The Crystal King

By Wayne Schreiber

Two prominent nations have locked horns on a collision course of destruction, a fight that will bring one side to its knees. Faced with overwhelming odds, the Tanarian nation flounders as the ravages of war extract a heavy toll, with the invader pushing ever deeper into their lands, their fate will surely soon be sealed. Yet they still have one advantage, Tamar the magician, the greatest mastermind of their time fights for their survival and his own. He fights evil in his own uncompromising way and hopes to exploit a potential weakness in the massing forces they face. However, he can only work with the limited tools he has; a maverick warrior filled with his own agenda and fuelled with the lust for revenge, a misled thief, and a king who may yet turn against him. Only on Athene, a lady gifted with an immunity to magic, can he depend upon in this struggle - but perhaps he asks too much of her? Only through his manipulation, deception and an iron resolve have they any hope of survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayne Schreiber
• Release date: Jun 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476431017

Wayne Schreiber

Born in Croydon in 1971, my family moved to Norfolk where I grew up from an early age. After not taking school very seriously I then went on to continue my lack of interest in education at college for another year, before finally deciding that that it just wasn’t for me, instead took a new path and joining the Royal Air Force Regiment. After twelve years’ service, during which I got married, I had had more than my fill of military life and left to pursue a career in IT, for once with an element of success. However over the years, the old bedtime stories of myths and legends in the back of my head slowly worked their way back to the front. Now they have returned, in a new form – The Tanarian Chronicles, I hope that you enjoy them.

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The Crystal King

Wayne Schreiber

Copyright 2012 Wayne Schreiber

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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All rights reserved.

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Visit my website www.wayneschreiber.co.uk

Cover design by Wayne Schreiber

The Tanarian Chronicles – UK Edition

(Recommended reading age 16+)

Book 1 – Arise A Hero

Book 2 - The Crystal King

Book 3 - Usurper of the Gods

Other stories: The Legion of Blood

Short Stories

A Forgotten Wound

A World Long Past

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MAP

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Prologue

Kerric could barely contain the broad smile that spread across his face as Queen Soredamor slipped her perfect naked form out from under the silk covers and into a tantalisingly thin gown, it showed off her long and slender legs to good effect. He felt unusually smug. He had lived most of his life in the thankless service of his masters, in the endless pursuit of bettering his skill with magic and now at last, with his prize catch, he was like a cat that had tasted the cream. This sort of encounter was alien to him, to his old masters, perhaps an everyday occurrence – but never to him. The years of downtrodden abuse would always be with him as he worked his way up through the ranks of the Brotherhood of Keth; the oldest order of magicians in the land. He had been conditioned to take a low and submissive posture in life, a reaction that had came naturally to him. The Order of Magicians had grown over the years and stretched its dark reach across the Aristrian nation, although some would say that it had already peaked and was now past its prime. He needed to constantly remind himself of his new position; with the deaths and disappearance of his former masters, he was now the Master, but he felt strangely alone without their overpowering presence. His eyes followed Soredamor’s every step towards the exit. They were transfixed upon her, soaking up her arousing curves that the gown attempted to contain; she gracefully departed the lavishly-decorated room. Rolling backwards into the regal bed he ran his hand across the empty depression where she had lain and appreciated the soft touch of the silky smooth sheets; he certainly had not been used to such luxuries in his many years of service as an acolyte in the Brotherhood. Such things were considered to make a man soft, his masters had always stated. They had provided straw for their livestock to sleep on because they were more valuable than him, but now he was really beginning to understand how the other half lived. This change in lifestyle had brought with it new trials and demands in areas that he had never considered. The time spent inside the Rift with Soredamor, his Goddess - now also his lover, had been both frightening and exhausting to him. As a mere runt of a man who had never been permitted to touch a woman previously, he had been unimaginably nervous at her first touch. Growing up in the Brotherhood from a young age, he had been forced to spend nearly all of his time in magical studies. His only respite had been his master’s chores and tasks – none of which had prepared him for the physical challenges that the bedchamber demanded. He was unsure of what he had been when he had arrived at Soredamor’s domain, the better part of a year ago by the Rifts time, but he was sure he would leave as a man. Inside this Rift, which held her alone captive, time passed differently to that of the outside world, months could pass in here, whilst barely a day would pass in the real world outside. The Rift had been formed for a single purpose with a powerful magic; that of Soredamor’s father – but that time was now forgotten to mankind, all they knew was that two Rifts held her, and another god, captive in a place where time had no meaning, yet it was only Soredamor that was the captive in here. Soredamor had forgotten how many times she had attempted to force her way out through the crackling vortex that marked the Rift’s entrance; often screaming in rage as she was forced back by the invisible barrier that prevented her from leaving. Yet here was Kerric, a mere man, but he could pass between the worlds as he pleased. With the discovery of the Rift by a small group of Magicians centuries before, they had kept it secret, relishing the returns that could be gained from even just a short visit. Over the years the Brotherhood had become dependent upon her, but she could also use them for her own purpose. When these mortals were in her realm they were like little piglets that could suckle away on her tit and gain a taste of her real power. Kerric was now just like the others, there was a long list of forgotten names before him who had perversely revelled in pleasuring her, whilst passively absorbing her raw powers and learning the many lost secrets and magical words that would someday make him a master of his craft. Now after many months spent with her inside the Rift, he was both mentally and physically exhausted, but still he gladly gave himself without question, submitting to her will and filling his empty mind with her presence and power. Kerric knew that his new powers came at a high price - he had given up his body and soul to her and was starting to realise that their exchanges had not entirely been one way; she was now an insatiable part of him, a part that would do anything to please her.

