GLIMMERBLADE
***Author’s Note: Glimmerblade is a trunk novel (dark fantasy) that I began converting to episodic/serial format and publishing on Kindle Vella a couple of years ago. After Vella imploded, I decided to post it on my website (and have finally gotten around to doing so). The synopsis and story begin below; the intent is to post a new chapter every week. If you are new to my work and find that you like it, please check out my published titles on Amazon, which include the Kid Sensation novels (superheroes), the Warden books (fantasy/dark fantasy), and the Fringe Worlds series (sci-fi).
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After centuries of imprisonment and torture, Krieth Glimmerblade – the physical embodiment of the sun deity Shar – is now free. Free to seek vengeance on those who betrayed him. But the world he now finds himself in is grim, dark and corrupt, and so foul that even the avatar of a Light Deity might lose his way…
Chapter 1
In the two-hundredth-forty-seventh year of his imprisonment, Krieth Glimmerblade, chosen Avatar of the sun god Shar, contrived an escape from the prison of Bleakblood – better known as the House of Pain – the first to do so in ten millennia. The word “contrived”, however, can only be loosely applied since his freedom was more the result of serendipity than actual planning. Still, he had had centuries in which to prepare for the moment, which he knew would come – if only he lived long enough.
The day began like most others: Krieth awoke with the rising sun and made obeisance. Not that he was actually able to see Shar rise; his cell being in the center of Bleakblood and well below ground, Krieth had seen precious little of anything during his time there. Being who and what he was, his jailers had always kept him in permanent darkness, sometimes by natural means but more often by methods unnatural. During the early part of his imprisonment, he had frequently been taken from his cell for purposes of torture and execution, the former of which his captors found difficult to inflict – the latter, impossible. For no matter how grievous the wound inflicted, Krieth began to recover almost immediately.
Their efforts at taking his life being unfruitful, they simply sealed him away in his cell; no longer was there a door, but four steel walls and a slot for food (which, in the later years, the guards seldom seemed to utilize). And, as always, the deep magics of the Dark Ones encircled him, binding his strength and – most importantly – keeping him hidden from Shar. For, although the sun god could feel Krieth’s presence, he was unable to find him. For his part, Krieth was able to feel Shar (as any Avatar should feel his patron deity) but was unable to connect with him.
Thus it was on the day that he went free, Krieth knew precisely when the sun would rise and when it would set, as well as how much time had passed during his imprisonment. On that fateful morn, Krieth sat in total darkness focusing all his energy on the ka-Shar – the bonding with his god. As usual, he could sense Shar, but could not interact with him. He sat in the dark totally nude, his clothes having long ago worn away. His cell was spartan by any standard, having never been furnished with so much as a blanket, let alone a bed. The dish that occasionally provided his food also served to take away his bodily wastes. (He had ceased to notice the smell years earlier.) After ending the ka-Shar, he mentally went over the list of those who had betrayed him and put him here, vowing as he did each day to visit vengeance upon them all.
It was late afternoon when, suddenly and without preamble, the ground shook with unprecedented force. There was a noise like a thunderclap, accompanied by the sounds of dense metal being torn apart and great stones tumbling down. As his cell lurched suddenly to one side, Krieth was taken aback. Bleakblood was more than just a prison or a house of torture; it was a holy temple to the Dark Ones and their servants, a place where unspeakable evils were committed. As such, it was protected by deep and powerful magics, to such an extent that it could not be affected by the forces of nature, man or – some said – the gods. Inside its walls metal did not rust, stone did not crumble. Moreover, otherworldly creatures of malevolent demeanor wandered the halls, doing the bidding of whatever evil they called master. All in all, the House of Pain was protected on natural, unnatural and preternatural levels. To have been affected at all, let alone to the degree Krieth observed, took power reserved only to the highest of the gods.
The quake only lasted a few minutes, and Krieth – although bandied about – was grateful to find himself uninjured when it ceased. Unknown to his captors, the strength he had shown in the early years, strength which had made it impossible to kill him, had (as he knew it would) largely evaporated over the course of his imprisonment. Being removed from Shar’s benevolent gaze for so long, his powers had greatly diminished over the years until little of his former vitality remained. Had his captors continued their torment of him they would have discovered this, but he had not left his cell in nigh two hundred years.
Coming to his feet, Krieth suddenly found himself surprised for the second time that morning. As an Avatar, he was highly attuned to the forces on several planes: both the lesser and greater magics, the light and dark arts, and power of all types, whether natural, unnatural, preternatural or supernatural. Thus he knew without question that the magics binding his cell, while not shattered, had weakened considerably. In fact, the power of the Dark Ones in effect at Bleakblood had been disrupted on numerous levels. Overjoyed at this long-awaited opportunity, Krieth moved toward the walls of his cell, determined to find a way out.
Chapter 2
Krieth’s joy, however, was short-lived. After spending several minutes testing the first three walls of his prison, his frantic probing had discovered no means of egress. He moved on to the fourth and final wall.
However, no sooner had his hand touched the wall than it was greeted by the screech of tearing metal. The walls of his cell were being ripped apart. He backed away, listening intently since nothing was visible to him. The screeching stopped, and for a second he heard the labored breath of someone – no, something – before, with a grunt of effort, the tearing of metal resumed. Clearly, this thing coming through the wall was not human. Whatever it was, the metal of his cell was proving no obstacle. He instinctively backed into a corner, wishing for anything to use as a weapon. The creature, whatever it was, growled fiercely, spewing hot breath and saliva in Krieth’s direction.
“Back, darkling,” came a stern and commanding voice.
The creature growled once more and, by Krieth’s estimation, continued trying to get into the cell.
“I said, back!” Suddenly the air was electric and a crack like thunder filled Krieth’s cell. The darkling howled and the pungent odor of singed flesh assaulted Krieth’s nose.
A warlock, he thought.
He stood absolutely still. In the fullness of his strength a warlock would have been little more than a nuisance, but in his weakened state he could take no chances.
“Take him,” the warlock said, at which point Krieth heard the shuffling of feet coming near him.
Guards, he presumed.
