Terra Audax - Son of The Prodigious

Prologue



The evening was a cold one. One where families would dress in their warmest furs and huddle at the fire, telling stories and sharing bread and wine. But this was not a typical winter’s evening. The shivers and raised hairs on the back of the necks and nervous looks toward the windows were bad enough, but the feelings left the people hollow in the pits of their stomachs. Prowling wolves and the rustling of trees and bushes could be heard in the wind that flew across the lonely land as night descended upon Terra Audax. But this wind was neither a whistle nor a whisper, yet it was both, conjuring fears in its wake as spirits roamed invisible to the naked eye.

           When the moon had risen to its peak, three lone men on horseback could be seen galloping across a dusty road. The horses were strong, black creatures that moved with great speed and ferocity, their muscles moving and glistening in the moonlight like liquid, and sent the loud rhythm of thunderous hooves across the sleeping land, echoing into the night like a bat caught in a web.

         The man on the first horse wore black robes that flapped behind him in the breeze, while the other two riders wore heavy black armour and had two-handed swords strapped to the side of their horses.

         Far behind them, to the south was a city. It was not visible because of the darkness, not that it was ever visible in truth, for the city was cloaked in shadow from the enormous Setnom-Muurlap Mountains to its north. The city was famous for having no sunlight. The only light was glows of candles, lanterns, bonfires and the occasional riots the commoners would hold from time to time. The city was called Mebru Sirbenet, which means, in the ancient Dwarven tongue, City of Darkness. It was the only lesser kingdom in all of Terra Audax and the only one still that demanded no rule over them from the High Queen.

         The first of the three riders was the King of Mebru Sirbenet and the men riding behind him were his personal bodyguards. They knew nothing of the location in which they were riding, nor what he planned to do with them. But they were weak, they had not the strength the question their master, for fear of their lives.

         The King was old and quite mad. He had one blue and one hazel eye on his pasty-white face, which gave him a look of madness. He looked as frail as glass and had the twitches; the twitches being the slight tics and movement of muscles near the eyes, the one that proved to all the state of your mind.

         The horses continued to gallop into dangerous territories, which were only owned by the fierce creatures that hid in its shadows, waiting for the unwary to ride by…

         Almost no trees could be seen in the area before them, only wilderness which, even though it was night and held the pleasant warm breeze, still looked most unkind through the King’s sore eyes as his steed stepped onto the dry dirt.

         The King dismounted and grunted and groaned as his bones creaked. He was old and mad, yes, but there were still things of use in that old head of his… but those things were of no use now as he stood in the dirt for two hours, trying to determine where he was going. But the hum of magic was unmistakable, and he knew that was emanating from the deep north.

         Two more hours passed and the need to drink overwhelmed the King. He needed water. He reached back to his rucksack tied to the horse’s saddle and took out his water-skin. He then unscrewed the lid, raised the drink to his lips and began to guzzle in front of the envious bodyguards.

         The moon still shone brightly as the trio continued north, the men obviously craved drink, but held their tongues like good whelps. Within an hour the King’s steed cantered up a small hill and in the distance, the mysterious forest, which had no name, appeared within the mil. The King smiled wickedly; we’re nearly there!

         Hours passed and still the King rode. His horse soon began to slow and whine with weariness, but the King only kicked its bleeding sides and it continued on. Thick forest soon enveloped them as they continued further north. Never stopping. Never resting. Even when dawn broke over the horizon and his men asked to camp, he only said, ‘the time for camping is long over. We have travelled into lands in which butterflies can kill a strong man. So imagine what a wild cat or boar could do to you worthless sods while you sleep!’

         It was not long before plants completely alien to the King and his men appeared: strange flowers such as bright green type roses, orange tulips, and purple daisies lined the track before them, letting off enchanting aromas every minute or so. But flowers were not the only curious things in these woods… Willow trees with their long leaves pointed to the sky instead of hanging low. Some trees however were familiar the King and his men: the red oak and cedar trees seemed to be everywhere in the strange forest. However it was not only plants and trees that were unusual. Strange animal calls could be heard beyond the track; an unsettling howl split silence, as did the chittering of a woodpecker. Undoubtedly the creatures watched the trio move through their forest.

         All day the horses plodded along until the third horse refused to move. The King dismounted and walked slowly to the second horse, placed his hand on its neck and immediately it reared up, neighing loudly in pain. He then moved to the third horse and closed his eyes and placed his hand on its neck. A minute he stood in the position until he said, ‘let us continue!’ and with that, he mounted his steed and the third horse began to trot with the other two in front. He had shared his very life essence with the steed, and though it was very draining, it would ensure no more paroxysms on the horse’s behalf. The guards exchanged puzzled faces, but continued with their King.

