* * * * *
The massive fireball blazed right over his head. It had come so close that the intense heat singed his hair and sent wisps of smoke rising from his robes. If not for the protective magic he had cloaked himself and the others behind him in, Graeak knew he and the contingent of Lances that were following him would have burst into flames. He was lucky to have magic to wrap himself in, but those caught in the massive blast when the fireball landed were not so fortunate.
The roar of the flames were deafening and only intensified tenfold as it hit the building down the street from him. The structure and all those within were instantly incinerated, dissolving into a pile of ash. The explosion that followed rocked the entire city, throwing Graeak and everyone within five blocks to the ground. The whoosh of hot air that followed blew him even further along the road, rolling along the hard cobblestones. His shields flashed as they absorbed the impact and the small bits of debris that managed to survive the explosion. He looked up and saw that the other homes and business next to the building that was suddenly gone, those parts that were not destroyed from the blast, immediately caught fire and started to burn.
Only minutes ago, he had been sound asleep in his bed, enjoying a wonderful dream of a sultry elf he had once known when he was suddenly, and quiet rudely, shaken awake by one of his apprentices.
“My lord,” the boy named Vambalar had said frantically. “The city is under attack! The Lances request your aid!”
Though he was old and his bones always ached after waking from a deep sleep, Graeak rose quickly from bed, donned his golden robes, grabbed his staff, and rushed down the stairs. A large group of Lances, dressed in their gleaming, golden platemail armor and armed to the teeth, was waiting with eyes filled with concern. Supreme Lance Camruadd Delonshire, a man Graeak had known for many years, stood out in front, eagerly awaiting Graeak’s arrival.
“My Lord Loyalar,” the Supreme Lance said with a steady voice. “We need your magic.”
Though Graeak was just a normal citizen of Atlurul, the Lances, nobles, and the mayor always came to him and the other dozen wizards that called the city home when there was trouble. True, they had their own host of wizards that were employed by the city, but he and a few others were much more powerful, able to study and experiment as they pleased without the weight of government on their shoulders. Graeak always lent his help when needed. Now appeared to be another one of those times.
“What befalls?” he said, mentally readying his spells. His dark gray hair was wild from sleep and his short beard was tangled in knots. He wiped the sleep from his brown eyes and sniffed the air with his bulbous nose, smelling something burning.
“We’ll explain on the way.”
When he had gone outside, he saw that the night sky across the city was bathed in red light. Flames reached towards the heavens and people were screaming in terror. Guards were racing past him, running towards whatever trouble he was now heading for. Supreme lances, capital lances, and lance captains were shouting orders and horses were galloping through the streets, with armored riders in their saddles.
Graeak could feel the magic in the air and felt the rumbling of explosions beneath his feet. As he cast a few spells on himself and the guards with him, he quickly scanned the rest of the city and saw that whatever was happening appeared to be concentrated in only one area of the city. Behind him and to the side, all was quiet. The city walls were calm and the land beyond the gates was empty save for the insects and rodents that woke during the night. Whatever was happening had started from inside the city.
A surge of fear shot through Graeak as he turned back to where the commotion was coming from. The explosions, flashes of light, and streams of magic that were filling the night sky seemed to be coming from only one structure. It was the tallest structure in the city, and the home of his friend. His fears were quickly confirmed when Supreme Lance Delonshire next spoke.
“We don’t know why, but about an hour ago he just started firing spells into the city without warning,” the Supreme Lance said, keeping his eyes forward. “We tried to breach the wall but thick magic protects the entrance. Our wizards are powerless against it. Some attempted to teleport to the top, but they were met with resistance. Some disappeared only to reappear seconds later, turned into something I...I cannot really describe. I only know that it was dead when it came back. Our arrows are useless and any spell cast against him rebounds, twice as strong as before. We came for you as soon as we realized we needed spells that are more powerful.
“My Lord Loyalar,” the Supreme Lance said with remorse, “it appears that your friend Hellric has gone insane.”
Graeak tore his eyes from Delonshire and found Godspire in the sky. As they came closer, he could see beams of light, bolts of lightning and other spells coming from the top of the tower, all directed into the city. Buildings burned, people screamed, and the streets ran red with blood. All around it was fire and destruction, as if a ring of chaos had fallen from the sky to settle around the tower.
