The Chaos Blade - Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Kelnozz awoke chained to a wall in a rather dank and dismal dungeon. He looked about and realized that he was alone in his cell. He pondered for a moment before he remembered what had taken place.

He slumped against the wall, defeated, for several hours. He cursed himself for his foolishness time and again. Alesha had returned to Viconia and without him there, she would be able to do as she pleased. Garrick alone could stop her now when she resumed her evil ways, but whether he would or not was unknown. At long last the door to his cell opened up and his captor and tormentor stepped in.

"It seems as though the roles have been reversed," Kelnozz muttered bitterly.

"Ah, not true, my friend, not true at all," Darakor said with a warm smile. "You are chained merely to keep you from thrashing about and further injuring yourself. You were near death for well nigh a week, and it took everything our priests and healers had to keep you from slipping away from us. It was a good fight though, from all accounts. You slew dozens of demons before they overwhelmed you."

Kelnozz fixed him with an evil stare. "Why did you not let me die, then you could claim victory and your betrayal would be complete! Like father, like son... for both of us."

"So you know then," Darakor said flatly. "I did not know myself until you told me who it was that slew your father. Then I was too frightened to tell you. I needed you then, more then you know. How did you find out?"

"From your sister, the one you followed to Sanctuary!"

Darakor's eyes widened. He turned around to think and pace. "Elvanshalee lives? That wench, she must have staged her death to escape. Bah, she always was to much like our mother."

"You once spoke of a beautiful light that you said that I reminded you of in some ways, and that she was not like my race. What was her name?" Darakor asked, craving an answer to the one question that had bugged him since Kelnozz had first mentioned her to him.

Kelnozz glared at him, knowing what Darakor was realizing and hating him all the more for it. "Her name was Jethallin."

Darakor spun away from the prisoner, needing a moment of privacy as he debated what that meant to him. He shook his head, disbelieving it. Finally he turned back and looked at Kelnozz.

"I know, she is your mother," Kelnozz's tone was acid with defeat.

"Yes, she is," Darakor admitted, somehow not surprised that Kelnozz knew of her. "But do you know who my father is?"

Kelnozz snorted. "Of course I know! The one man I have killed thousands upon thousands of times in my dreams for what he has done."

"You're too late, I already did that," Darakor confided. "I am the Master of light elves and ruler of the Lost Lands."

"Congratulations," Kelnozz said, dully. That Narellin was slain caused a weight inside of him to lift. He had not done it, but he was dead and that was enough.

"But he was not my father," Darakor continued, ignoring Kelnozz. "My father was a dark elf that Jethallin nursed back to health only days before my father overran her lands and captured her."

Kelnozz stared at him, refusing to believe him. Part of his spirit he had considered lost and defeated forever came back within him then. He stared at him and ground his teeth. "Never!" he vowed.

"It is true, not only my one time friend and mentor, you are also my father." Darakor smiled weakly, faintly remembering all the times he had wished for that very thing when they had journeyed together. "It may be some consolation to you then that Narellin died by the hand of someone in your family. Our family."

Kelnozz stood up slowly and turned away, chains clanking dully. "You are no son of mine, blood be damned!"

Darakor was silent for many minutes, watching Kelnozz's back. Both were shocked at the realization of their relationship. "Many times in our journeys I wished that we were father and son, Kelnozz. I looked up to you. I learned from you. I wanted to be like you!"

"But I never could. We are too different." Darakor waited for Kelnozz to turn around, continuing only when it became apparent that he would not. I remember it as though I had seen it myself. Your mother, Kalista Risingmoon, had just given birth to a promising boy. She named him Kelnozz and sent away her nurses and her advisor. I saw no more of her until later, after Myragordamar, your father, returned early and found her conducting the rituals that would later be perfected to turn dark elves into light elves upon you."

Kelnozz spun around and stared at him, shocked. He staggered back against the wall and shook his head. "No," he whispered. Then gaining strength he said it again. "No more lies, damn you! My mother was no traitor! She was... she..."

"She died mere moments after you were born to a forsaken elven assassin?" Darakor prompted. Kelnozz nodded. Darakor shook his head. "No, father, she did not. Narellin planted that idea in your father's head so that he could justify banishing her and not obey the King's writ that she be executed. He found her performing very similar rituals over you, freshly born. He interrupted them, your father did, but some of it took affect. The rest Narellin put into you when your father took your mother secretly away and banished her. Look at the strength, speed, and skill we possess, our blood is strong, father! There is strength unrivaled in us! Much of it skipped you, however. It skipped you and manifested itself in me."

Kelnozz stared at him, refusing to accept Darakor's words even as they insinuated themselves into his memories and mind, explaining away a great many incongruities he only now remembered of his childhood. He shook his head and clenched his fists.

"Where is she?" he growled, glaring at Darakor with every ounce of willpower in him demanding that the light elf tell him.

"I know not," Darakor replied. "Only Myragordamar and his personal guard are privy to that information, and they are long since slain on the fields in front of Thoragloorin. Do you even remember where Thoragloorin is, Kelnozz?"

