Legends of Marithia: Book 3 - Talonsphere (11 page)

Maybe true evil means all humanity has been shredded from ones soul.”

(Andrielle - Queen of the elves)

N
o naturally warm light existed in the underworld. If it was not for the countless torches, then they would exist in near darkness. Their only respite was a decayed moon circling their plane. Ever since Shindar had been banished to the underworld, he had built a civilisation in an otherwise dying version of Marithia. Only lost and condemned souls had lived there, but that soon changed once Shindar introduced order.

The underworld’s civilisation had been built over thousands of years, and it existed under the shadow of Shindar’s iron fists. His slaves worked night and day to mine resources and create continual extensions to his dark tower.

Shindar had found that his magic changed in the underworld. The dark forces which existed there had caused his magic to shift, and he embraced the darkness which now coursed through his veins. He tasked those with the greatest affinity for magic to study the dark arts through trial and error, and write scriptures of their results. Dark monks discovered that some peers were blessed with the ability to see into the future, connect with the gods, and the Blood Red Moon prophecy was soon written.

Countless lives were lost while building the structures of the underworld, but more souls always came. The souls sent his way were not what he wanted, and it was long before his monks had discovered how to envelop Marithia in the spell that would send all dead Marithians to be reanimated in the underworld, with the exception of vampires that eluded a mortal’s death. His spell was unable to reach the souls of dragons, and they lived and died without appearing in the underworld. This annoyed him greatly. Dragons would make powerful additions to his armies. They were his greatest enemies; that was until he met Vartan.

As the balance of souls tipped in Shindar’s favour, the power separating his realm from that of the living Marithia, slowly dissipated. His dying lands showed signs of new life, and in turn, the Marithian lowlands were dying.

Once the magic separating the realms could be destroyed, the two realms would merge into one. Magic would become the only source of true power. Anyone with it would find their powers exponentially grown as the elements of dark and light magic combined. Shindar counted on this new power to secure his victory.

Dark monks worked tirelessly to study their many scriptures under Shindar’s watchful gaze. The lord of darkness sat on his oversized black throne, narrowing his eyes at the circle of monks before him, and the countless piles of scrolls they had already exhausted. He stared into thin air, as if none of them existed, tapping his fingertips on the throne’s arm rests. His demonic helm rested beside him. Patience was not something he enjoyed enduring. He hated waiting almost as much as these scroll-pushing monks giving him answers he didn’t want to hear.

They should count themselves lucky that they still have some use.

Generations of monks came, and none of them filled his armies. The Blood Red Moon prophecy was close to being fulfilled; he could feel it in his dark veins. But he knew that the man of the Talonsphere prophecy still lived, and each day meant that he was as close to defeat, as he was to victory. That was unacceptable.

His life being reduced to this moment, was unacceptable. He had long lost the love of his life, and his unborn daughter. They had been taken from him by the bastard gods in the cowardly skies above Marithia. And now, Kassina was far from him too.

If he lost this war, then he would lose it all. Everything he had worked for would be for nothing. Vengeance would be stolen from him.

He drew a deep breath before shooting upward and popping his vertebrae with an exaggerated stretch. His dark armour shifted with his movements and his voice was firm. “We’ve been here for days. Not one of you can give me the answers I seek.”

The monks were silent, hastening their search through the scriptures. His fury rose as if a crowd had thrown kindling into a bonfire.

“None of you are able to explain this to me? Not
one
of you? So, tell me, what good are you?”

An old monk with scars down his face raised his eyes to meet Shindar. “My lord, we work without rest and will give you answers as soon as we find them.”

Shindar stared at the monk and held his hands behind his back, pacing around the large rectangular table. They had grown arrogant. These monks thought that they could dare talk back to him. A lesson had to be taught. “As soon as you find it? Soon is not good enough. Do you know what our enemies are doing right now?”

The monk shook his head and swallowed hard. “No, my lord.”

Shindar’s heavy steps crunched as he circled the table. It took all of his strength to reel in his frustration.

No, don’t let them see they have gotten under my skin, not until it’s too late.

Nothing is as pleasurable as the element of surprise on a face as life drains from them. “Ah, of course you wouldn’t know. They’re celebrating the victory of reclaiming Greenhaven, forging weapons, gathering allies, and if left to their own devices, they’ll grow their armies to a number which overshadows our own.”

He leant down to retrieve a scroll and twirled it in his fingers. “I need to understand what powers this man has obtained, why the Blood Red Moon prophecy has not yet been fully realised, and most important of all, what we need to do to ensure that it is. You are, after all, my most trusted advisors. If I can continue to trust you, that is.”

The monk frowned. “My lord, we are doing our best.”

“I will be the judge of that. With each hour, they train another warrior, forge another sword. Tell me, why am I unable to step back into Marithia right now?”

“My lord, you can step through, but the realm would not sustain you until Marithia and the underworld are united. Your presence was barely sustained in the battle for Greenhaven.”

Shindar ceased pacing and pursed his lips. “I already know this.”