“By the gods, Hellric,” Graeak said under his breath. “I told you to be careful.”
It had only been a few months since he had last spoken to Hellric, in the Crying Lady, but since then, he had seen neither hide nor hair of his friend. The man had locked himself in the tower, no doubt performing his experiments on the orb. Graeak cursed himself for a fool for not checking on Hellric, knowing what the orb was and what he had been doing to it. He should have been more involved. He should have made sure his friend was all right. Now it seemed his negligence would cost them all. The old wizard must have unlocked something terrible, and everyone was paying the price.
“Let’s get to the tower,” Graeak said. “I need to–”
That was when the gigantic fireball had come screaming towards him. Now, Graeak was picking himself off the ground, old bones protesting. He looked back towards Godspire. They still had a ways to go but at this rate, they would be blown to pieces before they came within a hundred yards.
“Are you all right?” came Delonshire’s voice. Graeak nodded and brought to mind a spell that would get them past this madness.
“Hold tight,” he said and cast the spell. The Supreme Lance must have realized what he was doing for fear suddenly painted his face.
“No!” he screamed. “I told you teleporting into t–”
His words were ripped away as Graeak and the entire contingent of Lances were instantly teleported only a few hundred feet from Hellric’s tower. When they appeared, half the guard emptied their stomachs, this being the first time many of them had experienced teleportation. Delonshire and a handful of others managed to hold in their dinner but they still looked a little queasy.
“There is no harm if we don’t actually teleport into the tower,” Graeak said as Delonshire and his men regained their wits. When they were stable, the group took off down the street, coming to the tower gates within moments.
A dozen city wizards were there, along with dozens of Lances. Graeak was quick to note a few dead bodies that had been pulled to the side. One was a burnt out husk, obviously a wizard. The other two were guards, who looked to have been burned to death. Graeak quickly surmised that the men had tried their hand at the entrance and met a grim demise.
The thick wooden doors of Godspire were dotted with burn marks, scorched from spells of acid, and marred by other forms of magic. Only two small sword marks indicated that someone, or a pair of someone’s, had tried brute force. The result now lay in a heap off to the side.
“Graeak,” came a voice. “Thank the gods!”
Graeak looked to a small man dressed in bright blue robes, carrying a glowing red scepter. The archmage had known Waalharim for over fifteen years and knew he was one of the most capable of the city’s wizards. When the man saw him, relief painted his face.
“Waalharim,” Graeak said as the two clasped hands. “Any luck?”
“No,” the aging man said. “We have thrown everything we have at it, to no avail.
Two guards tried their swords but you can see the unfortunate result. Grimermal tried a touch spell and met his end. We dared not try anything like that twice. Graeak, I have never seen anything like this. It is as if the gods themselves bar our way. I don’t understand why Hellric would do such a thing.”
Graeak looked at the doors, then up towards the sky, to the top of the tower where spells of destruction continued to fall into the city. Luckily, Hellric’s attention was turned out toward the city instead of near the base of his tower. If he sent a few spells straight down, he could have killed them all.
“Stand back,” Graeak said, knowing that time was of the essence.
The wizards and the Lances stepped back. The wizards cast spells of shielding against death, fire, and any other form of offensive magic they could think of. The Lances ducked behind walls or hid behind their shields.
“Get ready to lend your magic,” Graeak said to Waalharim and the other wizards. “It may take all of us to break these wards.”
Graeak cast a series of spells on himself in case he set off the magical traps that were no doubt placed upon the door. Then he cast a spell that let him see magical emanations of nearby objects.
Godspire glowed like a small sun, which was no surprise to Graeak. Most wizards had dozens of magical wards and protections upon their towers, which protected the structure from thieves and the ravages of nature, but what really caught his eye was the black glow surrounding the doors. It was like nothing he had ever seen. It appeared as a black sun, surrounded by a ring of purple fire. Though he had never seen such a thing, he knew exactly what it was from. The orb’s influence had wormed its way into the tower itself and veins of its magic had crept into every surface. Graeak could sense that the dark ward was somehow connected to the orb and he could feel, just barely, that it was connected to something on the upper levels of the tower. If he could severe the connection, the ward should fade. No wonder the others haven’t had any luck, he thought to himself. He had just barely sensed the connection, and that was only because he knew what to look for.