There came the hiss of a weapon leaving its sheath and then the prick of a swordtip at his throat. No one had to tell him not to move; it was plainly understood what the end result would be if he attempted something foolish or rash. Moreover, he still could not see anything. Krieth assumed some charm to be in place which allowed the guards to see in the dark.
“By the Ten!” came a new voice at Krieth’s right. “What was his crime, stinking up a room to the heavens?” Krieth had a mental image of the guard covering his nose.
“I do not know his crime,” said the warlock. “I was not even aware that this part of Bleakblood even housed anything living, but great charms and wards were imposed upon this chamber. He cannot remain here while they are undone, lest he work some mischief. Bind him and take him to the Room of Howls.”
“But he smells like maggoty meat! I’m not touching-”
The guard stopped in midsentence as the air again became electric with the warlock’s anger. The hair on Krieth’s neck began to rise and did not settle again until, seconds later, his hands were forcibly thrust behind him and stout cord wrapped around his wrists. Only then was the sword removed from his throat, only to be used to prod him in the back.
“Move along,” said a gruff voice.
“How strange,” said the warlock, seemingly to himself. “Something about this tickles at the back of my mind, like an itch I cannot scratch.” Suddenly he turned his attention back to his prisoner. “Remember, straight to the Room of Howls, and see that you don’t use him for any of your sport along the way. Strange events are afoot, and Lord Darkchilde will want to speak with him, I’m sure. I would hate for him to find his “guest” in no condition to communicate when that time comes.”
One of the guards gulped audibly as they led Krieth away, one on either side of him, but slightly to the rear. Krieth merely stayed silent and plodded along.
Krieth had previously spent time in the Room of Howls and had past familiarity with quite a number of the devices there. It was a room aptly named, but fortunately not particularly close to his cell. The House of Pain was gigantic, and the Room of Howls was on a higher level; it would be a lengthy walk.
Or so he had assumed. However, they hadn’t gone very far when Krieth unexpectedly felt magic around him. At the same time, he suddenly sensed a radical shift in Shar’s position relative to his own.
It only took him a second to realize what had happened: they were still in Bleakblood, but had gone through a portal of some sort. Apparently his guards, not wanting to trudge up myriad sets of stairs, had employed a more practical (and probably unauthorized) method to get to a higher floor. Upon arrival, they immediately resumed their trek to the Room of Howls.
As they marched, Krieth heard frenzied activity all around him and found himself jostled regularly.
Guards and dark servants, he thought. Mobilizing before any of Darkchilde’s “guests” use this quake to escape.
“Bale,” said the guard on Krieth’s right, “what’s going on?”
“The quake, Halla” Bale replied. “Are you a complete moron?”
“What about it?” Halla asked, ignoring the insult.
“Don’t know,” Bale replied, “but weren’t natural, I can tell you that.”
“Because of the dark magics?”
“Exactly. The dark magics imbue the House of Pain. I’ve never heard of anything, or heard anyone tell of anything, that could affect this place. Plus, it’s protected by the Elders – dark gods, older even than the Ten. And more powerful, if the stories are true.”
“You wouldn’t know it to look at this place. Cells torn open, holes in the ceiling…”
Holes! Krieth could barely believe his ears. Instinctively, he knew that sunset was not far off, and he preferred to escape into the light of day if he could. If he could just get to one of those holes…
“But that’s on the other side, mostly, although there’s one close by – near the Pool of Glass. Be thankful we’re not in that section, or we’d be hard at work making repairs rather than simple escort duty.”
“The way I hear it, there’s not much damage anyway.”
“We’ll give them a wide berth just the same.”
No! Krieth thought. His one chance gone. He quickly considered and dismissed running for it. Bleakblood was humungous in size, and while he thought he could remember his way to the Pool of Glass (another area which he previously frequented), he was still bound, unable to see, and at far less than full strength. He had little illusions about his odds of surviving the hospitality of the House of Pain at this juncture. He did not feel fear, only frustration that he would not be able to achieve any of his aims.
“Move along.” Krieth felt the sword poke his back. While deliberating he had unintentionally slowed his pace and caused the guards to focus their attention on him.
Not far from where Krieth resignedly marched to his doom, the Pool of Glass shimmered and rippled much like an actual pool of water, which it cast the illusion of being. In this place, glass was used to provide the most exquisite torture to those in the House of Pain. Slivers of glass were pushed under fingernails, into eyelids and into every bodily orifice imaginable. Lastly, it was the Pool itself which inflicted the most punishment.
The longstanding rule was that anyone who could swim from one side of the pool to the other would be set free. An unsuspecting captive, looking upon the pool, would think it merely water. Upon diving in, he would discover this to me a most grievous error, and – in his efforts to get out – his own flailing would slice him to ribbons on the razor-sharp glass that comprised the pool.
Into this chamber of horror the quake had sent tumbling a great block of stone from Bleakblood’s roof. It had landed in the pool with savage impact, sending wicked shards of glass in all directions. A torturer in the room at the time was immediately sliced apart, as was the prisoner he was familiarizing himself with.
A guard who was present had time turn away and move towards the exit before being savagely skewered by large fragments from the pool. He collapsed across the threshold of the door, dead before his body hit the floor.
As twilight approached, Shar’s fading light came through the hole in the roof and, with the setting of the sun, moved at an angle across the floor until it hit the dead guard. The glass in the guard’s back reflected the light in a brilliant cascade of colors that flew in all directions.
One of these radiant beams of light shot down a darkened hallway, to be reflected off the metal chrome of a lamp in a chamber at the far end. From there, it zipped across the room to where a ring of keys dangled from the inside lock of a half-open hallway door.
The beam, almost bereft of vitality at this point, was sent down this second hallway, at the end of which a prisoner and two guards were just walking by. One of the guards was urging the prisoner onward by poking his sword in his back. The little beam of light hit the sword, and its last remnant was reflected from the sword onto the very tip of the little finger of the prisoner’s left hand.
Krieth felt the touch of Shar. It was weak and greatly diminished in strength, but Shar nonetheless. Instantly the god-glow was upon him. Although he felt its presence he could not see it, much as for all those years he could feel Shar but not reach him.
