Seeds of Virtue
Dark Descent
Book I
by Christopher Lapides
Books by Christopher Lapides
www.cal-productions.com
The Slayer Series
Dragons Plight
Town Shadows
Kingdoms Peril
Heritage Lost
Identity
Lineage
Destiny
Dark Descent
Seeds of Virtue
Seeds of Doubt
February 2014
Seeds of Malice
December 2014
SEEDS OF VIRTUE
Copyright © 2013 Cal Productions
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Cal Productions.
All characters in the book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters, character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks owned by Cal Productions.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For my girls. All three of them.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY CHRISTOPHER LAPIDES
* * * * *
PROLOGUE
It was a clear night, without a cloud in the sky and Lunaria was shining bright. The streets were bathed in her cool glow and though it was late, there were plenty of people navigating the cobblestone roads. Since it was the middle of spring, the citizens of Atlurul stayed out late into the night, enjoying the cool air and breeze that wove its way through the maze of buildings. It carried the scent of rain, promising that tomorrow would be a day filled with heavy showers. There would be some grumblings about the rain for there were many that stayed indoors, not wanting to get wet, but there were others that welcomed the early year showers for it gave life to the crops and washed away the grim that every city managed to accumulate over the year. Then there were the children who welcomed any chance to dance in the cool downpour, despite their parent’s objections. Regardless of the way anyone felt, it would be a damp day when next the sun rose.
But tonight the roads were dry and the streets busy. Business’s doors were propped open and merchants welcomed all who had a little extra coin to spend. In fact, they even encouraged those with heavy purses to come in a purchase a trinket or two, regardless of the need. Mothers walked with their children and couples lazily strolled down the avenue, free from worry or doubt. Even the city watch, referred to as the Lances, was at ease for tonight was a night that they knew would be free of skullduggery. Even thieves and scoundrels took off from their usual practices for such a beautiful night.
The dozen or so taverns that were spread throughout the city were full, with music filling the air and ale flowing from the tap. Bards played their fiddles, lutes, and harps, entertaining the crowds and hoping for a generous donation or three. Mugs were kept full, plates were piled high with meat and roasted potatoes, and every hearth held a fire, warming any and all who sat near.
One such tavern, the Crying Lady, was especially full, with people resting against the wall, leaning on the bar, or standing in any place that happened to be empty, if only for a few seconds. But despite the cramped surroundings, which would make even the most drunken dwarf stand up and curse, only joyful voices and humorous music filled the air. Conversations were free of business and dark dealings. Family, pleasant memories, and the occasional jest was the only thing painting the lips of the tavern’s patrons this night. The dark cherry wood, chandeliers decorated with tear-shaped crystals, and the comforting warmth of the fire made this one of the most desirable places to sit and have a drink and it put everyone in a jovial mood.
The Lady, as many called her, was one of the largest taverns in Atlurul and considered one of the best, with the finest wine, the most delicious cheeses, and ale that possessed the perfect balance of bitterness and sweetness. The meat was cooked well and brought out fresh, further contributing to the fine mood of the establishment. The bards that were employed by the tavern’s proprietor–a large woman who was rumored to cry at the drop of a hat, hence the name–were always the most talented and sang songs of adventure, romance, and enchantment. Many of those nearby would join in, if they knew the lyrics. Some would just watch and listen while others completely ignored the songs because they deemed their own conversations more important than listening to songs they may or may not have heard. One such figure was not singing with the bards, listening to the music nor was he conversing with his friend. His eyes were only on the empty table to his right, the only table in the entire tavern that sat vacant.
The simple wooden table was located near the back of the Lady, roped off so not a single soul could sit in one of the two chairs that surrounded it. People stood near the barrier, not even noticing or seeming to care that a free place to sit was going unused. Only Buldrik noticed and he was not happy with what he saw.
“Hey!” the young adventurer said rather harshly to a young woman who was walking by, carrying a tray full of foaming mugs. At first, she did not react for the clicking of the glass mugs had drowned out Buldrik’s voice. Truthfully, she had heard his rude inquisition but choose to ignore him, but when he grabbed her arm, rather forcefully, she was forced to give him her undivided attention.