Even now with his Queen barely yards away from him in the next room; he yearned with apprehension for her return. Left with only the scratch-marks on his back to remind him of her existence, he began to fidget nervously in the anticipation of her return. He looked down at his trembling hands and started to understand the meaning of his former master Bellack’s words about their Goddess. He had said on more than one occasion that she was like an uncontrollable drug and he had constantly craved more. From the second that she had given herself to him, it had been more than just a simple act of lust. It was finalizing his initiation as a Master of the Brotherhood and even after his very first short-lived encounter with Soredamor he had instantly felt a new-found strength flowing in to his body. It was not a physical strength, Oh no - Soredamor had relieved him of that over the past months; it was a magical strength that had begun to pulse into his veins. He was like a container being filled with her power, at last tasting the rewards for his years of dedication and abuse from his former masters, a prize given to him for delivering the woman to his Queen. Dragging the two slaves with him as he had fled from his trapped and defeated master had proved to be a fine decision. It had been a last-minute impulse, but one that had been greatly received by his Goddess. Over these last months inside the Rift, Kerric was sure that Soredamor had formed a deep bond with him; even now he could feel the chains of his love yearning for her touch again. He knew that she was now a part of him and that he would take his new-found desire with him to the grave. He looked at his gaunt and malnourished reflection in a nearby mirror, his bald head still shone in the crystal-fed light of the chamber, but for Kerric there was one striking change that he noticed in his features - the deep-set crows’ feet that formed the wrinkles about his eyes, no doubt formed from the many late nights reading numerous grimoires of magic, had now all but disappeared. His time spent with this powerful being had obviously produced some kind of rejuvenating effect on his own body, perhaps explaining the longevity of his former master who had walked this same path before him. His new-found position would hold many perks, although it would still take him a little more time to adjust from his former Spartan-like lifestyle. After what seemed like an eternity to Kerric, his Queen returned and his growing anxiety instantly disappeared. He noticed a small green crystal glimmering between her slender fingers. She noticed his trembling hands and reaching down, kissed the back of each hand in turn to comfort her subject - the trembling instantly stopped. She had seen the effects of her presence on her followers too many times before, yet none had held as much hope or promise to her desires of freedom as this inept fool. Perhaps there was some truth to her father’s favourite saying, which he had repeated to her so often, countless millennia before: ‘Great powers do not ensure great success.’

‘I don’t want to share you with the others,’ Kerric suddenly blurted out as if the words had been knotted up inside him for some time. He had not known where the outburst had come from and now he felt a little embarrassed and withdrew back into the covers. Her returning look was like that of a mother sympathising with an injured child. He felt instantly embarrassed for his outburst.

