[2005/11] Ashes and Dust

[Ziv]

[turbine]

http://ac.turbine.com/index.php?page_id=421

King Varicci II strode down the hallway, followed by a retinue of robed councilors and huge, armored bodyguards. The clank of their footfalls on the bare stone floor was the only sound in the long, dark stretch of corridor. This remote section of the tunnel complex beneath Sanamar had been given over to a legion of mages and scholars, all laboring to fulfill the King's very ambitious demands.

The King stopped in front of a huge door, constructed of thick slabs of oak, bound with bands of steel and pyreal, and carved all over with protective symbols. Varicci raised his hand, as if to shove the door open, then paused as if remembering something. He grabbed the stout bronze knocker and, very slowly and deliberately, knocked three times. The sounds boomed and echoed down the long corridor.

After a few seconds, the door creaked inward and a bent, sallow man in ragged robes stood before them. "Master Darigo," said the King. "We have come to examine the fruits of your labor."

"Please enter and be welcome, Your Majesty." Darigo bowed deeply and turned to allow the King's group to come inside.

Beyond the door was a large, circular room. The fringes of the room were filled with arcane magical devices and paraphernalia, the tools of the dozen mages who worked daily on one of the King's most important projects. In the center of the room was a stone pedestal, engraved with ancient, alien symbols of blood magic. A malevolent indigo glow emanated from something long and thin on top of the pedestal.

Varicci sniffed the air. "It smells like a storm just hit in here."

"We completed the final enchantment not five minutes ago, great King. His Majesty has exquisite timing."

Varicci snorted. "If I had impeccable timing, we wouldn't be trapped on this benighted world, battling emboldened Bloodless led by an upjumped peasant." Ignoring the other mages in the room, he grabbed Darigo by the arm and marched towards the pedestal. Forced along by the King's heavy hand, Darigo shuffled as quickly as he could to keep up with the King's steps. A few of the King's more courageous or curious councilors followed. The rest stood well back, fear in their eyes as they beheld the darkly glowing pedestal.

Upon closer inspection, the object atop the pedestal was wreathed in swirling tendrils of dark energy. "Is it safe to touch?" Varicci asked. When Darigo nodded, he reached out and gingerly grasped the thing, held it up to the light. "And this thing... will work? You are sure?" He locked eyes with the master mage, watching his eyes for any hint of uncertainty.

Darigo nodded emphatically. "The enchantment has been properly applied and bound. Count Dardante's expertise, especially his modifications to the design of our binding circle, proved to be crucial. But as we expected, our abilities are limited by our incomplete knowledge. The enchantment is so strong and so terrible that the binding will only survive one use."

Varicci nodded. "One use will serve. For now." He held the object up high in front of his face, turning it in his hand. The light coming off it washed against the walls of the chamber, covering everything with an unsettling purple glow. Varicci smiled. It was a savage and wolfish smile, one that promised pain for someone or something else. "I will name you... Heartbreaker."

He placed the object very carefully back in its place on the pedestal. "Excellent work, Master Darigo. You and your colleagues will be well rewarded. But this is no excuse to slow your efforts. This is but the first step. I expect that the translators will have more research texts for you by week's end. Not to mention the artifact that Master Malsivir has located. We expect great advances, once he has brought it to you."

With that, Varicci turned and strode briskly out of the room. His retinue fell into formation behind their monarch as the mages all bowed to the King's retreating back.

Varicci led the group towards the farthest end of the hall, towards a staircase flanked by a pair of monstrous Knights. The stairs led down into a dank warren of tunnels and cells, the Chambers of Vivimancy. Here was where traitors and particularly dangerous criminals were given over to the King's mages, to serve as experimental fodder. Many of the Knights currently serving in the King's legions had ended their previous lives in these very chambers.

The King led his party to the far end of the longest tunnel, to a door made entirely of steel. A small sliding panel was built into the door's frame at head height, to allow the gaolers to look into the cell at the prisoner within. Varicci slid aside the panel. A pair of dully glowing red eyes looked back at him.