“Why’s this table empty?” Buldrik asked when she turned to look at him, her face quickly turning to an angry expression.
“Let go of my arm and perhaps I’ll tell you,” Meena replied, holding her anger in check. Usually she would have kicked him somewhere that would have left him howling on the floor, but tonight she was in a forgiving mood, at least for a few seconds.
Buldrik held on for a few more moments but eventually let go, though the angry look on his face never faded. Meena held his gaze but finally turned to look at the table.
“Because no one is sitting there,” she said with just the slightest curl to the edges of her mouth. Buldrik’s eyes started to smolder.
“Why you smart-mouthed wen–”
“C’mon Buldrik,” said his more levelheaded friend from behind him, cutting him off. “Not tonight. Can we just enjoy our drinks without you getting into another fight?”
“This place is packed!” Buldrik exclaimed, motioning to the crowd before him. “Yet here sits a perfectly empty space. Why would–”
“You must be new in town,” Meena said as if she had had this type of encounter before. The two men looked at her strangely.
“Arrived earlier today,” Buldrik’s friend said, his voice indicating he wanted to know just how she had made such an observation. They had just arrived with a caravan coming from the east. Meena only sighed.
“This table is reserved every night for one of our guests. We keep it roped off so no one will take his spot.”
“And if he doesn’t show?” Buldrik asked, his voice filled with annoyance.
“Then it stays empty,” Meena responded matter-of-factly. With that, she turned to go, wanting nothing more to do with idiotic young men.
“Not tonight it
doesn’t!”
Buldrik turned around and leaned over to where the rope was hooked to the wall. He tore it from the clasp and threw it to the ground. Then he grabbed one of the chairs and pushed it out, intent to have a seat.
“Hey!” Meena said forcefully. “I said this was reserved.”
She took a quick step forward and took Buldrik by the shoulder. At this point, a few other patrons had turned in her direction, wondering what the commotion was. Many eyes full of mirth just seconds ago soon turned to anger as they saw what was happening, but no one made a move to help her. Meena’s reputation was well known in the Lady. They knew she could take care of herself and, as many who did try to help her found out, wanted to. There was many a man who had walked away from Meena with a limp when they tried to defy her wishes. It looked as though two more were about to be added to that list.
Meena went to pull Buldrik around, to smash the tray of mugs right into his face, but his friend had moved too fast and snatched the tray from her hand. At the same time, Buldrik was turning, hand raised to give her a slap that would surely send her across the room, but the sudden sound of a throat clearing stopped them all.
“My dear Meena,” said a voice filled with age, “is there a problem?”
The trio turned and saw a stooped old man in tattered robes standing before them. He looked ancient, with hundreds of wrinkles decorating his face. His hair was as white as the clouds and his clothing looked to have come from a garbage heap. A beard that came to his waist was unkempt and spotted with dirt. It appeared as if he would keel over if not for the gnarled staff he leaned on, which looked to have come from a rotted tree. Only his eyes, as brown as the wood that held up the Lady, showed any signs of vigor.
Buldrik and his friend lowered their arms, with the friend now holding a tray full of mugs. Both just stared at the man with a mixture of disgust and confusion.
“No problem,” Meena said, sending daggers into the two men. “They were just leaving.”
“Who in the hells are you?” Buldrik asked, his temper rising.
“Oh, just an old man who likes his ale cold and his maidens fair,” the old man replied, sending a wink at Meena. She just rolled her eyes. “I am also someone who doesn’t appreciate brash young men accosting young ladies who are just trying to do their job. That is the problem with adventurers these days. They think the world is theirs to do with as they please, never thinking of the consequences.”
Buldrik and his friend continued to stare at the man as if he had grown two heads. Then Buldrik shook his head and the rage returned.
“You should watch your tongue old man, before these brash young adventurers give you what for. Why don’t you just turn around and limp back to where you came from.”