         As the sun began to set they saw a clearing up ahead where the trees parted and formed an arch. They tried to pass through it, but the horses wouldn’t budge past the clearing. The trio dismounted, grabbed their weapons and pressed on. As soon as the King stepped through the clearing, he felt a tingling sensation work its way up his spine, he smiled, ‘magic…’

         Many hours after they passed through the Clearing, they still walked. The King’s black robes were dragging in the dirt and his white beard was sticky with sweat, until finally he stopped. He looked up and before him was a stone entrance to the temple his scouts had found by accident four nights previous. He stood in awe at the expert workmanship of the massive stone arch and magnificent steps leading up to the dark entrance.

         The temple itself was almost invisible head-on. Trees and vines had over grown and woven to the point were only the steps and arch was visible. The runes carved into the steps and the arch, were spirals, lines and strange symbols. To any mere fool, these symbols would seem like a mad man attacked with a chisel, but to the King It was clear that the Dwarves had built this sacred place. The temple was probably the last thing the Dwarves built before they rebelled and were all slaughtered by the High King Garret’s army Nine hundred and seventy-three years ago.

         The King took a single step onto the ancient steps and continued up; his heart was racing as he looked at the great arch above him. He then stepped over the threshold and stopped: the door had long since been smashed in. Only now was a creepy, endless, black void before him. He demanded that one of his bodyguards look inside first. The guard signalled that it was safe and all three entered.

         The inside of the temple was cold and dark. The only light was moonlight, which was coming from tiny cracks in the ceiling, forged by age. It was too dark to tell every feature in the room, only a few stone tablets and sacrificial benches. But he was certain that there was more to the temple then just this room. ‘Keep your eyes peeled, fools…’ the King warned in a most savage tone. The Dwarves were wicked and vile tricksters. They would have thieves and merchants believe that this was the only room to this ancient monument of theirs. But the other temples always had a burial chamber. And the King intended to find it!

         The hours felt like an eternity as the King made his way blindly along the chamber walls. His hopes jumped when he discovered a hole or crack, but quickly flew when he realized that was no entrance. The mustiness of the old dusty room hung in the air like a curse as the King continued to walk blindly around, looking with his mind more then his eyes. This accomplished nothing except for a few stubbed toes and a bruised knee.

         The King turned to the ceiling for any possible clues, but all he saw were long hanging vines, thin strips of lights and crumbling rock.

         The seconds seemed like years and the minutes were eternities as the King’s temper began to rise. ‘Nothing…’ He whispered dangerously. ‘The description of this temple was identical to the one Madeleine the False buried her in! Why is she not here?’ he shrieked and cursed and delved deep within himself and felt the magic begin to flow. He lifted his arm and a shot of bright red flashed across the room and with a deafening SMASH! It hit the wall, leaving no mark whatsoever. This was Dwarven built and could withstand almost anything. He swiped his hands left, right, up, down and diagonally while greens, blues and purple and black flew in all directions. The bodyguards dived for the entrance as a spell went for them, but it dispersed and appeared on the other side of the area.

         Heat filled the room but was immediately replaced by frosty cold as the King’s spells turned the surface of the walls to ice. He concentrated as he scanned the room in his mind. Filling every hole, every crack, and every chip until the chamber was completely cut off from the rest of the world. The guards cried out from the outside but he was too busy to reply.

         He delved into himself once again and began to mutter. He closed his eyes and his feet left the floor. He hanged, suspended by nothing, and rolled himself into a ball. The ice followed suit and, with deafening crunches the stonewalls began to chip and fly toward the centre of the room with the ice. And suddenly he opened and yelled his final spell. The ice and stone alike flew back and exploded against each other.

         The King was knocked back by his own force and fell painfully to the ground. When he lifted his head he saw what he had done… nothing! The walls had only chipped and cracked but that was it! His men ran to him, for the door had crumbled, and helped him to his feet. ‘Search the chamber…’ he said wearily. ‘Try to find an opening…’ they nodded in response and laid him against the western wall.

         The bodyguards searched for only moment before one said ‘Over here! There’s a big hole in the wall over here!’ The King’s head snapped in the direction of the north wall and saw what the bodyguard had said to be true.

         ‘Can we fit through?’ asked the bodyguard.

The guard examined the hole. ‘Hush fool! I will, but you two will only get in the way… stay here and guard the entrance’. The King approached the hole and slowly began to push himself in. He barely slipped his frail body through the hole and touched down on the other side. The next chamber was pitch black, only slim amounts of light passed through the hole to where he was, but that helped him little.

He looked into the blanket of black light before him and muttered the words, ‘Singi Amplificare!’ immediately eight balls of fire appeared before him, fending off the darkness. ‘Invenire sancta tua’ he whispered to the floating fireballs, as if they could understand what he had said.

         Then very slowly the fireballs began to move away in eight different directions. The first five found torches on the walls and set them ablaze, while the other three hung awkwardly in the air, having nowhere to go.

         He confirmed that this was the burial chamber, because thanks to the fireballs, sarcophaguses were now visible against the walls.

He walked forward… all was dead silent.