‘Please forgive me,’ he whispered under his breath. She spoke to him like a child, ‘You will need to learn how to control yourself and live with the urges that will come to you when spending time away from me,’ she paused and looked deep into his hazel brown eyes, ‘For away you must go now.’ He went to speak but her finger touched his lips indicating that his silence was required. His eyes began to well up and his breathing became erratic as he struggled to calm himself and maintain an element of pride.

‘Shhh, Kerric, you will need to leave today, I need to break free of this prison, only then can I be with you and the others.’ He stared at her like an upset puppy dog.

‘I am more of a woman for any one man alone, you know this, and your body is already failing to keep pace with my demands.’ She eased the smooth green crystal from the palm of her hand, into her fingers, holding it out clearly in front of his wide eyes. She inspected it for any imperfection, which was unlikely for she had created it.

‘Before you leave me, I need you to swallow this gem, it will allow me to have a limited view of the outside world once again; unfortunately its effects will not last long.’ she sighed.

Soredamor pushed the smooth crystal into his mouth without waiting for a response.

‘Swallow.’ she commanded as he started to choke. He instantly complied and she followed the small crystal’s departure with the reward of a kiss and immediately, his willing tongue forcibly explored her mouth as his passions grew, seeking more than she was prepared to give. Panting for breath she pulled away from his embrace.

‘You need to leave now Kerric.’ Her tone left no room for negotiation.

Angrily he dressed himself, his disappointment was easy to read in his actions, but he would never refuse the commands of his Goddess. Soon he was dressed and ready and with a final backward glance he shut the door to the grand building. Crimson light emanated from the magical barrier that surrounded the structure and replaced the sky - it gave him the visual effect of turning ones skin blood red, underneath its eerie glow. He walked the short distance to the exit filled with sorrow, taking several long backward glances towards the building, hoping to catch one last view of his Goddess. Facing up to the swirling vortex that marked the exit from the Rift he paused in thought. For years as a boy he had wondered what lay beyond the promise of the Rift’s entrance, just as later, as an acolyte in the Brotherhood. He had wondered many times, what it would be like to enter the Queen’s chambers, but the lower ranks were permitted no further than the surrounding grounds to practice their magic. He could at last put those thoughts to rest. He may have been feeling down, but a feeling of invigoration from his new found power also flowed through him; he looked down at his clenched fist and started to enjoy the new feeling. With a final look back up at the red dome that surrounded the place, he realised that he now knew the answers to his own questions and departed through the Rift.

Queen Soredamor hurriedly brushed back her thick black curls and dressed herself with a new purpose; then suddenly she stopped in realisation of her hurried actions and smiled to herself. She had been moving with an excited speed in her actions, a way in which she had not moved since her original imprisonment. After endless millennia imprisoned in this timeless dome she had forgotten the meaning of urgency. With her new-found enthusiasm she went running through the long corridors and many doors that lead downstairs into the buildings under chambers, the sound of her echoing laughter filling the corridors for the first time and she flung open the large double doors, bursting into the room. Suddenly composing herself, she erased the gleeful look from her face and walked calmly over to one of the manacled figures slumped silently in the darkest corner. The downtrodden middle-aged woman looked up at her with a sneer; her wrists bleeding from her struggle against the chafing steel; there was no hope in her eyes.

‘Well Miss Thorsden, I think that you and I need to have a little chat.’