“Oh, I plan to,” the man said as if he hadn’t a care in the world, “but only after I have the drink I came for. It would be a mighty bit easier if you weren’t standing in front of the table that Meena has so valiantly tried to defend.”
“They have this roped off for you?!” Buldrik said in amusement.
The patrons that had been watching the entire confrontation had gone back to enjoying their music and ale. They either lost interest or knew that the old man had the situation in control. Buldrik and his companion didn’t notice. They just continued to stare at the old codger as if he was crazy. Meena stayed where she was, enjoying every moment of the adventurers’ confusion.
“Aye,” the old man responded. “And if you would be so kind as to move aside, I can commence with the aforementioned drink.”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands,” Buldrik said with a laugh, amazed at the bravado of the old man, but that amusement quickly turned to annoyance. “I think you should just turn around and go away before you get hurt.”
“You see,” the man said, “that’s what really irks me, when people make threats they have no chance of carrying through.”
“No chance?” Buldrik said with rising anger, his fists coming up. “I should beat–”
Suddenly, the eyes of the old man flashed and the area directly around the four figures went silent. Not the music, not the fire, and not a single voice penetrated the area. It was as if the rest of the world had just dropped away. Even though they were surrounded by people, only three seemed to notice the silence and the blue glow around the old man’s eyes.
“Do you know what I think you should do?” the man said, his gaze solely on Buldrik and his friend, whose faces suddenly went slack. Meena stood off to the side, trying her best to stifle the giggle that was working its way to her lips.
“I think you should go to every tavern in the city and let the crowd know how rude and disrespectful you are and beg their forgiveness. And when you are finished, I think you should return here and offer your deepest apologies to Meena. If she is not here when you return, you will wait until she is, be it an hour, a day, or a week. When she has forgiven you and accepted, you may leave and continue on whatever quest you have come to Atlurul to complete. How does that sound? Hmm?”
“That sounds fine,” Buldrik and his friend replied at the same time, in the same monotone voice. Without another look, Buldrik’s friend handed Meena back her tray and the two turned and walked out of the tavern, heading for the closest neighboring tavern to express their regrets. When they were out of sight, the glow around the old man’s eyes faded and the sound returned. He walked to the closest chair around the formerly roped off table, sat down, and looked up at Meena with a sly smile.
“The usual, please.”
“You know,” she said, walking next to him and placing a hand on her hip, “there are not too many people, let alone men, that I would allow to help me like that.”
“I know, my dear,” the man replied, a smile still on his lips. He raised his soft brown eyes to meet hers. “My apologies. Of course I know you can take care of yourself and any ruffian that thinks otherwise, but I thought these two needed to be taught a lesson in humility and only one with my...talents could have taught them as such.”
“His friend really didn’t do anything.”
“And therein lies his crime in the confrontation,” the old man replied. “A man that sits back and does nothing is just as guilty. Perhaps he will respond a little more forcefully when his friend starts misbehaving.” Meena just smiled and shook her head. She then gave the old man a kiss on top of his head.
“Thank you,” she said. “You drinking alone tonight?” she then asked while wiping down the table with a rag she had removed from her belt.
“Not tonight,” he replied. “Hellric shall be joining me soon. Said he has something exciting to tell me.”
“Oh no,” Meena said, her eyes once again rolling. “Every time he gets excited the mayor and the nobles start to groan. Should they expect to have a few less gold in the coming weeks?” The old man only smiled.
“I’ll admit that Hellric is a little...”
“Crazy?” Meena said when he trailed off.
“Eccentric,” the old man corrected. “But he has done more to help this city and its citizens than I ever could. He means well. It’s just that things don’t always go as well as expected.”
“Graeak Loyalar,” Meena said, staring him straight in the eye, “that is the understatement of the century.”
“Hey!” Graeak exclaimed. “He paid for what he damaged and–”
“Relax,” Meena said, patting him on the head as if he were a child. Graeak went silent and a frown painted his face. “I’m only fooling. Is he going to come in here disguised as a sack of rotten potatoes as well?”
“Of course,” Graeak responded with a smile, his mustache curling ever so slightly.
