Quest for Knowledge (Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga) - Christopher Jackson-Ash (black female authors .txt) 📗

could do nothing but obey. His body refused to follow his commands. He dropped off his horse, threw down his sword, and fell to his knees in front of Weylyn. Ventris looked around nervously and said another prayer.

“I have a new staff. Would you like to see it in action?” Weylyn asked Dammar. “What’s wrong? Wolf got your tongue?” Weylyn and the crowd laughed again.

“You were a fool to put your faith in this pretty boy.” Weylyn addressed Ventris. Weylyn flexed his hand and the whip coiled. A green flash leapt towards the rider and coiled itself around his neck. Ventris died before the scream left his lips. The banner of the Balance fell to the ground and was immediately seized upon by a couple of wargs, who pulled it to shreds. Dammar watched, unable to move. “I was merciful to your Captain. I feel less inclined to be merciful to you. Have you nothing to say before you die? Will you beg me for mercy? Will you anoint me as the ruler of Wizards’ Keep?”

Dammar was lost in a sea of emotions. Hatred was mixed with despair. Anger blended with confusion. He could only form one word. “How?”

“Didn’t you ever wonder how you could still be alive and have your statue present in the Avenue of Heroes? It was a neat little trick, another of my ideas, I’m afraid. Don’t you see Dammar? You are already dead. You are one of the undead. You are mine to command for eternity. I shall take great pleasure in torturing you. You will regret the day that you made a deal with Gadiel.”

The green lash flashed and wrapped itself around Dammar’s neck. The screams of agony went on for a good twenty minutes before Weylyn grew bored. They were heard across the camp and in the city of Elannort. Grown men cried as they heard them. Wargs cowered in fear at the sound. The undead shrugged; they had heard and felt it all before, he’d get used to it after a hundred years or so. On the outskirts of Elannort, Manfred shivered and his flesh turned to goose bumps. He knew what the sound meant, and he figured that his turn was not far away. High above the encampment, a solitary eagle observed the scene and gave a mournful call before flying to Elannort and landing on the top of the High Tower.

When Weylyn had tired of torturing Dammar, he turned his attention towards Elannort. He ordered the attack. They came at the city from all sides. The unrelenting march of the undead formed the cannon fodder. Packs of wargs roamed at will, inflicting damage by guerrilla raids, quickly in and out again. The human troops followed up, more circumspect in their actions, since they had lives to protect and didn’t wish to join the undead corps. Behind them, the elite cavalry waited to attack those who fled from their positions. Amongst them roamed a range of fell chaos creatures. These were visions from children’s nightmares: three-headed dogs with slavering maws, cockroaches the size of sheep, huge scorpions with pincers that would snap a man’s neck, six feet diameter spiders with fangs that would suck the brains from living skulls, giant cats that would torture and play with their human prey before they finally killed it. Everywhere they went, the chaos creatures generated fear and panic in the defenders.

Manfred, mounted on a white stallion, seemed to be everywhere. He shone in the sunlight, his white cloak, hair and beard glowing. His staff breathed blue fire and smote the enemy, living, dead, or chaos creature alike. Wherever he was, morale was raised and fear was quelled. However, when he moved on, terror and panic soon returned. Aglaral, Dawit, and Taran fought side by side where the fighting was at its most fierce. Dawit’s axe cleaved many skulls, both living and dead. Taran’s arrows found their marks. He concentrated on downing chaos creatures and cavalry officers. Aglaral lead his troops with valour. His swordsmanship proved too good for any of the enemy.

Wave after wave, the enemy pressed forward. The defenders fell back to their prepared positions. With each retreat, the number of defenders was decimated. As his minions advanced, Weylyn entered the city astride his horse. He followed the spiral streets that he knew so well, until he entered the Avenue of Heroes that lead to Melasurej, the Wizards’ Keep. He rode in triumph, the frozen statues of the sages staring down on him, perhaps in awe, perhaps in disbelief. There were few empty pedestals now. One for him, one for Manfred the Magician, a few others for non-wizards – he didn’t pay much attention to them. By this day’s end, there would be but one wizard left alive. He would enjoy Manfred’s slow death. He would play with him, like one of his chaos pets.

The few defenders who remained alive fell back to the gates of Melasurej. Manfred turned to his companions. Aglaral, Dawit, and Taran all still survived, but each of them had taken many wounds. Taran had run out of arrows and was now relying on his sword while Dawit’s axe had been shattered.

“Fall back into the Keep. I will make a last stand here. We need Simon now. Bring him out immediately, if he returns. If he doesn’t, you will have your chance to make a last stand too.”

Aglaral started to argue, “I would stay with you, master, and share your fate.” However, Manfred would broach no arguments, and the gates soon closed behind them, leaving Manfred alone facing the approaching mob. He leant on his staff for support and muttered a brief prayer to the Balance. May I be strong in my final test? Behind a pile of rubble, next to the gates, Kris cowered. He had been observing the battle, for his story, but had missed the opportunity to get back into the Keep. Now he was rooted to the spot in fear. Manfred stared ahead. He had not noticed Kris. A mass of perverted humanity was approaching. A solid wall of the undead surged forward, seeming unstoppable, like a tsunami poised for destruction. They halted about five yards from Manfred. They were wary of the power of his staff.

