The Infinity Key (The Tale of Azaran Book 4)

By Zackery Arbela

For vengeance, for justice, Azaran faces the ultimate sacrifice!

Azaran has regained his memories, but at a terrible cost. He is alone in the world, with only a sword and the desire for vengeance. He heads east into unknown lands haunted by fierce barbarians, warriors without mercy. Even now they gather, ready to sweep across the world in a storm of fire and bloodshed.

Armies gather for war, as Azaran reaches the end of his journey. Armed only with his unstoppable will, he will at last face his former Master. Dreams of redemption will confront the desire for eternal life, and under the baleful gaze of the Infinity Key, Azaran will at last fulfill his destiny...

The Infinity Key is the fourth book of The Tale of Azaran fantasy series. If you like sword and sorcery action and adventure in the vein of Conan the Barbarian, set in a fantastical universe of magic, mayhem and heroism, then you will love Zackery Arbela's latest series.

Buy The Infinity Key and join the adventure today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zackery Arbela
• Release date: Mar 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463903483

Zackery Arbela

The physical body of Zackery Arbela lives somewhere in the wilds of Florida. The mind of Zackery Arbela can be found wandering the various planes and adornments of the temporal spheres, from whence he sometimes returns with new and fantasickal tales to tell.

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The Infinity Key

Book Four of the Tale of Azaran

By Zackery Arbela

Copyright ©2016 Zackery Arbela

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Gaebrel's Gamble

Storm Over Olysi

The Burning Mountain

Revenge of the Winter Queen

People of Judgment

The Young King

THE LEGEND OF FENN AQUILA

The Thief Of Galadorn

Red Shadows

THE TALE OF AZARAN

Warrior on the Sea of Memory

Shadow of the Ghost Bear

Fires of Mastery

The Infinity Key

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Chapter One

Tall trees, thick with green and blue foliage. That was the first memory most of his race possessed, the first thing that came to mind when they cared to reflect on their past. That and the screams of their mothers in the throes of birth...though in truth that last bit was often added in. Male or female, kezan did not acknowledge pain, it was the first enemy to be Mastered. To acknowledge it was a sign of weakness and in the Dominion of the Masters there was no greater sin. So it was that the female who birth him into this universe did so in silence, her face devoid of any hint that the process was painful.

Nor did she show any sign of maternal love or devotion. As pain was the weakness of the body, mere affection the weakness of the mind. To suggest that birthing an infant had more significance than the excretion of a turd was to suggest that there was something more important than the Path of Mastery, the annihilation of weakness in the service of the unconquered Self. Even as the human servitors were wiping away the afterbirth, the mother was gone, returning to her duties, the infant already an afterthought.

So it was among the kezan, had been for fifty generations since the Dominion had overcome its rivals and brought the home world of Erga under its control. All other modes of thought and life were swept aside, replaced by a new order. Ebaz'axthriu, the Way of Great Mastery. Strength was all, weakness was to be despised. Family, nation, clan...all false constructs to be swept aside in favor of the only true thing in existence...the individual and his will. The prime purpose of existence, to attain Mastery...first of the self within, then of the universe without. Love, fear, compassion, mercy...all weaknesses to be extirpated as distractions and obstacles. A society comprised of such individuals, supreme and sure in their Mastery, would rule all that existed.

The infant had the potential for this, as did all young kezan. Life would be a never-ending series of tests, meant to weed out the unworthy. The first began even as his mother was lumbering away without a second look. Two ancient Great Masters examined the squalling infant, feeling the limbs and the shape of the skull, checking his weight and subjecting him to various tests with devices that defied description. Should any come up in the negative, then the infants neck would be snapped like a twig and the corpse burned like so much trash. That which was weak could not be allowed to live.

But he passed the tests and was given the privilege of continued existence. For the next few years he was placed in the care of human caregivers, replaced on a regular basis so that the child wouldn't form any permanent attachments. In his seventh year, when he was able to speak, he entered the Houses of Instruction. The teachers, kezan elders given the solemn duty of educating the next generation of Masters, divided the sniveling youngsters into groups of three. With a complete lack of gentleness, they were taken deep into the wilderness of Erga, and there each group was abandoned. The teachers would return in a month to pick up those who survived.