****

Chapter 1 – A Deserved Rest

Corvus’s eyes shot open, instantly banishing the repeating nightmare that had filled his dreams; with his eyes slowly focusing he took in his strange new surroundings. He tried to raise himself from the soft straw-stuffed mattress, but the weakness that infected his limbs like a festering disease forced his arms to bow and give way under his considerable bulk. Corvus growled with frustration, he had arms like tree-trunks and yet they would not bear his weight. He looked around the room trying to place his unknown location and quickly decided that he needed to be up from the bed, it was an unnatural position to him; a king did not often linger in his bed. He began to clench his fists and wiggle his toes and to his relief there was some movement, he needed to encourage the blood to circulate to his extremities in the vain hope that he could get up and onto his feet, he felt so helpless on the bed. As he bided his time for his circulation to catch up with his intent, he studied every detail in his surroundings. Where was he? From its appearance it was nothing more than a simple room, with only a single oak doorway and four lime-plastered walls to contain him. The furnishing were basic to say the least, with only his bed and a small jug, of the type used to contain water, rather than wine, resting on a rickety table. The whole place was illuminated by a single yellow crystal that sat on a small shelf high in the corner of the room. Corvus strained hard to move, the veins on his forehead throbbing with effort and eventually he managed to raise his arm and reach for the water. He grunted in disgust as he spotted the runes painted onto the back of his hand, they had certainly not been there before. He struggled to slide up the bed for a better view of his surroundings and knocked over an array of red crystals that had been placed around him to the floor. He had not seen them tucked in so close to his body and they annoyingly bounced from the hard stone slabs of the floor with a sound similar to that of bouncing glass marbles, yet they did not shatter. The crystals had been neatly lined around his bed in a complete circle; the power contained within them aiding his recovery. After slithering painfully upwards to rest his back against the thick wooden headboard his expression changed to one of total disgust, his body was enveloped in the most hideous white bed gown. He had always considered himself well presented for every occasion, indeed it was expected of him. As a king he was used to dressing in the finest of cloths and as a warrior of reputation he would rather be naked than be found lying in a bed gown. He begun a futile attempt to reach around to the rear straps and rip the robe from his body. His arm soon flopped back to his side exhausted with the effort. He strained to recall the situation that had placed him in such a shameful predicament, but the last few days’ memories escaped him. He decided that he must have been totally incapacitated, for as long as he had strength in his limbs he would have cracked the skull of any man that tried to dress him in such a flouncy gown. Men of Nordheim did not need the pompous dressings that other, so-called civilised nations secreted themselves within; just a fine fur or animal hide would suffice for the icy cold forests of Nordheim. After being met with failure in every task he had set himself; he lay there exhausted and bored, catching his breath. He strained to remember anything of the prior events that clouded his mind; just the slightest detail could help trigger his memory. Then the name Bellack sprang out from the mist. Yes, that was it, the Wizard had been trying to stop him, no …kill him. A vision of the past suddenly filled his mind. In the flashback he was frantically smashing a series of large crystal orbs in the Wizard’s mountain villa. As the head of his great axe fell, he systematically smashed the coloured crystals into pieces - the shattered stones sending razor-like shards flying up from the impact into his face and arms. The magical crystals had maintained Bellack’s protective barrier around the villa, keeping out all unwelcome guests. The memories continued to flow back into him, Corvus could also recall that he had tried to finish Bellack that day, but the powerful Magician had just been too much for him. He had stormed towards Bellack with his axe raised high with murderous intent, but he had suddenly been enveloped in an agonising light, halting his advance, the image of Bellack’s victorious smile filled his mind as he had looked down into his face gloating, the memory and recollection abruptly ceased. Bellack’s magic should have killed him that day; these were his last memories. No, wait, there was one more.

‘AMIRIA’ He bellowed the word out loud, with the painful memory of his wife eating into his soul.

Moments later the patter of feet could be heard approaching the door, Corvus strained his head to look when the door-latch lifted and a strangely familiar figure entered the room. Corvus wracked his memory, straining to place the wrinkled and balding figure.

‘You have had us all worried these last few weeks Corvus; welcome back to the world of the living.’ The familiar little man spoke his words with a smile; his high cheeks extending the slant of his eyes.

Corvus moved his numb hands to his face pawing the sleep from his eyes, his memory gradually returning.

‘The shrine. Of course - that’s where I know you from, you tried to save us from the beast.’

The small man nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’m afraid I was unprepared, I didn’t really have the skills needed to stop such a deadly foe. My apologies for running, I know that I let you all down, but had I not, it would have ripped me to bits.’ Corvus let out a loud exhalation that grumbled through his throat marking his obvious dissatisfaction with the magician’s comments.