Graeak took a deep breath. He cast his spell and thrust his will against the ward. The force of the backlash that came at him almost knocked him from his feet. Luckily, he had been expecting some type of defense and was able to fight off the power, but it still rattled his teeth and made his head pound.
“By the gods!” he growled. “The power!”
After he steadied himself, he threw everything he had at the ward. It continued to resist, sending that power back at him, but he was able to keep the backlash at bay while simultaneously chopping away at what made the ward so strong. He felt other magics start to boil to the surface. His eyes widened as he realized that he was powerless to stop those from reaching him. Concentrating his magic on two tasks at once was hard enough. Blocking a third was almost impossible.
Thankfully, the surrounding wizards had been watching and waiting for just such an occurrence. They sent spells of dispelling and rebounding at the wards that Graeak could not counter. The dangerous protections shattered and blasted to oblivion, allowing Graeak to throw a powerful surge of anti-magic at the ward.
The tendril that connected it to the orb cracked and crumbled. To his eyes only, there was a burst of purple brilliance, temporary blinding him. When his vision returned, he saw that all the magic guarding the doors were gone.
“Are you well?” Graeak heard Waalharim ask.
In response, Graeak cautiously approached the doors. He slowly placed his hand upon the wood. When no spell of death attacked him, he pushed.
The door swung open, revealing the inside of Godspire. The only thing that greeted him was an empty foyer.
“He will know we have gained access,” Graeak said. “Stay close and let me engage him first. Your swords and armor will do little against his magics. Keep your eyes open for his apprentices. We know not if they are suffering from the same affliction.” No one said a word. They just followed Graeak inside, weapons and spells at the ready.
Hellric’s tower was five hundred feet tall and consisted of twenty-five levels. The stairway was a single path, set against the outer wall, winding its way around the circumference of the tower, all the way up to the top. Most rooms were open, which would make searching for the apprentices and servants easy, but a handful of levels consisted of a half dozen smaller quarters, so they would have to be searched separately. But first, they had to reach Hellric and put an end to his madness. Graeak was not looking forward to the coming confrontation. If he could bring Hellric back from wherever his mind had gone, he would. But if he could not...
He took a deep breath and quickly scanned the ground level. It was empty, save for some scattered furniture. Not a single soul was present.
“Higher we must go,” Graeak said and started up the stairs.
They cleared the first ten levels in just a few minutes. They found no one. Every room had been empty. The lack of bodies–be they living or dead–did not put any of the men at ease. Usually the tower was alive with activity, at all hours of the day. Now it felt like a tomb. As they climbed higher, they started to see signs of life, or more appropriately, the signs of struggle.
Clothing, glass, wood, and other debris they could not identify lay scattered across the ground. Scorch marks and chunks of rock also lay in random places throughout the rooms they passed through. The chaos just got worse the higher they climbed. As they went higher and higher, they could hear explosions from the other side of the wall. When they passed by windows, they could see that Hellric was still at it, throwing spells of death down into the city. Was there no end to his magic? Graeak thought. It wasn’t until they reached level eighteen that they found the first body.
The mass of burnt flesh and bone looked to have been a female, though they could not be certain. Whatever it had been, it was melted into a fleshy mass by some insidious spell. They found three more masses nearby, as if the four people had been caught in some type of fireball. The ground was scorched black, as were the walls.
“We can do nothing for them,” Delonshire said, seeing the remorse and regret on Graeak’s face, though he had no idea why the old wizard would feel such guilt. Graeak know why he felt so, but nodded to the Supreme Lance and continued up the path in front of him.
The next level looked as though gravity had suddenly reversed. All the furniture and experimental equipment were on the ceiling. No one could tell if anyone was buried under the mass of destroyed debris, so they moved on.
The next three levels looked like something out of a nightmare. Everything that decorated these floors had been blasted to pieces, including the dozen or so people that called these chambers home. Blood lay splattered against every surface and bodies were scattered everywhere. Blood dripped from the ceiling, falling into pools on the floor below. A few of the younger guards could be heard emptying their stomachs as they passed through.
“What the hells happened?” one of the wizards asked in a whispered voice.