Kelnozz glared at him. Of course he remembered. The long lost elven capitol was in Southern Belurian. The once mighty and beautiful city sat around, on, and in a cool lake surrounded by mountains. All trails into it had been broken and sundered with the banishing of the elves, and mighty wards prevented the light elves from pillaging it. The few dark elves that had sought to return to it since the banishment had ended had never returned, however. In spite of the glory of what had been, the elves were very happy with Innowendyn and Loralost. Those that remembered Thoragloorin were so few and far between that no official expedition had ever been launched.

Seeing recognition in Kelnozz's eyes, Darakor decided to to win him over. The time for causing hurt between them could be over, he surmised. Now was the time to heal the hurt and show Kelnozz the proper path to victory and power.

"Come with me, father. Come with me and witness the strength we have at our fingertips! Even now the impossible becomes possible. Ancaruin is to be risen!"

"You can not control Ancaruin," Kelnozz said darkly, "you were not even born when I helped in his slaying the first time, and the elven race as a whole had not even been conceived in the eyes of the gods when Ancaruin came into existence. Nay, if you think that you can wield some manner of power over him you are more foolish than I thought, give this up and come with me away from this accursed place!"

Darakor turned away from Kelnozz again and said through clenched teeth, "I knew you would come here, Kelnozz. I knew that you would try to stop me. I know you better then you know yourself sometimes. I cannot leave, for even did I not covet the more vain and material things in life, it is to late for me, for I have held Cirithallion and the sword acknowledges me as its rightful wielder. Cirithallion was made for me, don't you understand? Soon Ancaruin's essence will be pulled from it but the sword will remain mine, proving who and what I am."

"Then my oath falls unto you. If Narellin is beyond my grasp, then the person who possesses his position, title, and apparently memories will fulfill it."

Darakor sighed silently and reached into a pouch at his side to pulled out a set of keys. He turned back to Kelnozz and said, "Come Kelnozz, come with me and let me show you why I am unable to leave. You do not know the power."

"You are wrong!" Kelnozz spat at him. "I know all about power! I know that the greed for it has caused thousands of elves to lose their lives, both light and dark. It has bled this world red with the lust for it. Every damned person I have ever cared for has been lost to the lure of this thing you call power."

Darakor spun on him, speaking wrathfully for the first time ever to him. "And what of yourself, white knight? You possess no small amount yourself! You would chastise me for wanting to be greater then I am, yet none alive in this world are as great as you are! How easy it is to condescend those who are lesser then you!"

Kelnozz felt slapped by his rebuke. He snapped his mouth shut after a silent moment of preparing to retort. Darakor gave him a triumphant look and raised his key. Kelnozz remained silent as Darakor unlocked his chains and led him out of the cell. They ascended several sets of stairs and went down many long, twisting and curving passages until they came to a landing overlooking one of the most unholy sights Kelnozz had ever seen.

Kelnozz dimly recognized the place as the main chamber of Ancaruin's lair so many thousands of years ago. Now it had changed, however, for instead of massive piles and gold, gems, and jewels laying about randomly, a massive alter of sorts had been constructed. Upon this alter lay several objects of all makes and sizes, including the sword called Cirithallion. All of the objects glowed with an unearthly reddish hue while nearly a score of priests surrounded the alter and were praying reverently.

Kelnozz studied the landing he was on and saw a weapons rack against the rock wall. He knew immediately that the two long swords upon it and the box beneath it contained his equipment.

"Ah yes, I also wanted to thank you for the final piece of Ancaruin's puzzle," Darakor said, gesturing toward the altar. Kelnozz's eyes fixed almost immediately on the centerpiece, the amulet he had worn for hundreds of years, unsuspecting of it's true nature all the while.

Darakor smiled without humor and said, "Your pendant. You must forgive me for forgetting to tell you about that. It seems that Cirithallion was not the largest remaining part of Ancaruin's essence, though none of us knew it until we had recovered it and studied it. No, all those many years you and I fought over a simple sword that was not really that important. All that time the true object of power lay under our very noses. Well, actually, it laid under your very nose.

Kelnozz's eyes widened in horror as he began to understand what Darakor was saying.

"Yes, Kelnozz, apparently Ancaruin had made provisions in case something were to attempt to destroy him. Upon the death of his body, his consciousness and spirit fled into a special amulet he had enchanted long ago. That very same amulet he gave to Alesha. The one that you took from her when you defeated her and that you wore and used without question up until recently. Rather ironic, isn't it?"

Kelnozz shut his eyes as if that would keep him from hearing the chanting going on below and the truth from sinking into his brain. "All those years..." Kelnozz said in a daze. "I was a pawn in a greater game yet again..."

Darakor was silent for a moment before he said, "Excuse me, father, I am needed for a very important part of this ceremony."

Kelnozz remained where he was with one of Darakor's elite light elven guardsmen on either side of him. He tested the manacles he still wore and felt little give in the wrought iron.