‘Em …unlike our last rushed encounter, we at least have some time for pleasantries. I would like to introduce myself properly this time, I am Sorus, please forgive our previous brief encounter, but had I not retreated for my life on that day I would have forfeited the chance to be able to use my true skills in magic. You see my specialization lies in that of healing - not destroying. I have put my skills to better use for both you and your wife Amiria over these past weeks, although to be honest I think you have stirred out of your coma on your own accord. Every attempt that I made to revive you up to now has failed.’ Corvus only heard the magician’s words up to the words Amiria; he had thought her killed by Bellack.

‘What, my wife still lives? Take me to her at once.’ he instantly demanded.

‘Yes Corvus, she’s alive, but I must warn you she is still very ill, once you can rise of your own accord, then you may go to her, but until such time you both must work to regain your strength.

Corvus begun to protest, but Sorus cut his words short.

‘There is more that I think you should know…’ The door swung open and a figure in a drab robe entered, a hood hid the features of his face, only a short-cropped blonde beard protruded from the darkness of the hood, it was neatly trimmed to little more than stubble and his bland grey robe indicated that he was likely to also be a priest or a magician. Tamar pulled back his hood allowing the yellow light of the crystal to cross his face, now this one Corvus instantly recognised, his face stirred the memory of their deal.

‘Tamar, I have held up my side of the bargain, I destroyed Bellack’s crystals for you – now you had better tell me that you have news of my son?’ Corvus struggle to sit up further in his bed, with his interest rekindled.

‘Rest easy Corvus, your son Rikard is alive and well.’ The big man gave a throaty sigh of relief, he had already lost one son and Rikard was all he had left. Sorus placed his hand on Corvus’s shoulder and uttered the briefest of spells; he followed the magic with a single word,

‘Sleep.’ Corvus drifted back off into a deep slumber.

‘Nicely done Sorus, I see no need to disturb him further; his questions would just lead him down the road to further distress.’ Tamar looked down at the sleeping Nordheim King; tiny twinkles of light were reflected like glitter from the numerous small shards of crystal embedded into his flesh and they seemed to glow and reflect the rooms light with a new-found intensity.

‘I thought that you were going to remove those shards from him Sorus?’ commented Tamar.

‘You think that I haven’t tried?’ Sorus scoffed back, ‘I can’t extract them, I have tried pulling them out and even removing them with magic – but neither worked. Somehow they have now become a part of him; they seem to be fused into his body. I have never seen anything of its kind before?’

‘Ha, I never thought I would hear it in my time, Sorus bettered by a tiny piece of stone? Well I guess the main thing is that he is now out of his coma and on the road to recovery. We owe Corvus a large debt of gratitude for our victory over Bellack; only through his bravery were we able to breach his defences.’ Tamar lightly patted the sleeping king’s shoulder, he was a stubborn man but he liked his unbreakable spirit.

‘Indeed Tamar, I am determined to do everything in my power to aid his full return to health and his wife has shown some positive signs of recovery as well. You know, the next time he wakes up he will insist on seeing her. I don’t know what your thoughts are with her, but I think that you should make the arrangements to bring her through the transport Portal in the morning?’

‘Don’t worry – I’ll see that she is here, but he still might not like what he sees, Amiria is far from recovered from her ordeal, Bellack’s transformation has left her mentally scarred; but I know for a fact that our sleeping friend here will be less than impressed if he doesn’t see her when he next opens his eyes.’ Sorus nodded his agreement. ‘If only I had a little more time to go through the former owner’s library. I have discovered many interesting scrolls and manuscripts amongst Bellack’s possessions. I suspect that given enough time, I may find a solution to fully reverse the damage inflicted to Amiria’s mind by her transformation.’

‘You are ever the optimist Sorus, once you became a savage beast; I fear a part of that beast will always remain. Perhaps we could keep Corvus induced in his slumber for just a few days longer to slowly expose his mind to these new events and to also buy you some time to go through these manuscripts and see what you can do with Amiria?’

