniliss said with a shaky smile. Dragaurza laughed briskly at Rahniliss' joke and clapped him on the back.
"Yes, yes, and that's the important thing." The Commander smiled. Tears of laughter had beaded at the corner of his eyes, but Rahniliss wasn't sure if thats what they were. Commander Blackgate never ceased complaining about the incompetence of the soldiers and the impractical elven weaponry, so why would the loss disturb him?
Maybe, thought Rahniliss, because it's all he has. Have you ever seen him go drinking with anyone after the soldiers were done for the day? He had never actually given it much thought, but he supposed Dragaurza may have been a very lonely individual. Maybe complaints were his way of cherishing those around him. Surely it was not for lack of female companionship. Many dragon and elven women alike were quite taken with someone as high in rank as Dragaurza Blackgate, and his easy charm and quick wit did not lose him any points in this regard.
Yet it was no time to dwell on such things. He laughed along with the dragonman and shouldered his food ration. With a parting glance at the profile of his father, Rahniliss set his face in a stony stare and followed Dragaurza out the side door.
"Croth Templet!" The elf called with little emotion. "You must be Shadorsis."
The Malidant smiled in amusement. This was clearly a man used to giving orders. His voice was filled with dry sarcasm and a hint of humor as he spoke to the Malidant.
"Yes." Shadorsis said simply, and paused before continuing. "You will call me Lord Shadorsis Cevalion, however. Fourth king of the Southern Province of Malidania. Do you have a title, elf?" Shadorsis asked, with a genuine curiosity.
"Perhaps, but it is not important. What is important is I wish to hear your demands." The elf was directly in front of him, and some darker part of him pondered how easily he could snap his neck in that moment. He quickly pushed away the thought, shocked and a bit afraid. He decided he was not done testing the elf's intellect.
"Ah, but what makes you think I have any demands? I may just want to slaughter you all under some paranoid fantasy that just because you are elves, you live under hatred of all things Malidant." Shadorsis pointed out.
Croth pretended to consider it before speaking. "If you wanted to kill us, you would not have let me speak."
Shadorsis smiled at the answer he expected. "On the contrary, I could have wanted to lead you to believe I had demands simply to kill you as you sat unarmed before me." Shadorsis grinned widely as he spoke, but it was not one of malice, but of mild humor.
Croth's eyes flashed in alarm before he realized Shadorsis had been joking. He was taken aback by Shadorsis' intelligence, even though he had been forewarned of the Malidant's mentality. Nonetheless, seeing something that appeared to be a large monster make light of his awareness was quite eerie. Whatever doubts Croth harbored about Shadorsis were swept away. There was no more denying. Shadorsis was dangerous, quick, and brilliant.
"My question stands, Lord. What do you want." Templet repeated.
Shadorsis smiled and obliged with no further mind-games. "A book, Templet. A black book with clasps." Croth's eyes flashed with recognition and Shadorsis smiled. "I see you are familiar with it."
He knew Shadorsis had picked up on his remembering immediately, and saw no point lying. "I do. What business is it to you?"
Shadorsis continued to gaze at the elf, and his face was contorted into an infuriating smirk. Infuriating because Croth knew this was a being who was reading him like an open book. Monster or not, Shadorsis was unlike anything Croth had ever seen. Something so huge and terrible yet so composed and dignified. And so damn smart! Every word Croth spoke, every gesture and every bead of sweat was being registered by the King of the southern swamps. After a moments pause, Shadorsis spoke. "It isn't my business, I suppose. It is neccesary for someone who isn't myself." The Malidant shrugged his shoulders. "So I suggest you get it and we can end this unfortunate business."
Croth inhaled deeply. Perhaps Shadorsis was smarter, but his mistake was assuming he could intimidate Croth Templet. He would not comply with anyone who would murder a group of gaurds simply because he could. "I'm afraid not, Shadorsis. I can't speak for Malidania, but what you are doing here is called murder, and we of Zeideroth do not negotiate with murders."
Shadorsis nodded pleasantly, as if he expected no less, but Croth knew a different truth. He was not the only one with keen observation, and Croth observed the flicker of irritation in the Malidant's large eye as he absorbed Croth's statement. "So you would try and kill me then?" He smiled. "Look around you before making such a decision, my friend." Shadorsis held his hands to the corpses which littered the white cobbles, basked in fading sunlight, smeared in their own bloods. Some were burned beyond recognition, fused to their armour and their weapons.
Croth did look around him, and what he saw only made his decision more final. "You are insane if you think you can intimidate me with the death of my people. It only makes me see how much of a monster you really are." This struck a nerve, as the Malidanian King's face contorted in rage and hatred.
"Oh, very classy, elf." The Malidant snarled, his voice a mural of rage and sarcasm. It shook as he steadied to contain his fury. "Why do you think your allies died? Do you think I would slaughter without provocation? Your men used such insults as you just have even before I raised a hand against them. Maybe I was right all along; you're all the same." Shadorsis kneeled and collected the massive sword at his feet. "So come then. Do not make such words and not expect to pay for them."
