The Chaos Blade - Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"Father, I have returned!"

Narellin had watched the stranger swagger through the entryway of his palatial home through a magical cloud of mist that hung in the air above the desk in his study. The man was not unknown to him, but he could have been no less familiar. With a snarl of contempt Narellin waved his hand through the mist and disrupted it.

In minutes Darakor had traversed the halls of the mansion and stood in the doorway to his fathers study, where he knew he would find him. Narellin looked up at him from the desk he sat behind and pondered him with a withered look.

"You are not welcome here," he said at length.

Darakor nodded, some of his excitement stolen from him. He rallied his strength against the only man left on Viconia that still intimidated him and spoke clearly, "I have returned, stronger and more skilled. I am ready now to take my place at the head of our armies."

Narellin snorted with derision. "You forsook your race and your family, you have no place here!"

"I was afraid you would think thusly," Darakor said slowly, refusing to back down. To show weakness in front of the powerful wizard his father was would have been unforgivable to him. "So I return with the artifact that will give us the power to rule this world once and for all!"

"What foolishness do you speak of, boy?" Narellin snapped.

Darakor drew Cirithallion with a flourish. "This!" He said reverently.

Narellin felt the power of Cirithallion as soon as it was unsheathed. His eyes widened as it tugged at him and told him he should bow before Darakor. Such was his power and strength of mind that he kept the urges at bay, urges denied by almost no other living being.

"Hand it over then, Darakor, and there may yet be an acceptance for you within our people," he said, his eyes never leaving the blade.

Darakor's eyes widened. To give over the sword would leave him with no bargaining chip. No power aside from his own on top of that. A voice within him soothed him, told him it was all right. The voice spoke to him on a level so subconscious that he never knew where it came from. He only knew that Cirithallion was not meant to be his yet, it had a greater role to play.

Three long legged strides brought him to Narellin's desk. His eyes never left his father's face, who now returned his stare. Smoothly, showing none of the trepidation he felt inside, Darakor placed the sword across the books and other wizardly apparatus laying on top of the desk. He stepped back then, feeling the sudden loss of the sword keenly.

"Am I then forgiven, father?" Darakor asked bitterly.

Narellin laughed darkly. "Who do you think you speak to, fool? Your mother was the whore of a dark elf before I claimed her! You're only a light elf because I am one of the few living wizards alive with the power and the memory of the ritual necessary to turn you into one!"

Darakor's eyes widened and his face paled. He had been born as a dark elf? His mind struggled to grasp the implications of the simple fact. The Narellin spoke again, driving his confusion from him in a fit of rage. Rage that boiled through him and made him yearn for the sword.

"You are no son of mine!" Narellin shouted at him contemptuously. "I had no son, just a poisoned bitch of a woman that ruined every offspring she produced!"

Darakor clenched his hands so tightly that the blood drained from his knuckles. To be denied after all he had done... It all made sense to him suddenly. All the cruelties he had endured as a child. All the words and punishments and looks he had received. His sister had been treated better then he, and women were the inferior gender! He growled deep in his throat as the monster he was becoming rushed to take him over.

"I have no children, boy!" Narellin continued, seemingly unaware of what was transpiring with Darakor. "Now get out of my sight you traitorous bastard son of a whore!"

Darakor sprang forward then and lifted Cirithallion from where it rested on the desk. Narellin sprang back, his eyes wide. Being the most powerful light elf alive did not happen by mere chance or luck, however. He had a spell on his lips instantly, in spite of the surprise. He began to mouth the words when Cirithallion pierced his chest. His spell failed him as the agony overwhelmed him. Cirithallion did its job as it always had, sucking the life from Narellin in moments.

Darakor stared down hatefully at the man who was not his father. His murderous rage was far from sated, however, for the world had cheated him. In Narellin's last moments of life he looked up at Darakor and smiled a thin and bloodless grin.

"Perhaps you are more my son then I thought."