That first night was terrifying. Far from the lights of civilization, the jungle closed in. The immature kezan clustered close together, fearing the darkness and each other. Glowing eyes watched the children from the night, and it was easy to imagine that behind those eyes were sharp teeth, red claws and hungry bellies. Later they would understand there was nothing to fear in that regard - the great predators that had hunted their ancestors through the primeval forests were long gone, the few remaining confined to reservations in even more remote areas as reminders of a past when the kezan had been weak. It was the only blessing here, for there were other dangers. Hunger, thirst, sickness and injury...and fear.

But the youngsters did not into the forest completely unarmed. They carried with them the great ability of their race. Even as their eyes stared at the gloomy trees and dark branches, another set of eyes within saw the energies flowing through them. The Five Elements comprising the Aethyr, that great and hidden power running through the structure of Creation, binding it together the way mortar held the bricks, the blood in the body of the Universe. This ability was the asin'ja and it was the basis of kezan strength. With it, they saw the endless permutations and variations within everything, from the smallest stone to the highest tree, order and chaos, life and death, heat and cold, life and death...endless variety and combinations. Most importantly, they saw how the objects around them interacted with each other...and more importantly, how they might be manipulated.

So it was that the youngster abandoned his companions and climbed one of the trees, reaching and plucking a flower from one of the smallest branches. Dropping down to the ground, he reached inside a rotten log and pulled out a handful of struggling centipedes. Even as they bit as his flesh he squeezed them tight, crushing the insects into a paste. He dropped the mass onto a flat stone, then took the flower, stripped away the petals and shook a dusting of pollen off the stamens onto the mass. Then he picked up a shard of flint and pressed into the furry underside of his arm, letting loose a few drops of blood.

There was a flash, accompanied by a tingling sensation on the back of the neck that signified the presence of the Aethyr. Brilliant white flames rose up, driving away the darkness.

The other youngster crowded in, staring at the flames. One of them reached for it. The firemaker shoved the other young kezan, it was his fire, his alone. Make your own! he snarled, baring his fangs.

The other two pushed back. The flame was knocked aside and extinguished as the components were scattered. Fists and fangs flew. A hand reached out to grab a fallen tree branch and swung it repeatedly. Someone screamed in pain, the voice then cut off abruptly.

The teachers returned a month later. Of the three, only the flame starter remained. The educators did not ask what happened to the other two, the answer was obvious. They were weak. They died. They would be left to the jungle beasts, already forgotten, for only the strong were worthy of remembrance. They took the remaining boy back to the Houses, where his wounds were tended. All as it was meant to be.

You are worthy of a name, they told the boy. "Three of you went into the forest. You alone survived. That is your name. Zal'zarrin, the one who survives."

It was a good name. He took it without comment. Other tests came over the following decade, with varying degrees of lethality, and he passed them all. Knowledge was given to him, reading and writing, followed by the basics of the Noble Art of Alchemy, for the asin'ja gave the kezan a better understanding of this than any other race, thus proving their superiority over all other forms of life. He learned the Way of Great Mastery, the philosophy that was the foundation of their society and through it understood that Mastery could be his, should he be strong enough to take it.

Many lessons. Zal'zarrin learned them well. In his twenty-sixth year he emerged from the Houses of Instruction to make his way in society, becoming an acolyte of an established Master. Decades of service, learning from the example of a revered elder, until the time came for him to rise. So it was, so it would always be. No one could imagine things being different...

The Celestial Wind blew across the citadel, pushing them slightly off course. The pilot increased power in the impellers to compensate, the stone blocks encrusted with lines of runes glowing with heat as a result. Zal'zarrin glanced at this briefly, then turned back to the world passing below. Ethera...a barbarous name. He glanced up at the gas giant around which the world orbited. Sefiir...that's what the charts called it. Not a kezan name...he idly wondered what culture had birthed such an unimaginative set of syllables and what they meant, then put the thought out of his mind. Names were meaningless, they could be changed at the whim of the powerful. His golden eye adjusted, bringing the other moons orbiting Sefiir into focus. They had names as well. Savages of various races called them home. Some were part of the Dominion, some in the process of conquest, others waiting to be taken.

He would be the one to take them, once the Great Work was done. In time. He would be patient. Soon he would have all the time in the Universe. He'd waited this long, he could wait a while longer.

