Richard Knaak - Legacy of Blood

Then, from out of the backs of each erupted hideous, spectral forms with grotesque, inhuman faces and limbs twisted and clawed. Those who witnessed the event would later say they saw both rage and despair on those demonic faces just before the specters, screaming piteously, were cast out into Aranoch in a thousand different directions.

For a moment, the army of darkness stood at attention, weapons ready, suddenly empty eyes staring straight. Then, as if all within them had been drained away along with the phantoms, each of the monstrous soldiers began to collapse in on himself. One by one, then row by row, the invaders dropped-bones, faded flesh, and fragments of plate spilling into piles that left more than one of Lut Gholein's defenders unable to hold onto the contents of their own stomachs.

One of the commanders, the very one whom General Augustus Malevolyn had ordered to find Norrec Vizharan, became the first to mouth what everyone else thought. Stepping toward the nearest of the grisly sets of remains, the officer gingerly prodded it.

"They're dead…" he finally muttered, unable to believe he and the rest of his people would live after all. "They're dead… but how?"

"Norrec."

He turned to find Kara free, the gleaming ivory dagger ready in her hand. From his left and right came the two revenants, the determination of the dead forever tattooed on their expressions.

"Kara." He glanced at his former comrades. "Fauztin. Sadun."

"Norrec," continued the necromancer. "Please listen to me."

"No!" The mercenary instantly regretted his harsh tone. She only sought to do what even he knew had to be done. "No… listen to me instead. I–I've got some control over the armor now, but I can feel that already slipping away. I guess I'm just too exhausted to fight it much longer…"

"How could you even manage to fight it at all?"

"He is… Bartuc's progeny… after all," remarked Sadun. "Something that the… armor needed… in order to… fulfill its destiny… but that it… did not… understand worked… both ways. What other… answer?"

She lowered her gaze. Norrec could read the pain in them. Although a necromancer, the pale woman felt no pleasure or satisfaction in slaying one who had not chosen to cause such evil. Yet so long as he lived, all humanity lay threatened.

"You'd better do it quick. One swift thrust straight through the throat. It's the only way!"

"Norrec—"»

Hurry — before my mind changes!" He did not simply refer to any sudden reluctance on his part, and they all knew it. The risk remained that at any second the armormight transform him again into the ideal host for its insidious desires.

"Norrec—"

"Do it!"

"This is not… how it was… supposed to be…" rasped Tryst in open bitterness. "Fauztin! He swore… to us…"

The Vizjerei, of course, said nothing, instead moving toward Norrec. With great reluctance, Sadun slowly followed suit. Norrec swallowed, hoping the madness would end soon.

The hand still gloved suddenly rose.

Fauztin seized it in his own.

"Best do… as he says… necromancer…" a sullen Tryst murmured. "Looks like… we don't have… long…"

Kara came toward him, clearly steeling herself for what she had to do. "I'm sorry, Norrec. This is not how I would wish it, not as it should be…"

"Nor is it how it will be," a peculiar, almost hollow voice answered.

Horazon stood a short distance behind the necromancer, but Horazon with something different about him. The glimpse Norrec had earlier had of the ancient mage had made him think of Horazon as a cowardly looking hermit most likely bereft of most of his wits. However, this figure, while still clad in rags and with hair like uncut weeds, had a presence that made all else around him seem insignificant. Norrec had a suspicion now what had made Malevolyn look up at that most vital moment in the battle, for surely the ancient mage's appearance would have shocked the half-possessed general as well…

A massive, unexpected surge of bitterness and hatred welled up within the fighter, all aimed at his foul brother-

No! Horazon was not his brother! Once again the armor sought to reestablish its control, rekindle the insidious spirit of Bartuc . Norrec managed to fight the emotions down, but he knew that next time the suit would likely prevail.

The robed figure moved purposefully toward him and as he did, Norrec noticed a curious shimmer around him. The captive warrior squinted, trying to make out what caused it.

Horazon's entire body had been encased in a thin layer of glittering, almost transparent sand grains.

"Blood calls to blood," the Vizjerei murmured. His eyes stared brightly, never blinking. Even the two undead holding onto Norrec seemed taken aback by his presence. "And blood will end this travesty now."

Norrec could feel the will of the suit battering at his mind, struggling physically with his body. Only the combined efforts of he and his comrades kept it from succeeding for the moment.

"Horazon?" Kara whispered. The white-haired sorcerer glanced her way-and the woman stepped back. "No-you are him , but you also are not ."

He gave her-gave all of them-a condescending smile. "This living shell is another's, a too-curious sorcerer who long ago found the Arcane Sanctuary by accident, but in the process lost his senses forever. I have watched over him ever since, feeling some responsibility…" Foregoing any further explanation as to what in the underground sanctum might have destroyed a mind so, the glittering figure glanced at his borrowed hands. "So fragile is flesh. More stable and lasting are earth and stone…"

"You!" Kara gaped, her eyes nearly as wide open as her mouth. "I know you at last! He talked to you, seemed to even obey you-the great Horazon seemed so willing to obey you-which made no sense until now! You are the presence I felt-the presence of the very sanctuary itself!" He nodded, his own eyes never blinking once. "Yes… over time it just seemed the natural path, the natural way of things…"

Still battling the insidious incursions of Bartuc's enchanted armor, it took Norrec a moment longer to understand-and when he did the answer so astounded him that he nearly dropped his defenses.

Horazon and the Arcane Sanctuary were one and the same .

"My own mind almost shattered by what I had been through, I came here to escape the memories, escape the horror, and so I built my sanctum and dwelled underneath the sand, away from the events of the world." A smile crossed the false Horazon's face, the sort of smile attempted by someone who had all but forgotten such minor mortal practices. "And as I kept remaking my domain over and over in my own image, it became more me than the faltering shell I wore-until at last, one day, I gave what remained within and took upon a new, stronger, and far more durable form… and so I have been ever since—"

Horazon might have gone on further, but at that moment, Norrec's world turned bloodred. He felt an allconsuming rage build. He would not be denied again! Horazon had escaped his wrath at Viz-jun, but even if he had to burn away the entire desert, the warlord would have his final vengeance!

Horazon's puppet looked his way again, holding out one hand as if asking something of the armored figure.

A gauntlet-the same one Norrec had earlier torn off and thrown away-materialized on the aged sorcerer's own hand.

"Blood calls to blood… and I am calling you, brother. Our war is over. Our time is over. We are over. Your power negates mine. Mine negates yours. Join me now where we both belong… far from the sight of men…"

The other gauntlet tore free from Norrec, flying over to the glittering figure's ungloved hand. Then, in rapid succession, each piece of armor from his legs, torso, and arms flew forth, the crimson suit quickly remaking itself bit by bit on the elder's body. Somewhere along the way, the torn, stained robe of the hermit vanished, replaced by other garments more suitable to the armor. Even the boots Bartuc had worn left Norrec to join the rest of the suit. The false Horazon raised his arms as his astonishing work went on, eyes never blinking, lips set grimly.