No matter, he thought. What was important was that Shar’s touch had rejuvenated him – renewed a portion of his strength. He flexed, and the cords on his arms parted like wet noodles.
“Gods!” roared Bale. “Get him!”
Krieth heard movement and felt the guards grab him, one on each side. Odd that he still could not see them, but no matter. He shrugged, and the two men went flying. There was an audible crack when Halla hit the wall, followed by a scream. People formerly walking by now stopped to look, but Krieth was already in motion.
He still could not see anything, but he didn’t need to. As the sun god’s Avatar, he could sense Shar’s touch wherever it lay. He backtracked the path of the beam of light unerringly to the keyring, still hanging from the door. He slammed the door excessively hard, wedging it into the frame. From there to the lamp, then down the hallway towards the dead guard. At that point, a horn sounded.
Alarm, he said to himself.
Although the angle of the sun was now such that no light came into the Pool of Glass chamber, Krieth could sense Shar’s touch in the room ahead. Warmth on the glass in the room told him how recently his patron had passed. Its location and intensity told him where the hole in the roof must be. He moved to step in – and was greeted by a sledgehammer blow to the chest.
Krieth flew backwards, then skidded across the floor. There was some unseen creature present. As with everything else in Bleakblood, he could not see it. He could, however, sense it. Moreover, he knew it to be otherworldly; the creature had literally come out of nowhere.
Knifelike claws raked across his bare chest. He caught the wrist and bent it hard with all his might. Rather than break, the limb twisted at an awkward angle. The thing, whatever it might be, was built differently than human beings, jointed in an unfamiliar way. Without being able to see it or knowing what it was, he would have difficulty figuring out how to hurt or kill it. Unless…
Twisting unexpectedly, Krieth shifted his weight and threw his assailant over his shoulder and to the ground as hard as he could. An awful squishing sound followed, accompanied by an inhuman scream. Krieth did not need eyes to know that the thing was badly hurt.
Muffled sounds at the door behind him drew his attention. Guards, trying to get in. It wouldn’t take them long to get the door open.
All of a sudden, a tail or tentacle of some sort wrapped itself around his neck and constricted. Ten minutes earlier his neck would have snapped under the pressure. Now though, while uncomfortable, it was in no way likely to kill him. He kicked at the creature, hoping it would loosen its grip. It continued holding him tightly so he kicked harder, with no better results. At the same time, he thought he heard the wedged door begin to slide open.
Suddenly he understood. The creature was not really trying to subdue him, only stall him long enough for reinforcements. The wedged door was going to give way in a moment.
At his full strength, he would have little cause for worry with even a score of men. As it was, he was nowhere near that point. Moreover, he was far from ready to fight the human guards who might be coming, let alone any otherworldly beings that might accompany them.
With a strength born of desperation he ripped off the tentacle and raced into the chamber of the Pool of Glass. Following Shar’s warmth, he jumped onto the stone block that had fallen into the pool. From there he leaped up, catching the very edge of the hole in the ceiling.
As he pulled himself up, a barrage of weapons flew at him from below. Daggers nicked his leg; an axe lodged itself in his thigh. Something leaped up and grabbed him by the legs and began pulling him down. Its claws dug into his calves. He struggled to get one leg free, then kicked back hard, once, twice, then – judging where the thing’s face might be, a third time. Something crunched and the thing let go with a yelp before falling with a sickening thud into the Pool, where it was cut apart.
Krieth pulled himself onto the roof and quickly turned to where he knew Shar would at that very moment be setting. The sun god’s last ray of light was somewhat above Krieth’s head. Knowing it was there, he reached up for it. However, before he touched it, an ensorcelled arrow pierced his hand from back to front. With a grunt of pain, he turned towards where the arrow had come from but could see nothing. However, he could hear movement – presumably those who had just shot him. Another arrow whisked by his head.
Desperate, he ran towards Shar and leaped off the edge of the building, arm stretched high towards the last light of the setting sun…and then fell two hundred feet to the ground.
Chapter 3
Nightwing smiled at the assemblage around him, the most powerful of Bleakblood’s adepts. His stunningly handsome countenance effectively masked his emotions, but those who knew him realized that Lord Darkchilde’s chief lieutenant was a body of contrasts. He spoke softly when angry, moved slowly when provoked. And smiled when furious. Folded at his back were his magnificent black wings – from whence his name was derived, and a clear indicator of his mixed heritage.
He stared at those gathered. Despite the power they wielded, individually and collectively, they were clearly nervous and rightly so. Something unprecedented – no, impossible – had happened, and it undermined everything that Bleakblood represented, everything the House of Pain stood for. Punishment had been doled out, but there was a very real possibility that more heads would roll before all was said and done.
“Lord Nightwing,” said an elder graybeard, getting his attention. “The two guards have been dealt with.”
“Naturally,” Nightwing replied in a tone full of menace. “Failure at Bleakblood will not be tolerated – particularly when it results in escape. The escape of a prisoner is the defying of Lord Darkchilde’s authority. Allowing even a single soul to defy that authority is a sign of weakness. The Master does not like to appear weak.”
This last statement brought an uncomfortable shuffling of feet amongst those present. Lord Darkchilde had no qualms about making an example of those who offended him even slightly. No one wanted to contemplate what he might do under the current circumstances.
“The prisoner?” Darkwing inquired.
“He fell off the cliffside of Bleakblood, toward the boiling sea.” This particular mage, middle-aged with a glowing staff, bowed his head before continuing. “Elementals were dispatched, but – despite an extensive search – the body was not recovered.”
Nightwing’s brow crinkled as he considered what he had just heard. Death was often quite a pleasant alternative to residence in the House of Pain. Thus, it was of little surprise to him that a prisoner would willingly fling himself from the cliffside ramparts. However, two things disturbed him greatly about the entire situation.
First and foremost, elementals were creatures of a higher plane, able to sense and see in ways mortal beings could not. Ergo, they should have found some evidence of the prisoner – some sign of his presence or passing – if he was simply a man. The fact that they had found nothing was both perplexing and worrisome.
