Warrior of the Void Read online

  "Done," Gruval said. He then went about giving orders and checking the page Braxton had given him. He paused and gave Big H a nod. Then started sending runners up and down the Riverbend Tunnel.

  "Three of you come with me." Big H pointed out three dwarves from his dozen elite guards. Nixy doubted he knew he had a tear streaming down his dirty cheek. "We will escort Lady Nixalia to the grand cavern. The rest of you, you know your duty. Protect yon prince with your lives"

  Part V

  Warrior of the Void

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Pulling away from Nixy's kiss might have been the hardest thing Braxton Bray had ever done in his life. He loved her so much it knotted his stomach. He knew his duty as a warrior of the void wouldn't allow them any normalcy, and that he would outlive her and probably their child, but it was what it was. The love he felt for her was weighed down by the pain of knowing that a life together would be impossible for them. He'd become a warrior of the void, and now that he had finally grasped not only the brutal nature of the powerful jewel mounted in the medallion he wore, but how to direct its power to his will, he was doing things he never thought possible.

  He didn't need Taerak's Journal to learn from anymore, all he needed was a single three-word phrase, for he learned from the Rokkan that he needed a dragon, not only to carry him, but because the jewel in the medallion was not just a gem. It was the tear of a dragon, and the power contained within it somehow tapped into the flow of all dragon magic in a way that multiplied the power and helped keep the user centered. Dragons were a natural enemy of man, but they also had an objective view of the world, one that was balanced and would help him make decisions that didn't send the scales bouncing back and forth as he had when he killed the demon, Pharark.

  The words of the summoning were in Taerak's Journal. He'd spoken them once, and Emerald had come. Emerald though, had done his duty to his rider Skyla-Veltin, and though the wyrm was still willing to aid them in finishing their battle with the Darka and her darkon minions, he was not going to do battle himself. His age and condition wouldn't allow it. As it was, Braxton feared having the barely healed dragon fly from Jolin to Narvoza to aid the dwarves in building the gothican carrier he’d designed.

  Braxton appeared in the clearing he and Nixy once hid in after his eye was ripped by a blood thorn when they were being chased by Baragon, Reaton-Stav's hired headhunter. It was the place where he'd first seen the white falcon that he used to assume, and it was a good distance away from anyone or anything. He'd never been there in the winter before, and now it was a smooth, white expanse broken only by the hoof marks of a single deer that had run through a day or two before. Icicles hung from the leafless trees and sparkled in the sun like glittering jewels. Serene was the word that came to mind, and the calm beauty of the place helped ease the frustrated turmoil still burning in his heart.

  He caught his breath and went to the river's edge. He squatted down, and after washing the tears and sadness from his face with the freezing water, he sipped from his cupped hand. The water was so cold it hurt his teeth.

  After a moment, he took out Taerak's journal and started flipping through the pages. He grinned, seeing that he didn't need to look through the medallion's jewel to read the text anymore. The passages were all plain to him. The moment he found the words of the dragon summoning, he recited them out loud. Then, to his great surprise, the book slowly turned to ashy grey dust and was carried away by a sudden breeze.

  He felt relieved for a moment, but then he heard the sound of deadfall breaking. A chill ran up his spine. He wasn't dressed for winter, but the frigid air wasn't the cause of the sensation. His blood suddenly heated him, for he could feel Scarhead's foul presence right behind him. The medallion tingled, and he let out a slow, bilious breath and prepared his mind for the coming battle.

  If he could kill Scarhead, the future threat he and Nixy's child might cause the rest of the world would be eliminated, but not the threat of the Drar. Both evils would have to be dealt with, but one at a time, at least he had a better chance. Besides, if Scarhead was here, he wasn't hindering Cryelos and Chureal's search for the ancient elven staff. He reminded himself that the powerful Rokkan was on the island, though, and the thought of it hurting Chureal or Cryelos fueled his need to be rid of Scarhead swiftly, so that he could get back to them.