“Why don’t you ever just drop the disguise,” Meena said in all seriousness, “all this magical illusion, as you call it, and come in here as you are?”
“Why Meena,” Graeak said, his eyes flashing, “you insult me. You don’t like the old worn out look?” When she lowered her gaze and her eyebrows ros
e, he cleared his throat. “I prefer anonymity and far too many people in this city know my real appearance. Only you, your generous employer, and a few others know this disguise. I’ve learned long ago that if I want peace and quiet, relatively speaking,” he said while motioning to the crowd before him, “then I need to lock myself in my tower, or change my appearance. So far, this option is working just fine.”
“But,” Meena said, leaning over so her ample cleavage was right in his face, “your true appearance is much more handsome.” After a few moments of letting him enjoy the view, she leaned up. “I’ll see about that drink.” As she walked away, Graeak could not help but stare at her swaying, shapely backside.
“Calm yourself,” Graeak said to himself, pulling his eyes from Meena. She’s not even a quarter of your age yet. Besides, he thought, she is just doing that for a better tip, which works every time.
Meena brought his drink a few minutes after she had disappeared from view. Graeak sipped his wine, content to enjoy the sweet liquid and entertainment for however long it took Hellric to arrive. The night was late and any work he had could be done in the morning, or late afternoon, depending on when he actually got back to his tower. Until then, his apprentices could handle the load. The problem with Hellric was that the man was always late, which was why Graeak had arrived at the Crying Lady an hour and a half after their initial meeting time. He was not surprised to find the table still empty when he had first arrived. The question now was how much longer he would have to wait, or if his friend would show up at all. About an hour and a handful of drinks later, not to mention a few more flirtations with Meena, Graeak’s guest finally arrived.
Hellric Sazzor arrived in much the same fashion as his friend. He was dressed in the illusion of a fragile old man. The same tattered robes, gnarled staff, and dirty hair decorated the man’s true form. Graeak was a bit annoyed for his companion looked just as he had. It would be difficult to remain inconspicuous if people noticed two of the same old man sitting in the corner.
Hellric looked up as he entered and noticed the similar disguise. With a simple thought, he changed his robes to a dark blue, shortened his beard, and added little details in his face that would make them more noticeably different. When he sat down, Graeak was still wearing a frown.
“Punctual as usual,” Graeak said in a flat voice, with more than a little annoyance mixed in.
“At least I’m here this time,” Hellric replied in a raspy voice.
It was nice to see Hellric actually show up. Graeak had made many appointments with his friend in the past where the man didn’t even show or he had sent a message that said he wasn’t coming. Many a time had Graeak left the same way he had arrived: alone.
“I guess that counts for something, but must we keep meeting in public like this?” Graeak asked. “We both have towers in the city. I know there is ample room in mine so you must have more than enough space in yours. The least we can do is let each other know what the other is going to wear.”
“And risk having every upstart wizard listening in to our conversation?” Hellric responded, referring to the dozens of apprentices they each had in their homes. Each man had the same problem of eavesdropping students, each trying to one up their fellow classmates, hoping they could overhear a piece of juicy gossip to use to their advantage.
“I’ll have you know,” Graeak said as if he had been insulted, “that my students are well-behaved and know their place.”
“Uh-huh,” Hellric responded. “Just like we were at their age?” Graeak said nothing. He just gave his friend a smirk. “Stop complaining,” Hellric continued. “I see you have had plenty to keep yourself...entertained as you waited.”
Graeak turned to see what Hellric was looking at, and saw Meena making their way towards them.
“Be serious!” Graeak exclaimed, his cheeks going slightly red. Not even his magic could hide that much blushing. “She could be my granddaughter.”
“Your great-granddaughter,” Hellric added with a laugh.
“Lord Sazzor,” Meena said as she reached the table, interrupting the retort Graeak was planning. “How lovely it is to see you.”
“And you, my lady.” Hellric gave a slight bow.
“Can I fetch you something?”
“I’ll have what my esteemed colleague is having.”