‘Yes, good idea Tamar, I like your thinking, I will ensure that he does not wake for several days. There are many scars left by the beast in her mind, but she is strong and improves a little with each day, and god knows - you know how I enjoy a good read,’ agreed Sorus.

‘Don’t stay up too late old man, remember you’re knocking on a bit and need to get some of that beauty sleep to maintain those fine looks of yours,’ smirked Tamar. Sorus did not reply to the comment, but wondered in return at how old his life-long friend really was. Magicians were like ladies, it was impolite to ask one’s age and they often took as much offence at its mention, although he had known Tamar for over two hundred years without him incurring any sign of age, unlike himself. Their rival members in the Brotherhood of Keth could rejuvenate themselves through their God-Queen’s power, while Sorus maintained his longevity through an interesting concoction of herbs and potions – a long life and a command of magic go hand in hand, yet Tamar obviously had his own secret methods, they all did.

Six hours later Sorus sat bent over the many manuscripts of Bellack’s library, the pain that troubled his old and aching back was actually helping to keep him awake and stay focused. He continued his search through the stacks of books and dust-covered scrolls for the hidden secrets that he suspected this room held from him. He had found several grimoires that had fascinated him - describing the application and use of the many types of crystals extracted from the mines; they explained in rich detail how to derive and enhance several magical effects based upon the type of crystal. Sorus had always known of the power held within the crystals but these new texts presented some interesting insights into some of their less orthodox uses. In particular the chapters containing the use of the crystals to enhance and change the human form caught his eye. This train of thought was alien to him, as a young magician he had always been taught to rejoice in the uniqueness of one’s own form. After several chapters he dismissed the books’ heathen teachings and moved on, going through several other ancient-looking books that showed marks of recent handling. These also contained chapters dedicated to the crystals and a recurring third reference book was often mentioned – ‘The Tome of Magnus.’ Its name was somehow familiar to Sorus, yet he could not place it or for that matter even find it on the library shelves. He looked about the room for several minutes in thought; he had already been through every shelf once without seeing it anywhere and had chanted out a short spell that would detect any magic in the room. Several of the grimoires gave off a faint glow to indicate the presence of magic, not particularly uncommon for such a prestigious collection, but unfortunately none of these works matched the title he sought.

Looking down in despair he noticed the slightest of glows coming from a thin crack in the stool on which he was sitting, it obviously held a concealed chamber beneath the cushioned seat. With a renewed interest he began to search the seat in order to find his way into it. After a short inspection he discovered a small lock hidden underneath the seat’s cushion. He instinctively began to consider which spell he should use to unlock it, but with tiredness threatening he soon changed his mind and decided that he spent far too much of his life depending on magic when it was not actually needed, so he placed the stool on the floor and holding one of the legs he gave the seat a swift kick. Feeling pleased with his efforts when the seats lid flew off and clattered across the tiled floor, he carefully removed the splintered wood to reveal a beautifully bound book concealed in the hollow of the seat. His face lit up as he read the title. ‘The First Tome of Magnus.’

It was already late, but the tiredness soon fled from him as he carefully opened the leather-bound pages of the book. At least he hoped it was leather? But it did occur to him that perhaps it might be some other kind of skin, but then he had no desire to explore these possibilities, so he pulled up a second chair and began to read.