  Braxton found the void and drew on its power, but didn't slip into it. He felt Scarhead's blow coming and simply rolled to the side and onto his feet. Scarhead's log club passed him by a fraction, but it smashed Braxton's pack into the snow. The big ugly man-beast was thrown off balance by the miss and stumbled headlong into the icy river. He never fell, but made great splashes as he kicked water all over his bare, heavily muscled torso. He ended standing knee deep and let out a wild yell, either from the freezing cold or out of anger, Braxton wasn't sure.

  When he turned to charge Braxton, a fist of blue energy pulsed out of the medallion and streaked from Braxton's pointing finger. It hit Scarhead full in the chest and caused him to flounder backwards into the deeper part of the river. Braxton watched as the current carried the raging thing slowly away, but Scarhead disappeared from the water, and Braxton barely ducked a pounding blow that came from directly behind him. He didn't get out of the way of the powerful kick that lifted him from the ground, though. It cracked his ribs and emptied his lungs. Before he even fell back to the ground, a grey-green blast knocked him sideways into the upper branches of the trees at the edge of the clearing.

  Another blast was coming, but he slipped into the void, and then right back out of it a few dozen paces away and in a crouch directly in front of Scarhead. This time, he threw his arm forward as if throwing a hardball, and the bright blue fist of magical power that flew at the huge evil thing impacted it right in the knees. With a wicked crunch, both legs broke, folding backwards.

  Scarhead screamed as his torso hit the snow, his toes digging into his abdomen. To Braxton’s dismay, his enemy rolled over, and using nothing but his muscles, and maybe a some of the dark power infused into him, he forced his legs back into their proper shape. The sound of it was sickening to hear, but though it looked too painful to bear, Scarhead straightened his lower limbs and was on his feet and charging at Braxton before he'd shaken the pain of his own wounds away.

  Braxton let loose another fist of energy, this one even more powerful that the other two, but Scarhead disappeared. The blast passed through where he’d been and hit the trees at the clearing's edge, sending thousands of icicles flying through the air like glitter.

  Scarhead reappeared just a long stride in front of Braxton and caught him in the jaw with a right roundhouse punch that sent Braxton flailing through the air. It was bad enough that he could barely draw a breath, now his vision was clouded with splotches and sparkles. He could still feel the medallion tingling at his chest, and he tried to go back into the void but couldn't. Then his head hit frozen ground that was as hard as stone, and the void found him.

  He felt the jewel's energy flowing through his wounded chest and cracked skull, but before he had fully gathered his wits, Scarhead was there with him, in the void, sending blast after blast of his grey-green energy into Braxton's chest.

  Braxton couldn't avoid the concussive blows, and the evil magic they were formed of stung his skin. That wasn't the worst of it. The stuff caused fiery pain to seep into his every pore. He writhed and twisted and even bucked, kicking out at Scarhead, but to no avail.

  Finally, the black-eyed thing stopped and stood over him, barely visible in the void’s blackness. Its blood red pupils glowed, and then string tight beams of crimson streaked forth and found Braxton's chest. Braxton thought the flesh sizzling sensation he was feeling was akin to cattle being branded by a red-hot iron. He realized Scarhead was moving his rays toward his chin, trying to cut his medallion's chain from his neck, or maybe even cut his head from his body.

  Thoughts of Nixy, Chureal, and Cryelos failing, or dying because they were depending on him,
filled his heart and mind. The physical pain he felt was nothing compared to the anguishing thoughts of losing those he loved. He wasn't about to let this thing end him. Not here. Not now. He was a warrior of the void, after all, and the power of the jewel was at his command. It was about time he started using it to its full potential.

  Braxton raised his finger and pointed at the evil thing. He concentrated on his current desire and felt the energy well from deep within him. He also felt new power flooding into him from somewhere nearby; from several places. The jewel first glowed bright blue, but the surge that came next caused it to flare a blinding white, which bleached Scarhead of all color, save for the black stripes over his skull and under his eye sockets. Those marks, and his eyeballs, were still as black as pitch.

  The fist of power that shot up into Scarhead was mighty and potent. It sent him careening, half-afire, up away from Braxton, into the depths of the void. No doubt he wasn't dead, his angry screams echoed all around. This battle was surely over, though. It had to be, for Braxton had nothing left in him. If it wasn't, he was doomed.