Meena nodded and after making sure Graeak had plenty of wine, left the two alone. Hellric waited until she had disappeared in the crowd then wove his hand through the air. The noise around the two lowered so they could talk without having to yell. The spell he had just cast also made sure that stray ears would not overhear their conversation.
“Well?” Graeak said. “What did you wish to talk about?” He looked at his friend, whose eyes had just brightened. Hellric suddenly looked like a boy who had just gotten his first kiss.
“I found it.”
All mirth and merriment was wiped from Graeak’s face. He stared at his friend as if he had not heard him correctly. After a long pause, he finally found his voice again.
“What?”
“I found it,” Hellric said again, his eyes wide and a large smile on his face. “It was buried in the ruins just a few hundred miles from here, deep underground. It took almost an entire month to extract it. The traps placed over the tomb were not easy to overcome either. We lost a few dozen men and I lost a few artifacts that, I am sorry to say, were irreplaceable. But I actually found it!”
Graeak just sat in stunned silence. He could not believe what he was hearing. He didn’t want to believe it. He had thought the orb was just a legend, something that tyrants had made up to scare their armies and enemies into submission. He had tried to tell Hellric as much, that he was wasting his time searching for something that did not exist, but his friend would not be dissuaded. He was content to let Hellric waste his time. Every wizard had his or her obsession and this one kept his mind busy and kept him out of Graeak’s hair. The man had spent over ten years searching for the artifact, combing through ruins, books, and tomes, always believing that it was real. Graeak always believed that something so powerful, something filled with so much evil could not possibly be real, but now his friend was telling him that it was, that he had actually found it and brought it up from the place it which it had been buried.
“Hellric,” he said, in almost a whisper. “How did you–”
Just then, Meena walked up, bringing Graeak’s comment to a halt. She paid no mind to the sudden change in noise level. She just set a glass of wine on the table for Hellric. She looked at him, then at Graeak. Her expression softened when she saw the nervous look on his face.
“Are you all right?” she asked with true concern. He must have looked more frightened than he thought. Graeak pulled his eyes from Hellric and managed to put on a fake smile.
“Fine, sweet Meena.” He held that smile until she walked away. She looked back once, and then disappeared into the crowd. Graeak looked back at Hellric. “How did you find it? How did you manage–”
“None of that matters now,” his friend said excitedly, cutting him off. “What matters is that I found it. All my work, all that time searching through endless lore has finally paid off. The legends were true and now I have one of the most powerful artifacts ever created.”
“Wait,” Graeak said, his face paling even more. “You...you have it here? In the city?”
“Of course,” Hellric said as if his friend should have known. “It’s in my tower. And don’t worry,” he said, seeing the grave concern that suddenly painted Graeak’s face. “It is tucked away where no one but I have access to it. No one knows it is here except me. And now you.”
Graeak blew a small sigh of relief. The last thing that needed to happen was having an unaccomplished apprentice stumble upon something that even wizards as powerful as Hellric and himself may not be able to handle.
“Hellric,” Graeak said, thinking of handling the orb. “You should not have brought it here. Indeed, you should have never even brought
up from where it was buried.”
“What?” Hellric said, his voice filled with a little surprise. His friend would surely understand what this discovery meant. “What are you talking about?”
“It was buried for a reason,” Graeak said, “tucked away from the world because it is too dangerous. You’ve read the lore. You know the legends. No one should be allowed to handle that much power. And I remind you that it is a weapon of evil, never meant to be used by the power of good, however noble the intentions. The orb is a bringer of death and destruction. Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep it hidden, with good reason.”
“I understand your fears, my friend,” Hellric said, “but–”
“No,” Graeak interrupted, knowing that Hellric was trying to calm his fears, fears that were well deserved. “I don’t think you do.” He took a deep breath and looked at his friend with compassion. He could understand why Hellric had taken the orb. He had spent so long searching and to have actually found it was quite a feat. The temptation to leave it alone would be too much, even for him if he had spent over a decade searching for something.
“Every mention of the orb has always included plague or famine or death,” Graeak said. “That doesn’t include what it does to those unfortunate to die while in its presence, or the powers it has to create armies of undead. Those that use it are–”
“But I do not intend to use it,” Hellric was quick to point out.