Second was the fact that monumental forces and dark magics of an extreme degree had been employed to hold this individual. Nightwing had visited the site of the man’s cell and had been taken aback, to say the least, by the extent and potency of the spells at work in the area. Clearly, the prisoner had not been a normal man – far from it. Therefore, normal means could not be relied upon regarding him.
“Send out our forces,” Nightwing ordered. “As many as can be spared; mortal and immortal, devil and demon, living and dead. I want this man found and returned to his rightful place in Bleakblood.”
The assembled sorcerers bowed their heads in unison, with several even breathing a sigh of relief. However, none were confused about what had just happened. They had merely been granted a reprieve, nothing more.
Nodding, Darkwing pull a small blue marble from a pouch at his belt. He gripped it tightly, and a dense azure light encircled his body.
“I go now to report to the Master,” he stated. “I assume I need not tell you the price of a second failure.”
Before anyone could respond, the light faded, and he was gone.
Chapter 4
Krieth stretched, reaching up to grip another stone crag. He looked up to gauge his distance to the top of the cliffs. Not far now. As he continued climbing, he reflected on the events of the last day.
His leap from the ramparts of Bleakblood had elevated him enough for his hand to be enveloped in the last light of the day. It in no way returned his full strength, but allowed him to survive the fall to the crags below. Still, the impact had stunned him, and before he could recover he was swept out to sea.
The thought of being stranded – in the middle of the ocean in the darkness of night – had caused him to fight his way out of his stupor. He had struggled momentarily to move his arms and legs, but they soon obeyed. Then hands grabbed at him. Hands from the sea. Hands that pulled him beneath the waves.
He had not escaped Bleakblood only to be drowned. He struck at the foes attempting to detain him, but could not see them. The strength he would normally have had, the power granted an Avatar, was diminished by the water around him. Thus, his punches lacked force. But before he could attempt to throw more than a few blows, a voice sounded – not in his ears, but behind his eyes. In his mind.
Stay your hand, mighty one. We are friends.
Krieth looked around, but saw nothing. “Show yourself!” he shouted in his mind.
We are before you, warrior. The children of Lrfa rarely resort to deception.
Lrfa? Goddess of the ocean? Lrfa was a sister to Shar, and allegedly an ally.
Correct, Avatar. Krieth frowned at this. Yes, the voice – obviously feminine – continued. We know who you are. The light of your patron is like a beacon to truthsayers.
Then why are you taking me prisoner?
Prisoner? Amusement in the voice. Nay, Glimmerblade. The Lords in the House of Pain send elementals to retrieve you. We merely shield you from their presence. Though the elementals are indeed formidable, beneath the waves, our powers are absolute.
And why can I not see you?
The voice was silent for a moment. Because you are blind.
The truth had suddenly dawned on Krieth. Two hundred years in absolute darkness had robbed him of his vision. Perhaps those most malevolent magics which surrounded him during that time had also contributed. This disturbed him more than a little. Although being able to sense Shar would compensate in many ways for the lack of sight, he would still prefer to observe the world through his own two eyes.
Shortly before dawn the next morning, the Lrfan (as they called themselves) had returned Krieth to the base of the cliff from which he had fallen. At his direction, they had actually placed him near a cluster of jagged rocks, where the cliff’s slopes slid sharply down and gave way to a white, sandy beach. Stepping out of the shadow of the low rocks placed him in direct sunlight. He immediately began performing the ka-Shar.
The instant Krieth stepped into the sunlight, he was flooded by a great jumble of emotions. Love, relief, comfort, warmth…all the feelings between loved ones who have long been parted. Two hundred years of thoughts, musings, longings, fears and desire were conveyed in mere seconds as Shar and his Avatar became one.
An itching had begun in Krieth’s eyes. He attributed it to the tears which were falling. The itch had become a burning, at first irritating, but then painful. He put his hands to his face and blinked, blinked again. Hard.
Tears continued falling, but now there was something different. His eyes, which before had seen nothing but darkness, now saw light. The light quickly became the blurry outlines of things around him: sand on the beach, the ocean, the cliffs. Then, without warning, everything suddenly came into focus. Krieth felt Shar smiling.
Of course: Shar had healed him. Restored his eyes or removed the curse on them. Not that it mattered. Krieth looked at his body, found himself whole. The god-glow – the sign of Shar’s chosen – was a soft, golden light emanating from his body. Hardly noticeably during the day, it would be a beacon when night came. Fortunately, he was gifted with the ability to cease his bioluminescence at will. Krieth had then turned to the cliff and immediately begun climbing.
Now, hours later, he was almost at the end of his climb. Grabbing the edge of the cliff, he hoisted himself up and found himself on a ledge of Bleakblood. Behind and below him were the crags and ocean where he had taken his fall the night before. Near him, a large outcropping of rock facing out over the water had been carved into the image of one he knew well: Lord Darkchilde. In fact, the hateful countenance was carved in stone at evenly-spaced intervals all along this level.
He knew instinctively how much time remained to him for the task at hand. He had not been in the service of his patron for quite some time, and much was amiss that needed to be righted. Nevertheless, Shar had granted him a single day to take what vengeance he must at Bleakblood – with the promise of more later – and he had already spent hours on the climb.
Krieth looked down at his right hand, focused, then frowned in concentration. Almost immediately, a blade of pure light appeared in his hand. His glimmerblade, a gift from his patron deity and the source of his surname. Casually, without much force or effort, he swung the blade of light at Darkchilde’s image. Stone parted like water, and half of the monolithic face slid to the ground with barely a whisper. Krieth gripped the glimmerblade and smiled in the direction of Bleakblood.
“Now,” he said to no one in particular, “now, there comes a reckoning…”
Chapter 5
For once in his life, Nightwing’s expression truly reflected his inner thoughts and sentiments, which in this case was complete and utter disbelief.
He had been gone merely a day, but had returned to find Bleakblood in shambles – practically razed to the ground. Where once the House of Pain had stood in magnificent glory, there was now a massive mound of smoldering rubble. Its noble towers had been toppled; its parapets, smashed.