Narellin collapsed, his strength and his life funneled into the sword. Darakor felt the power of it thrum through the sword and back into his arm. He gasped as many of the thoughts and memories and knowledge that Narellin had possessed flooded into him. Still holding Cirithallion, he fell to his knees as he was overwhelmed by it all. When at last the rush of information into him stopped he swooned back and forth then collapsed to the floor unconscious.

When Darakor awoke he felt strangely. He glanced about the room and saw it as he remembered, including the bloodless husk of the man he had thought to be his father. A flash of memory and he saw himself at the head of a legion of orcs and light elves just recently come through the Periphery into Belurian, the civilized lands between the Periphery and the Endless Ocean. He saw the very ground and the trees they advanced on heaving and bucking against them, trying to repel their invasion. Many orcs and elves were slain by the primeval forces of nature, but in the end his wizardry overpowered and they advanced to the witch behind it all.

Of great wonder was it that the witch was a light elf! A light elf that fought to protect nature against her own race? He was astonished. So great was her beauty and such was the challenge of taming her, however, that he had to have her. Pitting his will and magic against hers, he soon overpowered her and stole into her mind. She protected herself well, concealing the identity of her most recent visitor. Her lover. He saw with great shock that she had conceived a child by this dark elf, but he could learn no more from her.

Narellin, now Darakor, took her with him and made her one of his wives. His primary wife, at that, due to the challenge and exotic nature of her. Her mind was broken but her spirit lived on every time he was with her, fighting and backing against him in the only way she still knew how to do. He enjoyed the thrill of it like no other. In time the child was born and he was greatly displeased to see it born as a dark elf. Instead of ending the babes life with his dagger he used it instead to sever the cord, he slew the healers that knew of its birth. Then, using long forgotten spells he performed the rites necessary to turn the babe into a light elf, leaching his skin of color. Then he retired to ponder the nature of the child that was not his.

The memory faded from Darakor then. He cast a last hateful glance at Narellin and sheathed Cirithallion. He somehow knew where and what everything in the manor was. Every glance he took looked familiar to him, though he had been absent several centuries. It was unnerving. Nonetheless, Darakor knew what he needed to do next.

The elf picked up a small bowl on a shelf and filled it with water from a nearby pitcher. Staring into it he spoke clearly the words of an arcane spell he had never learned previously. In moments the calm water showed the image of a cloaked figure.

"Who disturbs me?" The creature answered in a sibilant hissing voice.

Darakor also knew what and who he spoke to, though he had never met the creature before. "I am Darakor Kinslayer, usurper of Narellin Kinslayer's powers."

The rasping laughter that sounded from the bowl sounded like air escaping a tight seal. "What business do you have with me, Lord of the Elves?"

"I possess that which we seek, the Sword of The Serpent," Darakor said, not fazed in the least by the creatures manner.

The sudden intake of breath indicated the creatures surprise at the announcement. He hissed out some quiet words and in a moment stood in front of Darakor. He spared barely a glance for Narellin's body, instead his eyes were drawn to the sheathed sword Darakor wore.

Darakor set the bowl down and drew the long sword slowly, teasing the lizardman with it. "This, Ssythanduras, is Cirithallion. The Chaos Blade. The last holder of Ancaruin's essence."

Ssythanduras moved closer, his scaled hands raising from the arms of his robe to reach for it. Darakor permitted it, letting the priest take it into his hands and hold it reverently.

"Ssso closssse," he whispered, his forked tongue prolonging the words.

"When can you bring him back?" Darakor answered, feeling this time as though it was right for him to relinquish the sword.

Ssythanduras turned to him and chuckled again. "One piece yet remains, Master Kinslayer."

Darakor's eyes widened in surprise. "Kelnozz told me this was all that was left, the largest fragment!"

"Another remains. Sanctuary. It rests in Sanctuary. Go there and recover it." Ssythanduras pulled his hood back, revealing his scaly green head and cold dark eyes. "Then the greatest of dragons will again control the world!"

Continued in Chapter 18

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