Croth flicked the hand-axe from his belt and stood back. "I still do not expect to pay for them, 'my friend'. I expect you to pay for your butchery." Croth eyed Shadorsis. "Before we begin, may I make a proposition? You appear to be a sorceror." Shadorsis nodded. "Then I would have you not use magic against me, and I would not either. A battle of skill, none of the easy shortcuts your magic provides." Shadorsis again nodded, and a bit of respect blossomed for this elf. He assumed all elves were reliant upon magic as all life was to oxygen. This was a pleasant surprise.
"Fine." Shadorsis spoke, and lunged. The blade sliced with liquid speed in a great horizontal arc towards the elven General, and Croth was almost taken by it's deadly razored edge. Instead, his training and reflex kicked in, and he thrust his body backwards. His legs lifted as he seemed to fall towards the ground, just missing Arcane Farewell as the elf backflipped out of harms way. Shadorsis stumbled as his intended kill shot when wild and Croth flicked his wrist. His axe sailed through the air and towards the Malidant's head.
With speed that was disturbing, Shadorsis raised his free arm and the axe connected with the forearm, but instead of the splat of connection, there was a clang of steel on steel. Shadorsis smiled knowingly at Croth's expression as he threw off his shroud. "What, did you expect me to come here without armour?" Croth had, actually. He simply needed to be sure. Shadorsis certainly had brought armour. His chest was lined with glittering silver mail that was probably stronger than it looked.
The gauntlets upon his arms had been what stopped his axe, but that was alright, Croth did not need a weapon. He had killed many with his bare hands, and such would have to be the case today. Shadorsis noted this lack of weaponry and smiled. "I was willing to stifle my magic for the cause of honor, but trying to get me to drop my weapon after you foolishly lose yours is not an option, I'm afraid."
"Nor did I intend it so." Croth smiled, and darted forward. Shadorsis reacted instantly, and again the blade slammed forward; this time in a straight jab towards Croth's legs. Shadorsis intended to completely sever his legs below the knees, and would have succeeded, were Croth not expecting the maneuver. Croth frontflipped, and planted his feet directly upon the wide flat of Arcane Farewell. Shadorsis, who was using only one arm to support the blade's attack, was unprepared for the extra weight. Shadorsis grimaced and the darksword fell from his hands with a clatter. Croth quickly kicked it backwards, and it slid far away from the monster.
Shadorsis smiled. "You know elf, I have several other weapons on me, as you can see." Shadorsis indicated the razored mace and five throwing knives that hung on his belt. "But you've impressed me. I will fight you hand to hand, and may the best man win." Croth braced himself and Shadorsis lunged. His size would allow most beings to be incapable of such liquid motion, but Shadorsis defied this gracefully. The Malidant's right fist mashed towards Croth's skull and was swiftly followed by his left. Croth bent back and used his hands to backflip again and tossed his body forward once he was clear of Shadorsis' deadly appendages, and both his feet planted upon Shadorsis' face in a deadly dropkick.
He used the impact to perform another backflip and landed nimbly upon his feet to launch a jumping roundhouuse kick at the side of the Malidant's massive skull, but Shadorsis was quicker. His left hand reached out and snagged the leg, only to push it to the side roughly. Croth was forcibly spun away from Shadorsis and the swamp king launched a devestating right hand punch between the elf's shoulderblades. Croth sailed forward like a ragdoll and crumpled to the earth. He could feel a rolling sensation and new his shoulders had been cracked, and possibly his spine. The pain was a scream in his head. He moaned as the Malidant roughly turned him over. Croth felt primitive satisfaction as the Malidant's skeletal nose was bleeding.
"Decent fight, Templet. You understand though, that I have paralyzed you. There is no point for you to continue so I will end this as fast as I can." Shadorsis voice was not sarcastic or mocking, it actually seemed sincere; even respectful. Croth managed a nod. Shadorsis returned it and flipped him onto his stomach. Croth's mind began to wander. They said your life flashed before your eyes. That wasn't happening, but he was remembering things. Enlisting in the army, moving up through the ranks. Yet what he remembered most was his cynicism and cruelty to those around him.
And now I pay for it, he thought. Croth barely felt it as Shadorsis placed both hands on the side of his skull and twisted.
All he knew was the light.
The knife slid through the air only to be swatted with a crack of electricity. Shadorsis nodded in understanding. What he had mistaken for plain sweat had actually been Magisrust. Joy. Shadorsis thought. A Mage. What was this? The trials of Tornadie? It was as if each of his strengths was being tested in a sinister game. Shadorsis waited patiently as the elf stood up. "I suppose it's too late to ask if I can take what I want and leave peacefully?" Shadorsis' words were not really a question.