He glared at Bleakblood’s adepts – what remained of them, anyway. Many had seemingly perished when the House of Pain fell. Even those that survived did not escape unscathed, as almost all of them bore injuries of some sort (up to and including being maimed). But all were aware that escaping the fall of Bleakblood did not equate to survival. At the moment, they were in more danger than ever.
“And you say this was the work of one man?” Nightwing asked of no one in particular. There was silence, with everyone plainly afraid to draw attention to themselves by answering.
Growing impatient, Nightwing added, “Someone speak before I slaughter you all: was this the work of one man?”
“In appearance, yes,” replied a warlock known as Dulan. “But he seemed more monster than man. He attacked with a strength and ferocity that defied explanation.”
“You are adepts of the highest order,” Nightwing reminded them. “You have the power to flatten mountains and drain the seas. You have an army of soldiers at your command, both living and dead, as well as legions from the netherworlds. With all that Lord Darkchilde has put at your disposal, how is it that one man – no matter how powerful – manages to destroy in a day what has stood for millennia?”
“He had a weapon, the like of which we’ve never seen,” added an elderly sorcerer called Isham. “A blade of pure light. It sliced through every element and substance with ease. Flesh, stone, steel… It parted them all as if they were no more than air.”
“And you have mystical weapons of your own,” Nightwing stated with irritation.
“Indeed we do,” Isham agreed. “But in truth, there was no comparison. His blade was an order of magnitude greater than anything we possessed. It was like trying to best an expert swordsman with a sewing needle.”
“You also have dark servants you could call upon,” Nightwing noted. “Those were regularly utilized at Bleakblood.”
“And we did not hesitate to use them,” chimed in a witch named Bal. “But they offered little challenge.”
Others murmured in agreement with this, with one adding, “I had three fire imps charge at him in unison. He dispatched them with little effort.”
“And your magic?” Nightwing inquired. “Did you not utilize it?”
“In all honesty, it was difficult to employ,” Dulan admitted. “Our attacker seemed generally proficient in spellcraft and had defenses against many enchantments. However, this was not immediately understood. Ergo, many of our fellows lost their lives when their attempts to magically enthrall him failed.”
Nightwing glared at them. “Your incompetence is completely and utterly mindboggling. Despite magic, mystical weapons, an army, and powerful creatures from the nether realms at your beck and call, you still fail to stop one man. But that still does not answer the most important question of all: How did Bleakblood fall?”
No one answered immediately, although all present understood the question well enough. In essence, the House of Pain was protected by much in the way of dark magic and foul sorcery. The structure itself should have remained standing until the end of time. The fact that it had not meant that something unprecedented had happened.
“He targeted Bleakblood’s magic,” Isham finally stated. “The forces that shielded the House of Pain from physical attack, as well as the ravages of time.”
“Magic has been leveled at BleakBlood for ages,” Nightwing stated. “There have always been those who wish to topple the House of Pain. How is it that this man found success?”
“Those other attacks were always from without,” offered Dulan. “This assault was from within Bleakblood’s own walls, where the House of Pain was most vulnerable.”
“But the spells protecting this place were without peer,” Nightwing argued. “They were powerful and cogent…unassailable.”
“Not all of them, Lord Nightwing,” countered Bal. “Not every enchantment was potent or robust. Some of them were of a lesser nature, and it was those that our assailant initially targeted.”
Nightwing frowned. “And how does that accomplish the fall of Bleakblood?”
“Think of it like a thick blanket with a single loose thread,” advised Dulan. “If you pull on the thread hard and long enough, you will unravel the entire tapestry.”
“And that’s what happened to the House of Pain,” Nightwing surmised. “He started with the lesser spells, and used those to undo the greater.”
“Correct,” Dulan stated with a nod. “Without the preservative effects of magic, age caught up with Bleakblood to a large extent, with many parts of the structure becoming immediately timeworn and collapsing, or simply crumbling to dust.”
“But it wasn’t just the spells protecting Bleakblood that this man destroyed,” Isham added. “He also destroyed the magical objects that offered auxiliary support – the runes, talismans, wards… He destroyed them all, using our own portals to flit through the edifice and accomplish his foul deeds. And finally, he freed many of Lord Darkchilde’s guests in the process, which added to the pandemonium.”
Nightwing seemed to ruminate on this for a moment, then stated, “Lord Darkchilde will be expecting my report. In all honesty, this humiliates him, and he finds humiliation infuriating. Thus, no one even remotely involved in this is likely to emerge unscathed – including me. But I do have one final question: this man who attacked – was he the same prisoner who previously escaped?”
Chapter 6
Krieth traveled swiftly, continually putting distance between himself and the shattered remains of Bleakblood. He made good time, despite the fact that he carried a captive – a young girl he had taken from the House of Pain. She had been in the company of two adepts when he first encountered her – wizards who called forth undead soldiers in response to his assault on their dark fortress.
Using his glimmerblade, Krieth had made short work of the reanimated warriors, swiftly lopping off their heads before doing the same to the wizards. The girl came close to suffering the same fate, but – recoiling in horror at the decapitation of her compatriots – she began backpedalling in an effort to get away from Krieth. However, she hadn’t taken more than a few steps before she tripped over her own feet and went over backwards, knocking herself unconscious when her head hit the stone floor.
Krieth had momentarily debated leaving her. Up until that moment he had been merciless in his treatment of Bleakblood’s custodians and overseers, putting them all to the sword as he put their stronghold to the torch. At that juncture, however, his work was essentially complete. He had undone most of the diabolism that sustained the the place; Bleakblood was already coming apart and would soon collapse utterly.
With that in mind, he made a conscious decision to spare the girl because of her obvious youth – and the fact that he had a use for her. Ergo, he had then trussed her up, tossed her onto his shoulder, and carried her with him.
He barely noticed her weight, and it slowed him down not at all. What he did notice, however, was that they were being followed. He hadn’t seen anything, but his all of senses told him that they were being pursued.
They were traveling through a forest at that juncture. In his youth, Krieth had enjoyed spending time in the woods – hunting, fishing and reveling in the beauty of nature. However, Bleakblood had been situated deep within Caldornoc, a fetid realm ruled by the Darkchilde and home to all manner of corruption. That being the case, a Caldornocen forest was not just the abode of typical woodland creatures, but was also home to monstrous perversions of nature.