“My lord, if I may, we
will
find the answers you seek, but you already know we need more souls in the underworld to break the barrier. What does it matter if they train more warriors, if we will crush them?”

Shindar’s eyes widened before he continued pacing.

They just don’t understand. These complacent insects think they know everything.

Biting his lip hard, he tasted blood, but felt no pain. What he wouldn’t give to feel pain again. He missed its pleasures and punishing himself would give him a sense of calm. Sometimes, he wished he was still human. His studies and embracing of dark magic had turned him into an evolved being. Losing some senses was a small sacrifice. It was these moments that he reminded himself of his purpose.

“What does it matter? Let me tell you a story. Have you ever been to war?”

The monk shook his head. “No, my lord.”

“War is the only true time that I have felt alive since being banished here, but I cannot expect you to understand that. You would never know what it feels like to take the life of your enemy and feel their bodies die under your fingers.”

Shindar stopped behind the standing monk and forced him back into his seat by his shoulders. The act of doing so brought a smile to Shindar’s lips. Teasing his prey was most of the fun, but none of these fools could ever understand that either.

The remaining monks continued reading through scrolls and shot nervous glances to each other.

“Please sit down. Are you comfortable?” Shindar said, close to the monk’s ear.

“Y-Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Now, where were we? Oh yes, it matters not if they train another warrior. Well, there are many things that we can learn from years of war, and some of those lessons are timeless. You would imagine that wars are solely decided from epic battles, wouldn’t you?”

The monk was about to speak, when Shindar silenced him with his hand. “Shh. That was not a question meant for you to answer, as I already know this.”

The monk shed a tear as he nodded slowly. His fear ignited a lust within the dark lord.

Ah yes, and there it is, the realisation that you are not in control here. No, you just saw that every breath you take is borrowed, and a gift from me before I take what is mine.

Releasing his grip on the monk’s mouth, he continued. “Wars are indeed decided by battles, but what leads to a decisive battle, now
that
is the question you should be asking. When a village was being built on the outskirts of Marithia, back when I was freely walking among them, the king’s armies were supplied with horses from the many stables.”

Shindar growled as he smashed his fist on the table. “The rest of you keep working!”

Their pale faces brought him even greater joy.

How dare they have stopped searching for answers?

“Now, this village happened to contain the largest number of horses in Marithia. When new homes were being built, they were short on nails, and their best carpenter decided that he would take a nail from one horse’s shoe. What does it matter if we just take one nail?”

The monk was about to speak, before closing his mouth with a loud clash of teeth.

Funny what happens when people realise they have no choice but to submit.

“The king sent for his horses, and they were dispatched. All of them were assigned to riders, and some of them were burdened with special tasks. In the midst of the greatest war that the king had ever seen, he sent out messages to his forces caught in long, drawn out battles. The king had received word that his enemies were flanking him to his west. Most of his forces had been sent to the east.”

Shindar crunched his knuckles as he whispered in the monk’s ear. “The horse tasked with delivering the message for his forces to change direction, and save his kingdom in what would be the deciding battle, was the horse which subsequently lost a horse shoe for want of a nail. It could not run at full speed. His armies received the message too late, and when they returned to their king’s lands, they found that the war had already been lost.”

The monk swallowed hard as his chest heaved.

The lord of darkness stood and paced around the table. He wanted the man to have a tinge of hope. It would make this so much better.

“So I ask myself, what does it matter if such an insignificant thing as a nail is taken? What does it matter if another warrior is trained, or another sword is forged? Because, if our enemies are given less time, and diminished opportunity to prepare for war, then maybe they will find themselves wanting for a nail.”

Shindar rested his hand on the golden hilt of his hip sword, tapping his fingertips on the metal, and continued around the table.

“Then I ask myself, who is responsible? Was it the rider? No, of course not. He had no knowledge. Maybe the carpenter who built the house? Possibly. But where would he have gotten the idea that it just did not matter that they take that nail? And it became clear, that there would have been someone who gave him that idea, and that idea would have spread like a plague. Much like yours.”

He drew out his sword and cut through the monk’s skull, sending half of his head flying to the floor. The monk’s body slumped from the chair. Shindar wiped the blade on the dead monk’s clothes, and carefully sheathed it. As soon as the thrill had come, it dissipated, and he felt disappointed at not toying with the monk longer. He would not question his actions, as regret was only for the weak. The weak must be destroyed, or they affect those around them.

Returning and taking a seat on his throne, he growled and slammed his fists on the table. “Is there anyone else that fails to see how
everything
matters in this war? If so, you can join him. Now get back to work and find me some answers!”

Kassina crunched her boot’s heels into the dirt, twisting her body to face her legion of vampire warriors. Her hair whipped around her face from the wild sea winds. Her protective helmet remained at her side. The blood red moon’s glow shone on the ocean’s rolling waves. Things were not progressing as quickly as planned, and things had to be stepped up. Being so close to victory made her stomach growl, and this was a hunger she could never quench.