"You learn quickly. Croth is dead, then." The elf nodded before Shadorsis Cevalion could reply. "You would not be here if he was still alive." Shadorsis shrugged but did not reply. "He died well, I hope?"
"Yes, quite well." Shadorsis replied bluntly. The elf again nodded.
"I already know your name, but there is no need for you to know mine. It makes little difference either way."
"I disagree." Shadorsis stated. "I would like to think of you as individuals, and not just obstacles, unlike your guards." The elf hesitated. "I see I am not so much a monster as you were led to believe."
"No, of course not. It is simply hard to envision someone like you after seeing what you did to them..." The elf shuddered before looking back up. "Strin Kyotra, Magister of Zeideroth, pupil of Henrit Umbrun."
Shadorsis nodded. "Then I am honored to be in the presence of one who is acquainted with the Archimage. I take it we will be doing magical battle?" Strin nodded. Shadorsis again was reminded of Tornadie's Trials, and snorted laughter. "Alright. I shall start us off." Shadorsis raised his left arm and crooked a finger as his mind shaped his will. An arc of blue light ripped forth from his finger and raged towards Strin. Strin remained motionless, but Shadorsis could see the Magisrust and smiled.
He had remained using the same barrier spell, and unknown to Strin, apparently, Shadorsis had launched a vicious barrier-breaking spell. He grinned as the spell reached Strin, but before it could, Strin dispelled his barrier, rendering Shadorsis own projectile harmless. Shadorsis was impressed, but not surprised. After all, this was a student of the Archimage. Shadorsis wished he could meet this man someday. Umbrin had raised the dragonman hero Otharg from birth, had trained him in magic and the sword, and allowed him to destroy his own father, Crimsoth; a dragon who had ruled the dragon people for many years.
Umbrin was ancient, and was said to be the son of a Shaded and an Elf. People said he appeared to be a man in his twenties, but if the Otharg tale was true, he was over 400 years old. He had barely the time to dwell on this when from Strin's fingertips erupted a cyclone of whirling flame. The sinister fire licked forward in a spiral and Shadorsis leapt forward through one of the crimson loops and rolled forward, avoiding the last of it. He raised his arms and a smile played about his face. Black energy radiated off of him and erupted forward. Strin nimbly avoided it.
"Impressive spell, Malidant, but rather slo-" He was cut off as one of the black tables, which had been engulfed in the black energy, slammed forward and caught the elf in the legs. Strin flipped over it and landed upon the floor with a meaty thud. He rolled out of the way as the table collapsed towards him and stood, his face red with disbelief. "Telekinesis, Malidant?" Shadorsis could tell by the way he nursed his leg that the landing had not tickled.
"No." Shadorsis was pleased with himself. His unknown employer had taught him a thing or two even the great Umbrin didn't know apparently. "Gravity. The only force without class." Shadorsis did not bother explaining further as the table ripped from the ground and barreled at Strin, this time aiming for his skull. The elf slammed a beam of liquid ice at the table and gaped as it was repelled to the wall opposite. Shadorsis could not help but laugh. The old elf obviously did not understand the workings of such magic, and Shadorsis didn't blame him. It took him a while to grasp it as well.
So instead, Strin dove out of the way again. It was not as if he could use gravity as well. To use magic, one had to understand it. Why so many young sorceror's killed themselves with basic spells. It was unfortunate for Strin, as the only thing to counter gravity magic was more gravity magic. Shadorsis smiled as the table righted itself for another go. It was taking a lot out of him, true, but he had a lot more still in him. Apparently, so did the elf.
But it didn't make sense! Before the last spell Strin's Magirust had been a grey-green, and now it was bright green again! Could he possibly have mastered regeneration? If so, there was only one thing Shadorsis could do. He began to walk forward. Strin stood and the very air began to thicken and grow cold. Shadorsis did not falter as razors made out of ice formed from the freezing moisture and ripped towards him. Instead, more tendrils of black slid from his body and slapped them from the air.
Shadorsis reached the old mage and grabbed him by the robes. With miniscule effort the Malidant hefted Strin so that the elf was looking down at Shadorsis with wide, trembling eyes. "I knew a thing or two about regeneration, none of which are as pleasant." He said, and proved his point. His hands turned bright green and Strin shrieked in agony. Poisonous green liquid began to seep from every pore in his body and into Shadorsis' own. Strin, in his dying moments, was afraid, because he had only seen this spell used by one other.
Eventually Strin crumbled to powder, every escence of his mind and soul was drained and withered, and he joined the rest of the dust that floated about Isdriash, to remain forever. Shadorsis could not think of a better fate for the elf, or any elf for that matter. To join those who they fed off of. In death, there are no ranks. Shadorsis inhaled, feeling the elf's Magirust rejuvinating him, and strode into the massive hall of the library. To face whatever fate would throw him towards.