Kelnozz looked down into the lair with eyes drained of emotion. He looked down and saw a priest of Bavorish come walking up to the alter with the pendant held reverently in his hands. Instead of the seemingly pure white glow it had possessed earlier, it now had a malevolent reddish gleam.

Darakor had descended down a spiral staircase from the ledge they were on to the main floor. He crossed the room easily, slowing only to life Cirithallion from the altar. A figure came out from a deeper tunnel, led by two light elven soldiers. Kelnozz gasped audibly when he saw who it was. Jethallin walked between them, seemingly oblivious to the world. Kelnozz began working at his manacles again, using his great strength to try and force them apart. The elven guardsmen near him exchanged smirks at his movements. No matter what the legends said of Kelnozz, no elf was stronger then iron.

Jethallin was led before the altar and gently positioned so that she was kneeling, facing it on the opposite side of Kelnozz. The priest moved closer to her and raised the pendant above her head. Darakor moved closer as well, the sword held reverently in his hands. Jethallin's eyes raised up, her gaze still vacant, but without hesitation it shifted until she stared directly at Kelnozz.

Kelnozz felt himself stunned as he stared at her. Her empty gaze rocked him to the core. He shuddered as he remembered her all to well back in her grove, centuries past, like it had only just happened. Kelnozz growled and flexed his arms again against the chains that bound him. Jethallin's eyes seemed to clear then, and she focused on him. She smiled sadly as the pendant was lowered over her head and rested upon her neck. She gasped and arched her back.

Other items on the altar were placed on her quickly, each item adorning her in some fashion. From bracelets and rings to a tiara and a gauntlet. In moments she was clad in a simple white robe and elaborately wrought jewelry that glowed with an infernal red light. Kelnozz continued to struggle, certain he could feel the iron beginning to give way.

Darakor stepped forward at a signal from the priest. The low chanting in the room reached a crescendo as Darakor raised the sword above his head in a two handed grip, point downward. Kelnozz gasped. Jethallin continued to stare at him, a sad look upon her face but a happy look in her eyes for him and him alone. The sword plunged downward then, driven by Darakor's two handed grip.

Kelnozz roared. The iron manacles, forged thickly with the intent of holding any prisoner Mezarbolle might see, were not of a temper to hold back the might of one who had journeyed with Gods and knew their favors. They snapped apart in the middle, leaving him with an iron bracelet on each wrist. The elite guardsmen were stunned at the display of strength, strength greater then they thought possible for anything short of an ogre.

Kelnozz turned to the one on his left and grabbed him by the throat, crushing it instantly and ruining the elf's life even if his consciousness had not yet fled him. His other hand grabbed the soldier's weapon belt. In a matter of only a couple of seconds since he had broken his bonds he picked the elf up and threw him off the ledge and into the ritual below. The other elf was drawing his sword then, but never had a chance to finish. Kelnozz spun on him and sent one clenched fist crashing into the elf's face. The elf staggered backwards, nose an cheek broken and several teeth missing. Kelnozz followed, lashing out again and again until the elf slumped to the ground beaten to death and beyond.

Kelnozz turned back, seeing at least two feet of Cirithallion plunged into Jethallin's chest. Her head was thrown back as she tried to scream in anguish. Instead of a scream an impossible amount of red smoke billowed out of her mouth, forming into a cloud above her and slowly taking shape. Kelnozz ground his teeth and looked around. The stair case was easily 30 feet away, and the floor was perhaps 40 feet beneath him. He prepared to leap when the last of the smoke issued from Jethallin's mouth. She slumped to the ground, Cirithallion sliding wetly out of her chest. The cloud continued to take shape, billowing into the spectral shape of a glittering red dragon with glowing red eyes. On the floor beneath him several soldiers and priests were gesturing at him and at each other. Kelnozz ignored them, he refused to let them hinder him.

Kelnozz spun back to the dead elf and retrieved the dagger from his belt. In a flash he was gone, melting into the shadows and slipping away from the altar. Darakor needed to die, but he knew that now was not the time to do it. As much as his thirst for vengeance fueled him, his father's son remembered his duties to his people. Ancaruin was risen, he had to warn them all, no matter the pain it would cost him. But first he had to find his equipment, or escape would be all but impossible. Fortunately, Kelnozz thought he knew where they might be.

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Darakor looked up and fell to his knees, overcome with awe at the immense ghostly figure above them all. Made purely of glowing red mist, a dragon larger than anything he had counted possible was staring directly at him. No, not at him but rather into him.

"Darakor Kinslayer," The dragon said in a voice that was at the same time deep and terrible to hear, yet also quiet and hinting at secrets and power best left undreamed of.

"No," he whispered. "My name is not Kinslayer, it is Risingmoon."

Ancaruin's essence regarded him silently for a brief moment. "You have done well," The drake replied. "Ready my armies, with my foes scattered and Sanctuary destroyed, the dwarves, elves, and humans will be as cattle to me. The elves will die first!"

Continued in Chapter 24

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