  After his shocking explosion of power dissipated back into the darkness of the void, Braxton watched through squinted eyes as Scarhead sailed away, looking like a torch dropped into a bottomless hole. The white-hot fire of Braxton's power clung to the evil bastard and, eventually, he faded to a pinpoint. Braxton found his consciousness fading in a similar manner. The sapping lethargy of using so much magic was sucking him into a slumber so deep his last thought was that he would be frozen solid in the clearing when, or if, he ever woke.

  Oddly, he dreamt the summoning he'd spoken before Scarhead's attack was answered. Only in the dream, it wasn't just a dragon that responded. It was a score of them, maybe more. They all circled around his still body, hissing and snapping at each other, some red, some blue, some green, and even a wyrm with scales as white as the snow he was laying in. That one was colder than the ground, but the warmth radiating from the cores of the other wyrms vying to be his chosen generated enough warmth to keep the cold from reaching his bones.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  By the time they'd finished making camp, it was dark outside. Cobalt and Chureal landed, and after a brief discussion, it was decided it would be dark below ground even if it was daytime above. They all agreed they needed to get on with it and make haste. Against his will, Chureal caused Cobalt to shrink to the size of a housecat. This astonished everyone but Cryelos, who'd travelled with she and the shrunken dragon through the dwarven kingdom back in Narvoza.

  Sneak proved his skills invaluable when he spotted a trap at the bottom of the second landing. The last stair wasn't made of stone but looked to be. None of them were sure what would happen if it was triggered, so they all avoided it by just stepping over it onto the landing. Cryelos was right behind Hunter, who was following Sneak. Chureal, with a very disgruntled Cobalt draped over her shoulders, was between Cryelos and Sir Jory. The knight had his sword out and spent as much time looking backwards as he did forward. It was plain to all of them that Sir Monster's disappearance had shaken him. The inexplicable happening definitely had Cryelos on edge.

  How much farther down the switchback stairs went, they didn't know, but since they were all well into the narrow, ever-descending corridor now, they were committed to reaching the bottom, where Chureal and her wyrm could sense something radiating great power.

  There was no door or opening at either of the first two landings, but the third was the last, and it opened into a large rectangular room that was clearly formed by magic, for as soon as Sneak stepped into it, a light orange-yellow glow showed them that there was more than just the Staff of Aevilin down there. Not a single cobweb or speck of dust was visible anywhere. The illumination revealed that the room was not made of blocks, or even carved. The surface of the walls, ceiling, and floor were light grey, seamless and as smooth as ice.

  Five pedestals, two on each side that were square and waist tall, and a wider one at the far end of the room, each boasted something atop their flat surface like powerful or valuable trophies. The tops of the pedestals seemed to glow brighter than the rest of the room, casting a favorable light on the objects atop them. Of course, the item at the far end was the staff. Beyond the staff there were two raised seats, thrones really, Cryelos decided. Each of them, and the pedestals, were formed of the same substance as the room. Both seats had half a dozen cushions piled in them, and they looked as if whoever last sat there had just gotten up only moments ago.

  On the first pedestal on the right, standing upright, balanced on its tip was a long thin sword. Across from it was a helmet made of some silvery metal, chased with a blood colored design of elven origin that Cryelos recognized but couldn’t decipher. It was hovering a hand’s breadth above the surface, the light coming up from under it caused it to shimmer and gleam.

  At the second set of pedestals, the one on the left had a bow standing upright, like the sword. It had no string, though it was bent and looked as if it was fully tensioned. Across from it was a skull made of what Cryelos thought might be solid gold.

  Hunter stepped around Sneak, walked over, and reached for the bow.

  "Don't," Cryelos called, but it was too late. To his surprise, nothing happened when Hunter grabbed it. And when the plainsman made to draw on it, a bowstring appeared, as did an arrow, both of which were clearly formed of magic. Hunter didn't let the arrow fly. Instead, he relaxed his draw and grinned like a child on Yule day when the arrow and string disappeared.

  "Amazing," the plainsman mumbled.