“Evil,” replied another. “This is not insanity. This is pure evil.”
“Something devilish has a hold of your friend,” Delonshire said, looking at Graeak. “This is no botched magic. If he cannot be saved, he must be put down, for the safety of the city.”
Graeak could not bring himself to voice his agreement for he knew that he might have to kill Hellric in order to protect the city. The question now was, was killing his friend even possible? The power displayed here was beyond his understanding. Could he even stand against such strength?
Graeak nodded and continued climbing towards his friend, a little more swiftly this time. If Hellric was capable of what he had just seen, it was imperative that he stop him as soon as possible.
They ran through the next level without stopping. Graeak did glance into the room and caught the sight of a few more bodies that appeared to be burnt out husks, lying in a large pile of ash. He ignored them, intent on reaching Hellric before he did anymore damage. The men behind him simply followed,
feeling Graeak’s intensity, his need to end this now.
When Graeak reached the next level, the one before Hellric’s own, he rushed forward without stopping for the stairs had come to an end before him. The only way up was across the room to a single spiral staircase, rising up through the floor, but when Graeak finally looked up, he suddenly stopped, frozen in his tracks by the sight before him. The men following almost barreled into him, throwing him forward. They were about to run by him, thinking he had lost his mind, when they heard the moans, sounds that drove the icy finger of fear through their hearts.
The rest of the tower’s inhabitants stood before them, standing like statues made of gray stone. But they were not statues, but they weren’t alive either.
Their clothes, those that still wore them, sat in tatters on their bodies, bodies that were covered in rotting skin, flesh as dead and pale as the god of death’s own. Their eyes were glowing pools of purple light though they were lifeless and without feeling. Many were missing limbs but most were whole yet they sported vicious wounds that would end the life of even the most battle-tested warrior. Their hands ended in sharp claws and when the party entered the room, they raised their arms and started to shuffle forward. Their moans of despair echoed throughout the room, further sending icy shivers up everyone’s spine.
“By Kilgar,” Delonshire whispered behind Graeak. “Undead!”
Any hope, however miniscule, that this entire ordeal had not been brought on by the orb, was dashed to pieces. Seeing those shambling zombies, those perverted creatures of undeath slowly moving towards him, Graeak no longer had any doubt that Hellric had been turned–or taken–by the artifact he had hoped to change. Now, that force of evil had made his friend into something that Hellric had always hated: a bringer of pain and destruction.
Anger crept into Graeak then. Not only just at the orb and Hellric, but at himself, for not being more vigilant and making sure Hellric had not strayed. He had failed his friend and the city. He had always said that a man that stands by and does nothing is just as guilty of the crime. He may not have turned these unfortunate souls into undead or caused the death of the gods knew how many people outside of these walls, but he shared in the blame. But before he accepted punishment, he would stop this madness.
He started chanting, calling to mind a powerful spell to blast the zombies into nothingness, but a hand fell on his shoulder, pulling his thoughts of destruction away.
“No,” the Supreme Lance said. “I have a feeling you will need everything at your disposal, all your power, to overcome Hellric. Save it for him. We will take care of the undead. Go. Quickly.”
Graeak hesitated but the confidence on Delonshire’s face made it last only a few seconds. After nodding his acceptance of the situation, he backed away and let the guards and wizards rush into the room, engaging the zombies so he could make it to the stairs. He stepped back and ran along the perimeter of the room, moving away from the battle. To his complete shock, as soon as the undead were engaged, they sprang to life, with all the movement and ferocity of a caged demon of the Infinite Hells. The men were soon sorely pressed, finding the fight much more difficult than they first thought.
“Go!” Delonshire yelled, seeing Graeak pause, contemplating on lending his spells to the suddenly fierce battle. He saw the look on the man’s face, one of courage and strength, then ran to the stairs. A few zombies went to stop him but the wizards lit them up with spells of lighting, fire, and force. He reached the stairs and ran up into Hellric’s private chambers. What he saw when he reached the top made his heart almost burst from his chest.