         This was the place, the burial place of the Serot’ates Clan. He walked down the chamber and counted the sarcophaguses. There were four sarcophaguses on the sidewalls and two more were visible at the end of the chamber.

When he reached the sarcophaguses at the back of the room, he examined the lids. The one on the left was destroyed; the rock had been smashed open, probably by thieves or bandits, while the other was in the shape of a woman lying to rest with flowers on her chest. 

         He approached the intact sarcophagus and noticed that there was a hole at the bottom of her neck where an amulet would fit. He took the necklace he had stolen all those years ago from an Elven clan and pushed it into the hole. He then spoke the ancient ritual, ‘Vigilemus antiquam matrem… Enim, tuum filii expectare in umbra ET nocte… Quia ad Vigilemus ET amplecti nos in mortem ET concede vota… Serot’ates!’ he said mystically. Nothing happened. He frowned and repeated the ritual… still nothing. He tapped the stone lid.

         Immediately the lid smashed open and the King fell back. Out climbed a skeleton.

The King laid awe struck as the skeleton took a step towards him. It was only bones except for the eyes; black smoke seemed to be emanating from the empty sockets.

‘You dare to awake me!’ it shrieked. It was now clear that it was female, her haunted voice sent chills down his spine.

         ‘Forgive me! My mistress of shadows!’ he got to his knees, fear in his heart. ‘I h-h-have raised you from your prison, and wish for your g-great services.’

A moment she stood, then said, ‘you are a fool… thinking you, a mere mortal, could request my services!’ she growled at him. ‘I am Cynedrytha! I am the High Priestess of the great Serot’ates clan!’

         His fear overwhelmed him, but he tried to reason with her, ‘but… I only freed you so you could complete your ancient quest!’ she recoiled, clearly puzzled.

Then she stared at him and said, ‘…do you have it?’

At first he had no idea what she meant, but then he remembered… the sacrifices! ‘Y-y-y-yes my g-g-gifts are out g-guarding the entrance,’ he stuttered, and without another word she walked to the exit and slid through the hole.

The King still lay when he heard the cries of his men. He slowly got to his feet and wondered back. When he reached the entrance to the temple he saw that both of his guards were dead. The Priestess stood only feet away from the corpses, speaking a complex enchantment. When she finished, light began snaking out of both guards’ mouths and slid into her own. Soon, skin began appearing on her back and long black hair fell to her hips. When her enchantment had finished she turned in the direction of the guards and cast a spell. The left guard was stripped of his amour and it fitted itself to her. When her eyes opened the King saw that they were as black as night. ‘My queen’ he said, bowing low.

         She stepped towards him. ‘I know what you want… you woke me, not for my freedom, but for your own selfish demands!’

         ‘NO!’ the King pleaded, ‘no! I do wish your freedom… I wish for you and me to rule this world together!’ he fell to his knees.

         ‘Do you…? You wish destruction on Terra Audax…? An admiral goal’ she said in a misty voice. ‘I know that is what you want… and I can help you. On one condition…’ her words were like daggers against ones skin.

         ‘And what is your condition?’ the King asked, not daring to rise. ‘Give me all your wealth, your whole army and power over all you rule’ she replied.

The King looked her in the face, horror-struck, and then bowed again. ‘Yes… of course’.

         ‘Now let us return to your castle… and plan’ she turned to the way he came and asked ‘where are the others?’ her brow wrinkled into an unattractive frown.

         ‘What others’ the King was confused.

         ‘The mounts, you fool!’ she spat at him.

         ‘Oh… the horses are beyond the clearing to the south, mistress.’

She turned to him, murder and rage in her eyes. ‘DO YOU THINK ME A MERE PEASENT?’ she screamed at him. ‘MY mount, no other will do!’

         ‘What mount are we speaking of, my mistress of shadows?’ the King took a step toward her, cautious.

         ‘My mount, the one of legend, the one hatched from the great fire of the Mirautnas temple! Where is it?’ she looked at him, and began to trudge toward him. ‘Where is my mount?’

         ‘I know not what mount you speak of!’ he pleaded.

         ‘MY DRAGON, FOOL!’ she slapped his frail face and he fell with a thud.

         ‘I’m sorry, mistress’ he wailed. ‘But the entire dragon species be long dead!’

She seemed to explode with rage as she ran at him. A long black knife appeared from smoke and fell into her right hand. He concentrated and spoke a quick spell. Suddenly a clear ward formed around him. The magic ward glistened in the slight moonlight. It was a dim yellow colour, but that didn’t improve the frightening image of Cynedrytha raising her blade. He strained and with a painful cry he put all his strength and power behind into the ward.

         When Cynedrytha saw his magic she smiled, ‘Fool’ she whispered. ‘… You know some strong magic…’ she cocked her head and gave him a thoughtful look. ‘I will be at your castle when you return.’ She spoke a simple incantation. A black blanket fell upon her and she vanished into nothingness. One thought and one thought only was on her mind… destruction.