“Your intentions do not matter,” Graeak responded. “How often have you tried a spell, mixed a potion, or enchanted an item with the intention of making it more powerful only to find out that something entirely different happens? The people that have used the orb only have one intention: to wreak havoc. You cannot hope to do anything with the orb other than cause harm, whether or not you intend to. I implore you to return it to where it was found, or destroy it, if such a thing is possible.”
Hellric leaned back and looked at his friend with disappointment, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and looked deep into Graeak’s eyes.
“Why do you use magic?” Hellric asked, catching Graeak off guard.
“To spread knowledge, to help the weak, and to make the world a better place,” Graeak said after a short pause. He had been asked that question a million times and his answer was always the same. He taught the same answer to his students.
“Exactly,” Hellric said, knowing what his friend’s answer would be for he had also heard it many times. “As do I.”
“Nothing that orb offers can possibly aid this world.” Graeak said.
“Can’t it?” Hellric replied. He continued after seeing the reluctant look on his fellow wizard’s face.
“Imagine an object so powerful that it can cure any disease, heal any wound, no matter how serious the injury. Imagine an object that can bring people back from the brink of death, if not back from death itself. Imagine how much good an object like that could do. How many lives would be saved? How many people would no longer have to shed unneeded tears over the death of a loved one? How many children would be saved from plague and disease? Just think about what this world would be like.”
Graeak finally understood the reason for Hellric’s obsession with the orb. He had a wife once, but she had been taken many decades ago, when a plague had broken out over the entire city. Thousands died, including his beloved Dalria. Despite all his magic, all his power, he had been powerless to stop her sickness. He had to watch as the plague slowly took her life. Then he had to put her in the ground. Graeak had never been married, nor in love for that matter, and could not imagine the pain his friend had gone through. He had locked himself in his tower for almost a year, grieving for his wife. One day, when Graeak had finally managed to drag Hellric outside, Hellric had told him that no one should ever have to go through that type of pain. Now, with the orb in his grasp, no one would ever have to.
“You’re thinking to reverse the orb’s magic, to make it a giver of life, instead of a master over death.”
“Exactly!” Hellric said with excitement, happy that his friend finally saw his plan. “No death, no sickness, no pain. Never again will we have to watch as our loved ones are struck down.”
Graeak took a deep breath. “You can’t bring her back,” he said with sadness, not knowing if that was indeed his friend’s intention. By now, Dalria’s body would be all but dust. Even magic could not bring her back. Even if it was possible, Graeak believed he had known Dalria good enough to know she would not want to be brought from the afterlife. Luckily, Hellric next words indicated that he agreed.
“I know,” Hellric said, looking into the wine in his glass, a somber look crossing his face. “But think of all those I could help. Think of all the pain I can stop.”
Graeak looked at Hellric and what he saw, just the slightest hint of madness creeping into his eyes, made him shiver. He knew it was not actually insanity. It was obsession, which could be even worse.
“Hellric, though I can appreciate your desire and your intention to free people from grief, to free them from death, I fear that what you plan will have unforeseen consequences. The world needs pain, it needs disease and sickness. I dare say it even needs death, no matter how painful it may be. These maladies cleanse the world, much as a random fire clears brush that has grown too large to survive on its own. Imagine if plants never died or if the deer we eat could never be killed. Imagine if nothing ever passed to the gods. The world would be overrun. I even believe that these painful experiences are necessary. They make us stronger as a civilization for is it not these trials and tribulations that make us who we are? That teaches us what not to do? That strengthens our souls and makes us human? Death is nature’s way of saying it is time, regardless of the means. What you are talking about goes against every law of nature. It even goes against the will of the gods and that is not something to be taken lightly.”
Hellric just stared at Graeak with the same disappointed look, but this time he was actually smiling. He knew he would never convince Graeak. He was well accustomed to his friend’s beliefs for he had heard them many times before. All he had planned to do was share his discovery and try to see if his old friend would simply understand. Unfortunately, it seemed Graeak did not. He was not surprised with his friend’s reaction, just a little saddened. He just did not see the larger picture.