As if in proof of this, Krieth and his unconscious captive had passed the mangled, mutilated corpse of a massive grizzly just a few hours earlier. It had essentially been butchered by something larger, fiercer, and more dangerous. He hadn’t been able to ascertain what type of creature had killed the bear, but it was entirely possible that they had wandered onto the hunting grounds of a ferociously territorial monster. More to the point, the thing that slaughtered the grizzly might also be what was tracking them.
That said, Krieth eventually found himself growing weary of being chased. Being some creature’s quarry had little appeal to him. In addition, all of his instincts told him that their pursuer was gaining on them. That meant confrontation would soon be unavoidable, but Krieth decided that he would select the battlefield. Thus, he waited until they reached a clearing, then set his captive down by a nearby fallen tree.
She still appeared to be unconscious, which suggested that she had hit her head much harder than he had initially assumed. However, he’d have to worry about that later. Thus, after taking a moment to check her bonds and make sure her arms and legs were still properly restrained, he turned towards the area they had come from.
He didn’t have long to wait, as a short time later the forest around them suddenly grew still. Birds in the branches of nearby trees stopped singing, while insects ceased buzzing. At the same time, Krieth heard the distinct cadence of a large animal moving swiftly, its feet striking the ground in rapid succession and accompanied by a fierce growl. A moment later it burst into the clearing, roaring in anger, and Krieth found himself staring at it in surprise.
The thing pursuing them was the mutilated corpse of the bear, reanimated and somehow brought back to life.
Chapter 7
Resurrected, the beast seemed larger that Krieth remembered, with claws and teeth that struck him as being longer and sharper than nature had intended. In addition, its marred and shredded frame appeared even more damaged than he had noticed at first blush, with great gaping wounds from head to tail. Finally, much of its flesh had begun to rot, and was crawling with maggots.
All in all, the thing was a fearsome spectacle, and it let out an earsplitting roar as it charged at Krieth, who stepped forward to meet it. However, their affray was not of great duration.
Despite its unnatural appearance, Krieth made short work of the bear, using his glimmerblade to swiftly dismember the creature. Being undead, however, it remained animated. In fact, it continued to roar and growl, snapping viciously in his direction, completely unfazed by the fact that its limbs had been cut off.
He then separated its head from its neck – an act that could usually be counted on to dispatch even the undead. The bear’s head rolled a few feet away from its body – but when it came to a rest, Krieth noted that the thing still snarled viciously at him.
He stared it for a moment, plainly surprised that some spark still kept it “alive,” so to speak. However, for all intents and purposes, the battle was over and the bear was no longer a combatant. Ergo, Krieth allowed his weapon to fade from sight and went back to his captive.
“You can stop pretending,” he said to her. “I know you’re awake.”
His detainee, however, didn’t move and her eyes stayed firmly shut.
“Come on, girl,” he added, nudging her with his foot. “Further pretense is unnecessary and unwarranted.”
The girl still did not respond in any way.
“Alright,” Krieth groused. “Let’s see if we can find some means to rouse you from your slumber.”
With that, he walked back to the decapitated bear. It growled and tried to bite him as he leaned down and picked up its head, which he then took back towards his captive.
“I have a friend here I think you’d like to meet,” Krieth said to the girl. “And he may be better capable of waking you than I.”
As he spoke, he slowly brought the bear’s head closer to his captive’s face. At first there was no reaction; the girl remained still and unmoving. But as the ursine’s jaws – growling, snapping and biting – drew near her visage, her eyes suddenly snapped open. Plainly frightened, she rolled in an effort to get away.
“So you are awake,” Krieth remarked.
His detainee merely glared at him without responding, hate evident in her eyes as she sat up with her legs under her.
“What’s your name, girl?” Krieth asked. Rather than respond, she spat in his direction to show her regard for him and his query.
Ignoring her action, Krieth stated, “Well, if you won’t talk to me, we can always try our friend, again.” He held up the bear head, which still seemed eager to clamp its jaws on something. “He seems to be very good at getting a response out of you.”
The girl appeared to contemplate for a moment, then said, “Neri. I’m called Neri.”
“Well, Neri,” Krieth said, “I take it this is your handiwork?”
As he spoke, he held up the bear’s head again.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.
Krieth tossed the bear’s head away, then wiped his hand on a patch of grass. Following this, he stepped swiftly towards Neri and dropped to his haunches. Before she could react, he reached towards her, pulling the neck of the robe she wore down slightly.
Terrified at what her captor’s intentions might be, Neri let out a frightened squeal and tried to shrink away from him. Sadly, tied up as she was, there was nowhere for her to go. No way to avoid what she feared was coming.
However, Krieth merely pulled free a necklace that had been hidden beneath her garb. It appeared to be made of silver, and had an odd medallion attached to it, which he took in his hand.
“Your pendant is stamped with the sigil of Suutmor-alum,” he stated. “The Guild of Necromancers. And you wear the robe of a Guild acolyte.”
“What of it?” the girl demanded.
“You necromancers deal with the dead…and undead,” Krieth said, letting go of the medallion and taking a seat on the grass. “Do you still deny that the bear was your doing?”
Neri looked as though she were about to continue refuting that fact, but then she whispered something under her breath that Krieth didn’t quite catch. However, the bear – or rather its head – suddenly grew quiet. Once again, it was nothing more than a dead animal, albeit in more pieces than previously.
Krieth was about to ask her why she hadn’t done that earlier – specifically, when he had brought the bear’s snapping jaws near her – and then he realized that it hadn’t truly been an option for her. Removing her foul enchantment from the bear would have been tantamount to admitting that she had reanimated the creature to kill him. Of course, once he revealed that he knew she was a necromancer, there was no need to engage in further subterfuge.
Krieth looked at Neri, realizing now that she was older than he previously thought. He had initially assumed her to be around thirteen years in age, but she was probably closer to sixteen. On her part she simply stared back at him, trying to look defiant.