  Sneak grabbed the golden skull and didn’t fare as well as Hunter had. Sneak howled out a sound that was anything but human. He started shivering and shaking, then began to jerk and shudder. His entire body smoldered, and then shriveled into an ashy husk. Chureal cried out and grabbed hold of Crylos by the waist, hiding her face against his hip. When Sneak's form collapsed onto the floor, even the ashes disappeared into swirls of fading smoke. A moment later, it was as if he'd never even been there at all.

  "By the gods," Sir Jory grumbled. "This place is cursed."

  Cryelos wondered how many had met the same fate. He'd learned in the common room of the inn across the lake, that a handful of adventurers had come to the island but never returned.

  Cobalt startled Cryelos so bad he jumped, when he leapt into flight from Chureal's shoulder. After cautiously circling the room, the shrunken dragon landed, his hind claws on the staff. He was just big enough to lift it and carry it over to Cryelos, who hesitantly took it. He was surprised to see that it truly was a plain length of limb, with one end dirty from stubbing the ground, and the other worn smooth by the few hands that had used it throughout the ages.

  Three things happened at the same time. First, Cryelos turned to show Sir Jory that they'd gotten what they came for. The second thing was he saw the knight was busy being attacked by what Cryelos could only describe as a shadow. The third came from the staff itself. Through his hand, Cryelos was filled with a sensation that was so intense he shoved Chureal away out of fear that he was burning up the way Sneak had.

  The hum of an arrow whizzing by his ear came from Hunter, who'd loosed a deep crimson colored shaft from the magical bow he'd just taken. Chureal yelled something, and out of the corner of his eye, Cryelos saw Cobalt land back on her shoulder.

  His skin felt like tiny bugs were all over him. Every bit of his skin, too, not just the exposed parts. He almost dropped the staff, for he let go of it, but it didn't fall. It stayed stuck to his open palm. The crawling on his skin turned into a sharp tingle. He even felt it in his hair. He wasn't burning away, though. His stomach felt like it was full of bugs now, and his eyes wouldn't focus on anything.

  He heard Chureal yelling fiercely at whatever was attacking Sir Jory. Another magical arrow, then another, hummed past his ear. He fell to the floor, writhing. Now it felt like his skin was peeling from him, like a shedding snake, but it wasn’t. The power of Aevilin's staff filled him, and with it came all sorts
of random lore. The knowledge flooded into his brain so swiftly his head almost exploded. He couldn't stop it, or even understand most of it, but after a few moments, he was able to see what was transpiring before him.

  The shadowy thing spoke at an ear pounding volume. "Who dares defy the Rokkan?"

  "I do," Chureal yelled back and sent a blast of yellow colored energy at it. "Get out of the way, Sir Jory," she yelled.

  Cryelos saw the knight drop to the ground. There was blood leaking out of his armor, but from where, it was impossible to tell. Why he did what he did next, he wasn't sure, but Cryelos reached over and tapped the knight with the stubbed end of the staff. Sir Jory's armor began to shimmer, and he rolled farther out of the way, the expression on his face one of either anguish or great pleasure.

  Hunter’s red-streaking arrows kept finding the shadowy Rokkan, but they only seemed to anger it. The form darted toward the plainsman, but Chureal reached up and grabbed ahold of it, stopping it where it hovered above her.

  From her medallion, a crackling stream of lightning-like power was arcing and shifting all the way up her arm and around her little closed fist. It was that power, and maybe Chureal's will, Cryelos understood, that held the Rokkan. It couldn't have been her strength, for she was tiny compared to it. Even though it looked insubstantial and made of dark mist, her grip held it firmly where it was.

  "He wasn't lying?" the shadowy Rokkan asked, as if a great revelation had come to it. "You are a warrior of the void, too." The last sounded less like a question.

  "I am," Chureal said. "And I command you to leave us be. Otherwise, I will summon Zyken-Whay and we will end you for good."

  "The boy said the same, but had no dragon sense about him. But-but you do." The Rokkan's voice was no longer loud or intimidating. To Cryelos, it sounded almost apologetic.