Richard Tuttle - Aakuta - the Dark Mage

Hira frowned and waved his arms towards Netura. He signaled the Torak soldier with his fingers and ordered him to retreat. Netura signaled back that he would circle around behind the bandits and distract them so that Hira could escape. Hira shook his head vigorously and repeated his order to retreat, but he knew that Netura would ignore his commands. Hira frantically sought a solution that would carry the word back to Lord Marak.

“Who are you?” Hira shouted to the bandits. “What do you want?”

Silence was the only answer that Hira received. He had not expected an answer, but he needed to draw attention away from Netura.

“I am the only one left,” shouted Hira. “Will you accept my surrender?”

Hira already knew the answer to that question, but he wanted Netura to understand it as well. Silence hung in the air. Hira shot a glance towards Netura and saw the lad still approaching. Netura was still far enough away to escape if only he would. Once again Hira used his fingers to demand that Netura retreat. The Torak soldier ignored him.

“Ignore my order will you, lad?” Hira whispered to himself. “Well, you will not die today to save someone who is already dead. May the gods travel with you, my friend.”

Hira nocked another arrow to his bow and stood up. He marched onto the road and stood defiantly for several seconds until the arrows soared out of the forest. Hira aimed at the source of the arrows and released the bowstring. His arrow was released just as he felt the first bite of metal piercing his chest. As his body fell to the road, Hira turned and gazed towards the distant Netura. He smiled inwardly as he saw the lad turn and scramble away.

* * *

The wind swept across the arid desolate plain, sending plumes of sand and dirt spiraling into the sky. It tore at the clothing of the lone rider leading the driverless caravan of six wagons, but it did not appear to bother the tall lanky man. His eyes did not deviate from his destination, as it grew larger on the horizon.

Karnic’s face was calm and dispassionate, hiding the rage he felt inside. When the wind tore the hood from his head, exposing his short white hair and neatly groomed beard, Karnic casually waved his hand in the air before him. The windstorm suddenly parted, leaving the caravan to proceed through a corridor of still air. Karnic turned and looked at the six driverless wagons. The horses continued to plod along behind him as if ropes attached them to his horse. He nodded satisfactorily as he returned his attention to the pyramid before him, as it grew steadily larger.

As Karnic approached the Vandegar Temple, his eyes surveyed the surrounding area. The place was devoid of the massive armies that were supposed to attack Khadora. His rage intensified as he viewed the remnants of what used to be a large army encampment. Cooking circles dotted the landscape. Makeshift corrals held no horses, and the forges sat cold and unused. Scraps of old cloth flew through the air, and weapon racks were empty and abandoned. Karnic’s mouth opened slightly in a rare display of emotion as he bared his gritted teeth.

Karnic halted the caravan in front of the Vandegar Temple. He dismounted and waved his hand over the dozen horses pulling the wagons. With a final look at the desolate encampment, Karnic turned and strode up the steps of the temple, his long white robe swaying with his movement. He paused at the top of the steps and pulled his hood over his head and then stepped through the large entry doors.

He stopped inside the great doors to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the interior of the temple. His eyes narrowed as he viewed the debris scattered about the floor of the entrance hall. Walking silently, Karnic moved through the hall into the center room of the pyramid. The center of the pyramid was open to the apex and his eyes were automatically drawn upward to view the magnificence of the monument to Vand. He stood there for a long time, his eyes viewing the balconies of each level as he sought for any signs of life.

Karnic did not see anything but the leavings of the massive army that used to be housed there, but his ears did detect the sound of distant voices. Karnic scowled as the rage inside him grew to a fury. He headed to one of the stairways and started climbing upward. He walked quietly and let his ears guide him towards the voices. When he had climbed seven levels, Karnic turned along a corridor, the voices becoming decipherable. He listened to the conversation of the two men as he silently moved towards the speakers.

“I should kill you now,” shouted Zygor. “Your actions have brought failure to our endeavors.”

“My actions?” retorted Brakas. “You are the one who brought that cargo of poisoned fruit for Grulak to eat.”

“I had not way of knowing what effects the fruit would have,” snapped Zygor. “Remember that it was you who brought the fruit to me in the first place.”

“Like yourself,” countered Brakas, “I had no way of knowing its effects either. At least I tried to redeem myself by scattering the horses of that traitor General Winus. You merely hid here in the temple to see who would win.”

Karnic paused outside the room as he heard a sword being pulled from its sheath.

“You think that sword will save you from my powers?” cackled Zygor. “You are a foolish man, Brakas.”

“Look, Zygor,” Brakas pleaded, holding his sword up for defense as he backed away from the magician, “There is no reason for us to quarrel. We are both committed to the same goal. If we work together, perhaps we can salvage this mission yet.”

“Salvage it?” screamed Zygor. “Our army is scattered all over Fakara. Worse, they have lost the leadership needed to make them into a viable fighting force. We will both be dead when Vand sends someone to find out what went wrong.”

Karnic chose that moment to clear his throat and step into the room. “Your display of emotion is unbecoming, Zygor,” Karnic declared as the two men in the room turned towards the new arrival.

“Karnic?” Zygor said hesitantly. “How long have you been listening?”

Brakas frowned as he gazed at Karnic. He still held his sword defensively in front of him and continued to edge further backwards.

“Put the sword away, Brakas,” Karnic commanded in a voice that left little doubt as to his feeling of superiority. He turned to Zygor and said, “I have heard enough to determine that our operation in Fakara has failed. Vand will not be pleased.”

Zygor opened his mouth to explain, but Karnic held up his hand to stifle the excuses. “I will hear no more bickering and excuses,” he stated sternly. “What I will hear is the state of our army here in Fakara.”

Karnic turned to glare at Brakas, and the Fakaran hesitated slightly before returning his sword to its sheath.

“We have no army,” Brakas stated nervously. “The free tribes have scattered them across the breadth of Fakara.”

“He speaks the truth,” admitted Zygor. “The free tribes have aligned with the Astor. Grulak and Veltar are both dead.”

“Grulak is of no consequence,” replied Karnic, “and Veltar has been rewarded for his failure.”

“Of no consequence?” frowned Brakas. “He was the leader that a hundred thousand followed. Nobody can replace him. The army is gone.”

“Never tell me what cannot be done,” Karnic spat as he fixed his gaze on Brakas. “Grulak was a fool, but a useful one. His life brought us the Time of Calling. His death cost us nothing. We do not need a hundred thousand men to bring chaos to Khadora. The task can be accomplished with much less.”

“You plan to continue the attack on Khadora?” questioned Zygor.

“No,” smiled Karnic, “I have plans for you to conquer Khadora. My services are needed in Omunga.”