“What are you going to do with me?” she demanded.
“That depends on how cooperative you are,” he answered.
“Cooperative?” she repeated, looking nonplussed.
“Yes,” Krieth said with a smile. “I’d like to make a deal with you.”
Chapter 8
Neri merely stared at him for a moment, then hissed, “I’ll make no pact with you! I’ll kill you first!”
“You’ve already attempted that with the bear,” he reminded her. “Do you make a habit of trying to slay those who save your life?”
“Saved my life?” she said incredulously. “You kidnapped me – took me from home and hearth for some evil purpose.”
Krieth chuckled. “How ironic to hear a Bleakblood retainer describe someone else’s actions as evil. A better joke I’ve not heard in ages.”
“You won’t be laughing when the Grim Wardens catch you,” Neri declared. “The sacrilege you committed at Bleakblood won’t go unpunished. They’ll drag you back screaming, and then you’ll truly learn why they call it the House of Pain.”
“I think what you mean to say is that they called it the House of Pain,” Krieth stressed. Seeing a look of incomprehension on the girl’s face, he explained. “Bleakblood stands no more.”
“You lie!” Neri spat out.
“I’ve no need to,” Krieth insisted. “A day of reckoning arrived, with judgment swift and absolute. As a result, the festering monument of corruption that you call home is now rubble. Had I left you there, you’d have been crushed when the walls came down, or burned alive from one of the many fires I set. So yes – I saved your life.”
“More falsehoods,” she insisted.
“Ask your fellows from Bleakblood if you don’t believe me. Of course, you’ll have to use necromancy to do it.”
He smiled as he finished speaking, which made Neri visibly seethe.
“I wonder if you’ll jest quite as much when the Wardens cut your tongue out,” she sneered. “Or look quite as smug with no ears, nose, or lips.”
“So you still don’t believe me.”
“No,” Neri stated, “because I–”
“Shhh,” Krieth ordered, cutting her off as he placed a finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?”
Frowning, Neri tilted her head to the side, listening intently, but no sound out of the ordinary reached her.
“Hear what?” she asked after a few seconds.
“Exactly,” Krieth replied. “There’s no thunder of hooves from mounted beast-cavalry in close pursuit. No demon hordes from the nether realms nipping at my heels. No Opaque Assassins trying to slit my throat every time I step into shadow or shade.”
For a moment, as his words sank in Neri looked unsure of herself. Then her countenance became stern and she told him, “It is only true that none of those things have happened yet. But you can rest assured that devil-dogs are probably sniffing out your trail even as we speak. And even if they aren’t, elementals are surely soaring through the skies, scouring the land far and wide.”
“Even if that were true, I would posit that they don’t know who they’re looking for. I liberated many of the Darkchilde’s ‘guests’ from Bleakblood before its destruction, and they scattered to the winds. Your hounds and elementals will have quite the task tracking them all down and trying to identify which, if any, is the perpetrator of the sacrilege you mentioned earlier.”
“Moreover,” he continued, “they’ll be looking for a single man – not a man and girl traveling together.”
“You seek to use me?” Neri muttered. “I won’t have it. I refuse to be part of your ruse.”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Krieth stated, “I tire of this. If you refuse to assist, then you are of no use to me.”
With that, he pulled out a wicked-looking knife – a weapon taken from one of Bleakblood’s late guards. Upon seeing the blade, Neri went wide-eyed with terror, just as Krieth leaned forward and grabbed her with his free hand.
Chapter 9
Krieth pushed Neri forward onto the ground, then planted a knee on her back. Grunting with effort, she squirmed wildly, trying to throw him off and perhaps roll away. Her struggles were in vain, however; her captor was simply too strong.
Turning her head to the side, she tried her best to watch Krieth out of the corner of her eye. She had a poor view of him, but she did spy his hand – more specifically, the knife he held. She screamed as she watched the blade being lowered towards her unprotected back.
However, rather than the lancing pain of the knife piercing her flesh, she felt a slight tugging near her hands, accompanied by a soft grating sound. A moment later, she realized that her hands were free. Her bonds had been cut.
Krieth removed his knee from her back; she swiftly rolled over and crabwalked backwards away from him (or as best she could with stout cord around her ankles.)
“Your feet?” Krieth said, gesturing with the knife towards the remaining restraints. But as he moved towards her, she backed farther away.
“Come now, girl,” he admonished. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have freed your hands.”
She didn’t respond, but when he tried approaching her again, she didn’t move. Moments later, her feet were free as well.
Still keeping a wary eye on Krieth, Neri swiftly removed the remnants of cord from her wrists and ankles. Following this, she stood up and spent a few seconds massaging her wrists to get circulation going again.
“Why are you freeing me?” she finally asked.
“Were you not listening?” Krieth chided. “If you refuse to help me, then I have no use for you. That being the case, you’re free to go.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, girl – just like that.”
“You jest,” she declared, plainly not believing him. “You plan to use me for sport in some way – maybe hunt me like an animal.”
“That is a pastime favored by the Darkchilde. Personally, I find little amusement in hunting children.”
“I’m not a child!” she stressed. “I’m a woman, nineteen.”
Krieth raised an eyebrow in surprise. Assuming she was being truthful, she was older still than he had assumed, although not by much.
“Woman or girl,” he said after a few seconds, “you are still free to leave.”
“Then I will,” she announced haughtily. “But rest assured that we’ll meet again. I plan to be present when they boil your eyeballs into a soup and make you eat it.”
With that she turned and began walking back towards the trees. However, she had gone no more than a few steps before she stopped. She stared at the woods before her, then up at the sky. She then turned in a slow circle, looking all around with a befuddled expression on her face. After a moment, she let her gaze fall on Krieth. She appeared to be on the cusp on speaking, but instead just stood there silently.
On his part, Krieth merely chuckled softly, plainly discerning her problem. After a few seconds, however, he pointed, saying, “That way. The ashes of Bleakblood lie in that direction.”
For a moment, it looked as if Neri was tempted to thank him, then thought better of it. Thus, she merely turned in the direction he had indicated and began walking. However, she had taken no more than a few steps before Krieth called out to her.