The world passed below. He saw the southern continent. Beyond was the terminator, where day met night. A glance of his shoulder showed that the sun Fhirial was still there, bathing this part of the universe in light. And just past it, leaning to the Celestial East was a second point of light, somewhat smaller. Maraea...the two suns so close that the light of one fell upon another, giving the countless worlds around both bright days and well-lit nights. The deep gloom of Erga's forests would be a rarity here. It made the people here weak, but that was true even if they lived in constant darkness, for they were not kezan, and that made all the difference...

A door slid open, and heavy footsteps sounded on the terrace. Zal'zarrin sniffed the air, the clean metallic smell of the Boundless Empyrean now mingled with perfume and exotic spices. A strange affectation, but acolytes were permitted their eccentricities.

You summoned me, said Eta'ziral, coming to a halt and squatting down on the deck.

Zal'zarrin turned about. It was an uncomfortable sensation, having another kezan on his ship. Just an acolyte to be sure, but even so she was kezan, and was not bound by the same strictures as the humans. She was of lesser rank than he, but still his equal in the ways that mattered. After decades of operating on his own, it was a disquieting notion. We are bound to the gathering at Mount Pentaro, he said. When night comes, the citadel will make the descent. You will not be on it.

Eta'ziral cocked her head to the side. I will not?

One of the scout ships will meet us in orbit. You will take it to the southern continent. Our agents in Athega warn of possible rebellion. The savages of that place have forgotten their punishment from the last time and I tire of their malcontent. It is my will that the city be destroyed, its people exterminated from the oldest to the youngest, their heads piled high as a warning. You will take three battalions of the Blue Banner and a company of the Green for the purpose. Raise whatever levies you deem necessary from the subject peoples. The folk of Kuryanga will be a good choice, they have hatred for the people of Athega and will require little encouragement. Do not return until that wretched place is nothing more than a memory, and make sure the other savages of the continent know of its fate.

You don't need to send me for this, Eta'ziral protested. It is a job for one of the Nam'shaq, not an acolyte. The gathering is soon and the final conquest of the northern continent will begin. I should be there...

You will go where I tell you! Zal'zarrin's golden eye glowed with fury. Were this a human, his mace would already be swinging and the source of his aggravation reduced to a bloody smear on the deck. But she was a fellow kezan, an acolyte sent to aid him in his task and to learn from his example...or so she claimed. He knew her true purpose the moment they met. Were she to die unexpectedly, questions would be asked on the Council, they would take note when one of their spies was killed. Even here, half a universe away, he could sense their suspicions.

Zal'zarrin wondered if he should go through it anyway. Smash her down, hurl the body into the Empyrean. It would drop into the atmosphere of Ethera and be lost forever. He could claim it was an accident...no. That would not work, no kezan was every truly alone. The humans were everywhere, watching as they served. And he sensed that the loyalties of some might be divided. Eta'ziral did not come here alone, but in a ship loaded down with reinforcements for his forces. Who knew how many served her in secret, or how many others she had turned?

Eta'ziral sensed his anger. She bowed her head slightly. As you command, she said. I will turn Athega into a barren patch of land. Even the rats will be destroyed.

Zal'zarrin turned away, the anger fading from his eye. Remember your place, acolyte.

Always, Great Master. She bowed again and ambled away from the terrace, leaving Zal'zarrin with his thoughts. There would be no murder today, though it would have to be done sooner rather than later. She could not be allowed anywhere near Mount Pentaro. Could not see the Great Work. Could not be allowed to send word to the Council. Perhaps an 'accident' could be arranged near Athega. Even kezan could die in battle, war was such an unpredictable business...

Eta'ziral moved through the stone corridors of the Citadel. Human servitors paused in their tasks and bowed. She did not see them, any more than she saw the carvings on the walls or the glow of the lamps, they were as much a part of the background. She turned a corner, entering one of the cross passages. A Nam'shaq waited there, kneeling as she approached.

IS IT DONE? she asked, her words planted directly in the humans mind, for the Masters would not sully their lips by speaking directly to their slaves.

Yes, Master, said the Nam'shaq. "The crew of the ship consists of the men you specified. The navigator remains the same though, there was no man like him among those who arrived with you...

