The Black Wizard's Spire - Daylan Ephitis (pocket ebook reader .TXT) 📗

weak. . . . They will be vulnerable. . . . They will be crushed like vermin by my mighty axe!”
The rest of the warriors cheered, but Kanoh quickly silenced them. “If they know we are here, they will have time to pull down the wards and regain energy to use on us, you fools! We must enter the tower and eliminate every single one of them as swiftly and quietly as possible while they are still weak.”
Narthak’s stomach lurched again. “I can sense them . . . there are more than just sorcerers in that tower. Those beasts I told you all about. . . . Those filthy, vile creatures! The things of nightmares and bard’s tales . . . they are in that tower. I can feel it, it’s like the vile stench of magic, only, it manifests in the pit of your stomach.”
“I feel it as well,” said Kanoh, concerned, “I did not know it was that I was feeling, but I feel it.” He looked distraught.
“There is no time to delay, we must go now,” ordered Narthak, after a moment’s pause. He moved forward and motioned with his hand for the rest of the war party to follow. Such dark things had never targeted their clans before; they had no experience fighting any, though Narthak knew there was no other choice; it was for the good of the Mastodorian race.
The approached the dark gates of the spire, Kanoh looked back at the warriors to see if they were ready. He received short nods and grunts in return. “I do not know who – or what – lies inside this tower, but I know this: we shall not fail. We shall wipe out these infernal wizards and bring peace back to the north!” He spoke in a shouted whisper, as not to alarm the things inside.
Narthak wasted no time; his eyes shined like the rays of morning as he kicked down the spire’s door with brutal strength. The party let out shouts of rage as they stormed the keep.
It was a large stone room, a spiral staircase ran up along the walls; it seemed to go on forever. Torches lit the sides and a black alter stood alone in the center of the open room. As the party entered, dark sorcerers turned away from some ungodly practice they were performing on the alter, and prepared for battle with the barbarians.
There were four sorcerers in total in the main chamber; the one closest to the door was chopped in half by Borjak’s mighty axe before he could even react. Borjak ran towards the next mage, almost slipping on the dead one’s gore, and let out a fierce warcry as he caved in his target’s feeble skull.
Narthak hurled his claymore at one of the wizards. It blew a great hole through the man’s chest, separating his ribcage and almost tearing him in half. The man fell limp on the ground in a mangled heap. Narthak let out a breath he had been holding for some time then looked around. The last sorcerer was dead as well, two arrows protruded from his bleeding chest as he lay on the cold stone floor. Narthak turned around and saw Kanoh holding an oak longbow with another arrow already nocked. He walked over to where his claymore had fallen, then picked it up and wiped viscera from the blade.
“We must ascend these steps to the top, crushing everything that stands in our way. The evil of this vile lair lurches the pits of my stomach.” Narthak coughed as if choking on something large but abruptly stopped. He gripped his claymore. “The beasts, they are here!” he shouted as a horde of the vile creatures from the morning ran down the tower’s stairs.
They were more ghastly than the creatures from before; just looking at them was enough for the common man to uncontrollably empty his stomach. As they descended to the main chamber, the men readied their weapons.
Chaos and slaughter followed; an uncontrollable bloodbath. The hellhounds – too many to count – kept pouring down the stairs as Narthak’s party cut them down one by one. Narthak cleaved through the beasts with his claymore two at a time, but it was still too much for him to handle. Kanoh emptied his whole quiver on the first five hounds to run down the stairs and quickly drew his blade to intercept one jumping at him. Piles of the monstrosities soon littered the chamber. Many of the barbarians were overwhelmed by the creatures; they were soon torn to shreds by slimy teeth and sharp claws. The battle raged on for long minutes, many hellhounds were laid to rest, and with them, they took few warriors. Kanoh drove his longsword through the last surviving monstrosity’s distorted face, then breathed a sigh of relief and fell to one knee. Victory. They gathered together and collected themselves; only six of the nineteen warriors Kanoh had gathered were slain.
Kanoh slowly took in a deep breath then let it out all at once. Blood was splattered across his hard face and his cuirass was punctured and torn along the left side. “We will bury our dead later; there is no time right now, we must scale the staircase.”
“I can feel the wards being pulled off as we speak, their power shall be restored soon, we must go now,” stated Borjak. Combat rage still twisted his face; his axe was dripping with blood and entrails. “Now!” he shouted as he began running up the staircase. The rest of the party followed with haste.