Manfred challenged them. “Which of you will step forward and feel the wrath of Manfred the Magician? Come on, I will put an end to your misery.” They stared at him, their eyes vacant and without hope. They said nothing. No one moved. Unobserved, for the moment, Kris fouled himself.

Manfred practised slow, deep, regular breathing. He knew he could handle any number of the undead. Their master, however, would be a bigger challenge. If Weylyn had defeated Dammar, what hope was there for him? Careful, I must not lose my self-confidence. He took a firm grip on his staff and stood upright. Directly before him, the masses of undead moved aside, like Moses parting the Red Sea. A rider on a horse approached. The undead cowered, abasing themselves before him. Weylyn wasn’t that different to Manfred. His physical appearance was much the same. He too appeared old and frail with long white hair and a flowing white beard. The eyes were different, though. Weylyn’s eyes were green and cold. When they saw Manfred, they burned red with hatred. He didn’t carry a staff. Instead, his right hand held a whip. The handle was laden with jewels and intricately carved with ancient runes. The lash appeared to be a band of light that glowed fluorescent green. Weylyn looked down at Manfred. “So we meet at last old friend.” The hate in his eyes belied his words.

“You shall not pass!” Manfred’s voice was powerful and confident.

Weylyn threw back his head and laughed. “You old fool. Do you really think that you can stop me? I, who defeated Dammar as easily as if he were a puppy dog? Let me pass and I shall give you a merciful end. I shall soon be the last remaining wizard on FirstWorld. I shall then claim my right to be leader of the Council of the Wise. I shall take my place in Melasurej as absolute ruler of FirstWorld and my army of undead shall ensure that all do my bidding.” He laughed again and drew back his right arm, causing the green whip to ripple in the air menacingly.

“You are a fool Weylyn. You are but the pawn of Gadiel. Do you think he will let you do as you wish? He will return to claim everything and you will be destroyed.”

Weylyn’s eyes blazed crimson in fury. He lashed out with his whip, aiming for Manfred’s neck. Manfred countered with his staff and the green lash wrapped around that instead. It seemed then that time stood still. The two wizards pitted all of their strength and powers against each other. The staff fought the whip. The two talismans buzzed with energy. Manfred’s staff blazed with blue electricity. The colour of the whip changed from green, to yellow, to purple, and finally to the crimson red of Weylyn’s eyes. Then it was over. Manfred’s staff broke into a thousand fragments and the old man was cast to the ground. It is over. I have failed. I wish it could have been otherwise but I have done my best and I am ready to die.

“Prepare to depart for the Avenue of Heroes, old fool.” Weylyn gloated and drew back his arm to coil the whip again. “You have lost. The Balance has finally tipped. Go to stone, old fool, and spend eternity in regret.” It would seem that I have bad luck with whips.

In the shadows behind the rubble, Kris closed his eyes, not wanting to watch Manfred die. Therefore, he didn’t notice the rat that was sharing his cover, which proceeded to sink its teeth into his leg.

“No!” A strange new voice rang out as Kris jumped up in pain.

Weylyn, surprised by this interruption, paused in his execution. “Who are you? Do I know you? Speak or die!”

“You should know me. I slaved in your kitchens and carried out your traitorous work, spying on my comrades for you. I am Kris, Bard of Karo. I am writing the true story of this war. Your evil and duplicity will be recorded for all to know. You will be reviled for what you are, arse-licker of the evil one. You will not harm Manfred. If you try to, you will be destroyed.” The crowd gasped in amazement, and it took something very extraordinary to stir the undead. Manfred rolled over and sat up. Kris? The coward, Kris? How could he be such a brave fool?

Weylyn was enraged by the outburst. His eyes and the whip blazed bright crimson. He whirled his whip to strike down the small pale man who had dared speak to him in such a vile way. For the second time, his execution plans were upset. The gates of Melasurej sprang open and he was confronted by a strange group of beings. Kris took advantage of the moment to jump back behind his rock. The rat, checking that he was not being observed, transformed himself into a small cat and jumped onto the top of the wall, where he could get a better view of the proceedings.

“We represent the four peoples of FirstWorld. I am Taran, Prince of Elfdom; I represent the First Born.” Taran held his drawn sword, vertically in front of him so that he appeared to peer at Weylyn through the sword.

“I am Dawit son of Dia son of Din, Prince of Dwarfdom; I represent the Second Born.” Dawit carried the remnants of his axe in both hands.

“I am Aglaral, Captain of the Guard of the City of Elannort, citizen of the City States; I represent humankind.” Aglaral carried his sword like Taran.

“I am Jhamed al Suraqi, companion of Heroes and servant of wizards; I represent the Balance.” Jhamed carried no visible weapons.

“And I am Simon Rufus, Everlasting Hero. I carry