The book was fascinating and, as he skimmed through the chapters he was presented with interesting and new ideas on maximising the magical potential held within the infused crystals that were now commonplace in the land. In his ancient teachings on such matters, he had always been taught how to use and extract the power from the crystals themselves; with the colour of the crystal usually giving an indication to the power it possessed. The yellow crystals held the power to produce light, some bright enough to light an entire hall. The blue could produce heat when cracked and the red had the power to even heal a wound, these things were nothing new. However, an extra chapter existed in this book that explained the green crystals, which until now had been thought only good for their ornamental value – however it appeared that they also held a power. Reading on, the chapter explained that the green crystals could be used to mutate and bind the magic of the other crystals. However, the final chapter excited Sorus the most; a new theory was suggested in the pages before Sorus, the suggestion that the power of the crystals was not actually held within the crystals themselves as he and many others had always thought. Instead it was proposed that they actually drew their power from their surroundings and the static magic held in the air. They then amplified and echoed this power until the crystal became depleted, which allowed for more interesting powers and abilities to be achieved – such as surrounding the crystals in a field of magical power, in which it could amplify the caster’s own original magic. Bellack, their former opponent, had mastered the use of this theory and had used this power to mutate and transform the people of Nordheim into beasts, Corvus’s people, bending them to his will, Amiria, his wife had been amongst them, but then later the twisted magician had transformed her back into her human form as a bargaining chip in a bid to force Corvus to do his will. Fortunately Corvus had been raised as a true King of the Nordheim people, taught never to back down or betray the honour of the nation. He did his duty at the expense of his wife. Sorus continued through the book, turning page after page until daybreak, when, blurry-eyed and exhausted, he finally put the book down. Sliding the large book across the table he disturbed an inkwell and knocked a pair of white gloves that had been lying on the table to the floor, picking them up he noticed that they were stained black around the fingertips. Fortunately the spilt ink had missed the book and, exhausted, he pushed it out of his way to make room for his tired head. Cradling his head in his arms he decided that he would just rest his eyes for a moment, seconds later he began to snore.

It had taken Kerric the best part of the day to get over his initial depression at leaving his beloved God-Queen’s presence, after using his powers to form a transport Portal to travel instantly to the Aristrian capital, he had never been with an immortal before and just couldn’t keep his mind off her. He had wandered about the city’s streets in a daze, not knowing where to turn as he relived the memories of the last few months spent with his queen, he still longed for her soft touch and the anger of being asked to leave her side still pained him deeply. It took the sudden danger of his situation to bring him reeling to his senses. He had visited this city before, but not for some years and had become disoriented in his daydream; mistakenly he had stumbled into the back-alley slums of the meat market. The putrid smell of offal that assailed his nostrils was testament to his location. The waste of the slaughtered animals was often discarded directly into the sewers to be fought over by the homeless and the starving that gathered in this area in the vain hope of a meal. One such group had just finished their street brawl and the victor was now enjoying the raw flesh attached to a discarded trotter. Before the war that had locked the Aristrian and Tanarian nations into a bitter struggle, little danger would have existed in Kerric’s current location, for the homeless had simply known their place. The well-maintained city guard and night watch had always been ready to drive them back down into the scum of the streets, reminding them that they were no more than just a piece of shit on their highly-polished boots. In those days, the homeless would never have even dared to look up at a citizen of higher class without fear of retribution, but how times had changed. Nowadays, mugging and robbery were a common occurrence, especially after dark. After mobilising nearly every able hand for the war effort, the city had only left a skeleton force to attempt to maintain the same level of order. It was ironic that Kerric found himself in this situation, for his old master had been one of the key elements in starting the war in the first place. The law of the street was now enforced in a different way, with the rich now employing hired muscle to ensure their own personal safety, which effectively split the city in to two groups, the lawless and the rich. This group of back-alley scum eyed up Kerric with obvious malice, wondering what wealth may be concealed in his black robes. He was not oozing with obvious riches, yet to the poor even the cloth would fetch enough to keep them in gin for a week. These street people knew nothing of the Brotherhood or the power that the wearer of these black robes held. The gang of people that now sized him up were not to be underestimated; they were desperate and had killed for a lot less. Without any word or warning they began to fan out, spanning the alley and blocking his retreat. The largest of the men, the one with the pig’s trotter now ordered the others to strip Kerric, using the partially-chewed trotter as a pointer in doing so.

‘Strip this idiot,’ he commanded with authority. Kerric snapped out of his love-stricken daydream, suddenly realising the full extent of the danger that he had unwittingly strolled into and immediately began to cast a spell that would teach this alley scum a lesson. The plank of wood struck him square on the back of the head, knocking him out cold and his unconscious body fell to the ground to mingle with the other crud of the street. One of the thugs had worked his way behind Kerric with the intention of robbing him long before the larger man had given the command to strip him. He had been selected and followed over the last three streets by the gang as he had revelled in his little daydream. Kerric’s day had suddenly just got a lot worse.

He