They scaled the spiral staircase that ran along the inner perimeter of the tower and soon approached a tall wooden door about halfway up. Before Kanoh could kick down the door, a fiery blast blew a burning hole straight through the wood of the door and into Kanoh’s chest. He was hurled back against the parallel wall, steam flowing freely from a gaping, charred hole in his chest. The rest of the party backed away from the now open door. Borjak blazed with more intense rage than Narthak had ever seen as he ran blindly into the room, screaming in fury.
The room was colder than the main chamber, velvet tapestries covered the walls and another lone alter stood in the middle of the room; a mangled body laid atop it with deep incisions in its sides. Six mages were inside the room, surrounding the body.
Borjak ran in with sadistic intent, his axe drawn and ready to slay. The sorcerers began drawing power, it manifested in their palms as a pale blue light. Borjak caved in a wizard’s skull with his axe, and in the same motion, ripped a second sorcerer in two. The remaining four mages unleashed pale blue bolts of energy at him, but before they could hit him, he hurled his massive axe at the sorcerer standing nearest to the alter. The axe started to rip through the wizard’s chest at about the same time Borjak all but dematerialized from the synchronized spell blasts. His last thoughts were that of regret for not being able to see the spell caster get mutilated by his axe.
The rest of the party stormed the room. The remaining three sorcerers feigned weakness from their recent casting, but as the barbarians approached them, more pale blue bolts were fired. The explosion was catastrophic, blue flames ignited most of the warriors and the few in the front of the line met the same fate as Borjak. Narthak was thrown back with great force.
The smell of burning flesh invaded Narthak’s nostrils as he lie on the ground, trying to pat the flames off his burning cuirass; he had been in the back of the party at the time of the blast. He had managed to stop the flames from completely destroying his easily flammable body armor, but slowly drift into unconsciousness.
Narthak was revived minutes later by another surviving barbarian. As he was helped up, he finally grasped the total destruction all around him. The dead bodies of his comrades littered the stone room, dense smoke rose from their bodies; it reminded him of the aftermath of the morning assault. An incomprehensible amount of lacerated entrails were scattered across the floor, gobbets of burnt flesh were stuck to the walls. Only two other men besides him and the man who had revived him survived, but they weren’t in any shape to get up and fight. Narthak emptied his stomach on the stone floor, then he looked up at the man who had brought him back into consciousness. Stelnor was his name, he remembered.
“Are you okay, can you walk? Then get up, we aren’t done yet,” said Stelnor. His voice sounded as if he had just gurgled boiling oil. He brushed back his blood-splattered beard then handed Narthak his claymore.
Narthak stood up and cracked his back. “Let us go now. I have not felt bloodlust like this in years.” His voice sounded metallic and sloppy, as blood covered the roof of his mouth in a thin layer.
Stelnor nodded his head and they both started for the door; it led back to the spiral staircase. They followed it up to an iron-locked door at the top of the tower. Mystical lines, glowing bright purple, ran along the door like veins on the back of an old man’s hand. Stelnor prepared to kick down the door with a booted foot, but the door swung open in front of them before he could follow through with the action. In an instant, they were pulled into the room by an unseen force, the door slammed behind them.
The chamber was black as pitch except for a bright purple sphere hovering in the center. Electricity ran up and down the outer circumference of the sphere, it glowed with an evil light.
Narthak tried to back up but he felt frozen in place.
After what seemed like an eternity, the sphere spoke. “Welcome . . . highlanders,” it boomed. Its voice sounded synthesized, but deep and god-like. “I am sure you’ve heard of me.”
Stelnor spoke in a whispered murmur. “The Black Wizard himself. . . .”
“Who?” asked Narthak, half looking over at Stelnor, while still keeping his attention on the ominous purple sphere.
“The Black Wizard . . . ruler of the darkness. . . . Ruler of everything vile and evil on this
world. . . . You’ve never heard the stories?” Stelnor looked completely detached as he stared in wonder and fear at the sphere.
“I have not,” said Narthak. He had heard the stories, but he had never heard the term ‘Black Wizard’ ever used. His clan had always simply called him – or it – the Lord of Darkness.
“Incorrect, Stelnor. I am not the Black Wizard himself; I am merely a projection of him. As you can see, I do not take on a human appearance, I am merely a projection of his mind, but I hold nearly all power he, himself bears.” The booming, god-like voice vibrated the floors.
“Why have you attacked us?” asked Stelnor, “What do you want?” Stelnor was stuck in place. Invisible, cold, nimble hands held him in place.