HE WILL BE DEALT WITH. I WILL NAVIGATE THE SHIP MYSELF. WHO ELSE KNOWS OF THIS?

No one, Master. Aside from myself.

EXCELLENT. KILL YOURSELF.

The Nam'shaq hesitated for a moment, as if he objected to the order. But obedience with the highest duty for his kind. By your command, he said, drawing a small knife from his belt and stabbing it into his neck. She watched as the human fell and died, blood pumping out from the wound, the life fading from his eyes.

Would that all her problems could be solved so easily. She continued on, pausing a moment to order two Green Bannermen on guard duty to clean up the mess. Zal'zarrin's orders were not a surprise, she sensed what would happen the moment word came from the city of Athega on the southern continent. It was hardly a coincidence, rebellion in the south at the same moment the Shiraan tribes were gathering at Mount Pentaro, where Zal'zarrin would bind them to him with gifts and words of fire and blood, and send an army of horsemen half a million strong in all directions to burn, pillage and slaughter. The northern continent would collapse into ruin. Easy picking for the invasion to follow. Within the next fifty years the last holdouts would fall and this world of Ethera brought into the Dominion. As it was on a hundred worlds before. So it would be here.

Unless it wasn't. Zal'zarrin had something else in mind, some other plan. This was the suspicion on the Council, as it was explained. Find out what it was, they told her. If there was treason, expose it, and she could take his place as Great Master.

Mount Pentaro was the key. The evidence was there, and the gathering played a part in it, which was why he wanted her far away from it. Quelling a minor rebellion at Athega...even if she had no idea of his treason, it would have raised all kinds of suspicions, such a task was below even an acolyte. She had to get there...but without raising his suspicions. She would go to Athega, perhaps even pacify the place.

And then to the mountain. She would find the evidence of his treason. And prove herself worthy of Mastery.

Night fell across the steppes, endless miles of rolling plain, grassland that turned to desert in the south and tundra in the north. Far and away in the eastern parts rose a lone mountain, thrust up through the earth like a stony spear. Holes pocked its sides, from which came endless fonts of steam, trailing out night and day to blur the summit in a permanent haze. Some among the nomads of the steppe claimed that if one put an hear to the ground at the base of the mountain, one might hear the rumbling voice of the Earth below. Sometimes that voice would rise to a shout, and the steam would be replaced by molten rock, a sure sign that the Earth was angry and sacrifice must be made to appease her.

The mountain was called Pentaro. And on days when the wind blew away the haze long enough for people on the ground to get a good look at the summit, they would have noticed its surprising flatness, as if some celestial being had taken the worlds largest knife and sheared off the summit in a single perfect stroke...which was not far from the truth.

On this night the only eyes that were watching the top of Mount Pentaro belonged to a herd of antelope feeding in the pastures to the south. The herdsmen whose flocks grazed these lands were still two weeks and a hundred miles to the west. The beasts raised their eyes from the greenery, staring up at the night sky. The wind kicked up as a bright light descended. Blue lightening crackled down from the ship to the mountain summit, sending out loud thunderclaps and causing the antelope to flee in terror.

The citadel descended towards the mountain top. Glowing circles shone on the flattened surface, guiding the pilots movements. The speed slowed considerably the closer it got. A hundred feet from the summit it stopped completely, the citadel holding at a hover. Hatches opened on the bottom edge, and four heavy chains dropped down, unfurling through the air and clattering as they struck the stony summit. Men emerged from the edge and picked up the chains, hauling them to large metal hooks embedded in the mountainside and looping the ends about them. Cranks turned inside the citadel, pulling the chains in and drawing them tight. The hooks groaned under the stress but held firm as the citadel pulled itself down, coming to a rest atop the mountain, the width of the summit perfectly matching that of the walls, the chains locking it down firmly.

Lightening flashed about the top of the ship. Doors opened on the sides and men emerged, headed down ramps carved in the side of the mountain and into caves leading deep into its interior. The Master was the last to leave, clad in a black robe that flapped in the wind, stumping out a door, his knuckles clanking as they struck the ground. He followed a path cut out of the living rock, the edge open to the sky, which came to a halt before a stone door. Several Nam'shaq followed after, led by Nera'zag, huddling against the side of the