“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” he said with a sigh. “You are too much of a purest, which is an odd thing to find in a wizard. Perhaps you should have been a priest.”
“You know I never had the patience for prayer.” Despite himself, Graeak actually chuckled, which eased the tension. Hellric let out a deep laugh for wizards indeed needed to have a very different kind of patience than priests.
The two enjoyed the moment of levity, if only briefly. The feeling quickly faded and a serious tone fell over the two men once again.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” Graeak asked, knowing that despite his pleas and concerns, Hellric would still go ahead with his experiments on the orb. He knew that his friend was just trying to make him understand. He appreciated the attempt, but he could never go along with such an obvious attempt to challenge the laws of life itself.
Hellric looked right into Graeak’s eyes. “I can’t. If there is a chance, however small, I have to try. I have to make the attempt, if for no other reason than to see if it is even possible. You know,” Hellric said after a short pause, a grin coming to his face, “it may be a little easier with help.”
“I cannot,” Graeak answered calmly. “I just don’t think it is right.”
“So why not try to stop me?” Hellric said, surprising Graeak. His voice wasn’t abrasive. He truly sounded as if he wanted to know how his friend would react. “Why not take the orb or tie me down?”
“Tis not my place,” Graeak answered truthfully. “If you were to use this for evil, then I may have tried to stop you, but this was your discovery. It would be no more right for me to try to stop a king who finds a magical sword. A
s long as he doesn’t turn it on me or the innocent, he is free to do as he pleases. You spent your coin and your time to find the orb. It belongs to you now. It is your property and you may do with it as you please, as long as it brings no harm to this city or its citizens.”
“Should I take that as your endorsement?” Hellric asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Graeak responded with a smirk. “To be honest, a part of me hopes you don’t succeed for I fear that what you may discover would violate the laws of life itself. I only see bad things coming from this.”
“And the other part?”
Graeak just smiled but remained silent. A small part of him wanted to see Hellric succeed if for no other reason than to see the orb’s power of evil destroyed. That would surely happen if he managed to reverse its effects. Another small part–the wizard in him–also wanted to see his friend succeed because it would be one of the greatest accomplishments in history. If he could actually succeed on an artifact that is supposedly as powerful as the orb, it would be amazing.
He looked over at Hellric and saw him smiling. His friend knew his feelings and found the conflicting emotions humorous. Though Graeak preached purity of life, he had been known to dabble in a little magic that helped extend his youth. Even one such as he had hopes of living a much longer life than the gods had planned. But Hellric knew he would not delay his destiny forever.
“Well,” Hellric said, draining the rest of his wine. “I think it is well past my bedtime. After all, I have a very busy day tomorrow.” He looked at Graeak and smiled.
“Please,” Graeak said with concern. “Be careful. The last thing I want to see is Godspire blown to pieces.” Godspire was the name of Hellric’s tower, a name that Graeak had actually come up with when they were younger, before either of them had a place to call their own. Graeak would always joke with Hellric, saying he would never be able to afford to build a god’s spire of his own, a name many arrogant wizards had used to describe their homes. Little did he know that Hellric would use the joke many years later to name his residence.
“But then The Fount would be the tallest tower in the city,” Hellric responded with laughter. Graeak had named his tower Fount of Knowledge, believing that magic was useless without the knowledge to use it. Over time, people had just referred to his home as The Fount, finding the shorter title much more desirable.
Graeak just shook his head and watched his friend leave the tavern. The spell Hellric had woven went with him and the sound returned to normal.
Graeak spent a few moments watching the crowd. He watched their smiling faces, listened to the joyous music, and enjoyed his last sip of sweet wine. He suddenly found himself wondering where Meena went and if, when the time came, she would miss him when the gods called him home. His eyes turned towards the door that Hellric had left through.
“Watch over him Dalria. I fear he knows not what he is getting into.”
When Meena came back to the table a few minutes later, she found that Graeak had already left.