"Hello, Commander," Varicci murmured in a soft voice. "We've made you your toy. We're almost ready for your big moment."

[Ziv]

[turbine]

http://ac.turbine.com/index.php?page_id=426

Two old men sat at a table in the Sanamar tavern, fussing at their meals and nursing mugs of ale.

"I've heard some awful things from the herald this morning, and this ale's not strong enough to take the edge off," said one, as he probed his spoon through his bowl of stew, looking for more hunks of beef.

"What's there to worry about now, Bruno?" the other one sighed.

"Oh, don't roll your eyes at me, Merro," growled Bruno. "Remember, I was right about the portals, wasn't I?"

These two had been having the same conversation about the troubles of the realm of Viamont for over twenty years, on both Auberean and Ispar. The incidents for concern were always different, but the tenor of the conversation remained the same: Bruno complaining about the instability of their King, whether it was about Varicci I in the Bull's Head Tavern in Corcosa or about Varicci II here in the capital-in-exile of Sanamar. The fact that Bruno had been right about the inadvisability of entering that portal back on Ispar gave him enough satisfaction to keep complaining for another twenty years.

"Yes, you were right about the portals," Merro admitted for the thousandth time. He took a long quaff of ale and stole a glance across the bar at the tradesman Rand, wondering if the good brewmaster could brew a beer strong enough to blunt his friend's complaints. "So what was the news you heard this morning?"

"I hear tell the Boy King has sent some of his most valuable soldiers and scholars into some old Empyrean vault –"

"But he's been doing that since we got to this blighted land!" Merro protested.

Bruno sniffed. "Can I finish my story?" Without waiting for a further word from Merro, he pressed on. "This one is different. You know how some of them Aluvians who came through here talked about Asheron?"

"I remember the story. This is the old Empyrean who was responsible for those portals showing up on Ispar?"

"The very same. Well, suffice it to say that instead of opening dusty tombs and stealing headstones to furnish his castle, the Boy King is poking around in this Asheron's personal business! Not wise to anger a big muckety-muck sorcerer, especially when he's committed so many troops to Glenden Wood, and a hundred other follies... Plus, I've heard that this sorcerer is the Aluvian queen's lover!"

"I really wish you'd stop calling him the Boy King," Merro said. "He's our King, and even a gormless old fool like you needs to watch how you speak of him."

Bruno drained his mug. "Bah. He's got bigger fish to fry than me. And I will continue to call him the Boy King. He... His father... He's just not... Not..."

"Not as old as his father? Sons rarely are," Merro quipped. "Maybe you ought to forgive him for waiting until he was a greybeard to call himself King." He finished off his own mug.

Bruno's reply was drowned out by an explosion outside the tavern. The old man jumped in his seat and, with agility that was remarkable for one of his age, dove under the table.

"I knew it, I knew it! The Royal Thaumaturges are coming for me, aren't they?" he wailed.

A dense cloud of smoke wafted into the tavern from outside. Striding through the noxious fumes came a Viamontian noble in stained and torn clothes. He carried a barrel on his shoulder.

"Duke Raoul," muttered Merro, groaning. The Black Fist of Viamont, Duke Raoul Lascera, was well known for causing scandals and uproar wherever he went. It was said that his traveling companion, Apothecary Zongo, was a witch doctor of Souia-Vey who dabbled in poisons and dangerous distillations.

Zongo was nowhere in evidence today, which Merro counted as good fortune. Raoul was scanning the room through bloodshot eyes, when he saw Rand.

"Rand! There you are! Ye gods, I've found it!" Raoul's voice was a guttural, staccato bark. It was a voice that compelled men to obey – if they could understand what he was saying. With that, he stepped toward a table and slung the barrel off his shoulder.

Merro took a good look at the barrel. The tap on top identified it as a keg. The black fist emblazoned on the side indicated that it had been brewed by Duke Raoul. Merro and Bruno looked at each other, and came to the same decision.

Both of the old men stood – Merro from his seat, and Bruno crawling out from under the table.

"I say there, m'lord..." Bruno said. "What's that you've got there, and can my friend and I trouble you for a taste?"