“Hey,” he said, his voice causing her to halt and pivot back towards him. “Take this. You’ll need it.”
As he finished speaking, he tossed the knife in her direction. It landed on its side and slid for a brief moment across the grass before coming to a stop a few feet from her. She stepped forward and retrieved it.
“I know you have your necromancy,” Krieth continued, “but it may not be enough.”
“It should suffice,” Neri argued. “The only thing I’m likely to need a blade for is you.”
“Ha!” Krieth barked acerbically. “Clearly, you’ve spent little time outside of Bleakblood. Otherwise you’d be asking if I had more weapons I could spare.”
“I’ve been outside the House of Pain,” she insisted.
“But always in the presence of armed guards, correct?” Krieth posited, raising an eyebrow. Neri didn’t verbally respond, but her expression told him that his assertion was true.
“In that case, please allow me to enlighten you,” he continued. “We are in the land of Caldornoc – the domain of the Darkchilde – and, he has made this realm a haven for all manner of fell beasts and foul fiends. Every creature that nature found vile and abhorrent, your master welcomed with open arms. The pain and suffering they inflict – the terror they inspire – are pleasing to the ancient evils the Darkchilde serves. Ergo, these monstrosities are free to roam far and wide, leaving unimaginable horror, and countless corpses, in their wake.”
Neri appeared to ruminate for a moment, then demanded, “And how are you any better?”
“For one thing, I’m unlikely to kill and eat you. The creatures of this land are less discriminating. And if I failed to mention it before, many are immune to magic and have skin that can’t be pierced by sword or lance.”
Neri appeared on the verge of further argument, but suddenly a roar like thunder echoed through the nearby trees.
“You should get moving,” Krieth advised. “Whatever that was, it sounded hungry, and I’ve got better places to be than a monster’s gullet.”
With that, he turned and began walking away. However, he’d taken no more than two paces before he heard Neri shouting.
“Wait!” she yelled, running towards him.
“Yes?” Krieth responded inquisitively.
Looking a bit unsure of herself, Neri said, “You mentioned something about a bargain earlier – that you needed my help.”
“I recall,” Krieth noted casually.
“If I help you, can you escort me somewhere safe?”
“As long as the place you deem as safe is safe for me as well,” he stressed. “In essence, I’ll not promise to take you to some fortress that’s the second coming of Bleakblood, or anything of that nature.”
“Fair enough,” she said as the roar came again, sounding closer. “What is it that you require of me?”
“Nothing of consequence,” Krieth assured her. “I simply need to speak to a dead man.”
Chapter 10
When Nightwing next appeared before the remaining adepts of Bleakblood, he was not alone. He was accompanied by two creatures that could only be described as grotesques.
One consisted on an eyeless wolf’s head on a body that resembled an eight-foot grub, with a multitude of long, supple limbs that were covered with barbs. The other was something akin to a bipedal crab that was as big as a horse, with three mouths full of razor-sharp teeth and a trio of arms which terminated in colossal pincers that opened and closed spasmodically.
At the time, the adepts – along with what was left of Bleakblood’s adherents – were camped near the ruins of the House of Pain. Their numbers had noticeably decreased of late, as many had opted to desert their posts rather than face what was coming. Nightwing understood this at a glance, but also knew that the recreants who had fled would eventually be dealt with. At the moment, however, he had pressing business.
Glancing around, he quickly spied who he was looking for: Dulan, Isham and Bal – the three adepts who had previously spoken to him.
“You, you and you,” he blurted out, indicating the trio. “Step forward.”
Looking collectively nervous, the three named adepts complied and approached. Stopping a few feet from Nightwing, they lowered their heads in an almost synchronized fashion.
Turning to the creatures with him, Nightwing said, “Any but these three.”
Taking that as their cue, the monstrosities bellowed loudly and then charged at the remnants of Bleakblood’s retainers.
******************************************************
The carnage only lasted until Nightwing could mentally count to ten. However, in that time, the creatures managed to butcher at least a dozen people, and wounded or maimed at least a score of others.
“Halt,” Nightwing said, and the monsters immediately ceased their onslaught – one as it was in the midst of tearing an acolyte’s face off.
Covered in blood and gore, they looked as though they could easily (and happily) have continued the massacre until doomsday. However, Nightwing waved a hand and they vanished. But what did not disappear were the screams of pain and horror by those who had survived the attack.
Tuning them out, Nightwing turned his attention to Dulan, Isham and Bal. “As you might have guessed, the fall of Bleakblood stoked Lord Darkchilde’s ire. You should pray that recent events” – he gestured towards where the monsters had massacred so many – “sate his bloodlust and anger.”
“We will do so,” Dulan asserted. “And rest assured that we are grateful for the master’s mercy.”
Nightwing simply stared at him for a moment, then asked of no one in particular, “Do you know why you were spared?”
There was silence amongst the trio, who exchanged glances. The question seemed straight-forward, and likewise the answer. Frankly speaking, they had no clue as to why they were singled out for leniency.
“Do you know why you were spared?” Nightwing repeated impatiently, making it clear from his tone that he expected a response of some sort.
After a moment, Bal stated, “We weren’t.”
Nightwing nodded. “At least one of you understands. You were not granted clemency, and you may still face Lord Darkchilde’s wrath. But his fury was not visited upon you because, when we last spoke, you three seemed to possess some level of knowledge that might prove useful.”
“We live to serve,” insisted Dulan.
“Indeed,” added Isham. “We are at the Master’s disposal.”
“That is pleasing to hear,” Nightwing announced. “And you may be pleased as well to hear that the Master may know the identity of the man who razed Bleakblood, but he needs confirmation.”
“How may we help?” asked Bal. “Whatever the Master requires, we shall do.”
Nightwing smiled. “What he requires is that you speak with a dead man.”
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***Thanks for perusing my story Glimmerblade. Again, new chapters are posted every week, and if you are new to my work and find that you like it, please check out my published titles on Amazon, which include the Kid Sensation novels (superheroes), the Warden books (fantasy/dark fantasy), and the Fringe Worlds series (sci-fi).