Hellric’s personal chambers used to be the envy of every wizard that called Atlurul home, consisting of dozens of tables filled with beakers full of bubbling liquids, gems that glowed almost as bright as the stars, items of wondrous power whose strength the wizard hoped to unlock, and other artifacts that an archmage could only dream of possessing. Potions that could enchant the mind, capture the soul, or heal even the most grievous wound used to sit on shelves that wrapped around the circular chamber. Items that even Graeak could not identify used to bob in the air, hang from the ceiling, or blink in and out of existence used to fill the air, pulsating with powerful magic.
But now, the circular chamber was a broken shadow of its former self. The tables–some made of stone, some of wood–lay in shambles, most appearing as if they had spontaneously exploded. Bits and pieces lay scattered around the room, some even floating through the air as if gravity had failed to take hold after the destruction. Globes of liquid, shards of glass, and other strange objects floated through the air as well and decorated the floor. Black marks, splotches of strange colors, and deep grooves also painted every surface, adding to the chaos. Stains that could only be blood, perhaps the remnants of some of the small animals Hellric used to experiment upon or keep as pets, turned the usually gray stone red.
A flash of light tore Graeak’s eyes from the bedlam. He turned to see that an entire section of the wall, along with half the ceiling, was gone. Only the sky filled his vision, as well as some of the city, but that was not all.
Hellric stood at the edge of the void, bathed in an eerie purple light. His robes, which were usually as silver as a newly forged blade, were black as night, almost blending in with the openness before him. If not for the flames that filled the air with an orangish light or the glow that surrounded him, he would have been invisible against the sky. Every time he sent a spell into the city, the glow would brighten then flash, filling what was left of the chamber with a surge of magic and light. Strangely, his staff was nowhere to be seen. He used only his hands to send death raining into the city.
Though he could only see the back of him, the sight of Hellric’s bald head shocked Graeak, even more so than he did already. His usual shinning white hair was gone, replaced with what Graeak could only guess was burnt flesh. His skin looked almost gray and twisted into something that resembled the surface of a rotted piece of fruit. The screams of elation that came from Hellric every time he cast a spell also sent Graeak back on his heels. What in the name of all the gods had happened to him?
Graeak took no time to assess the situation. He had to put an end to this madness and he had to do it now, so he brought to mind one of his most powerful spells. Hopefully, it would dispel all magic within a certain area. He planned to center it directly on his friend.
Suddenly, as if his intentions had been spoken aloud, Graeak felt a presence within his mind, urging him to abandon the foolish notion of stopping his friend, and join him. It was so sudden and shocking that he almost lost the spell. Luckily, he held on but the magic he had started to gather slowly started to fade as something powerful began sucking the energies from it. Graeak took a step back and forced the presence from his mind. It faded but did not disappear completely. He looked all around the room, searching for whatever had assaulted him.
Floating in the air, not three feet from Hellric, was a sphere so black that Graeak swore he was looking into the end of time. Strange that he had not noticed it before for it looked to have been sitting there the entire time. He had the odd feeling that some type of magic emanating from the orb was trying to make him ignore its presence.
It was about three feet in diameter and bobbed up and down as if floating on a column of air. Small arcs of purple lighting played across its surface and a low hum issued forth, a sound that Graeak was just now noticing. Just below the orb, looking as though it was cut directly into the ground, was a hole, about four feet wide, filled with red light. The light pulsated and hummed, making Graeak’s head pound. He looked back to the orb, to the utter blackness, and gazed inside.
Images too repulsive and terrifying to comprehend played across the surface of the orb, making Graeak want to scream. He pulled his eyes away and tried to calm himself. It wasn’t easy but he managed to get a hold of his thoughts once more. He knew a lesser man may have run screaming from the room and he could not imagine what those visions had done to his friend. r />
Graeak quickly came to realize that what he was looking at was the dreaded Orb of Decay, an item so evil that it was rumored even gods were afraid of it. It was the orb that had driven Hellric mad, that had corrupted him and turned him evil. The artifact that Hellric had unearthed and brought back to his tower in hopes of using it for good had turned one of the world’s most benevolent and powerful wizards into an agent of death and chaos. It was the orb and not Hellric that had to be destroyed, Graeak realized. Not only for Hellric’s sake, but for the world’s.
Graeak poured his will against the orb’s influence and pushed it out completely. He felt anger and hatred but ignored them both. He started to gather the magic for his spell, to blast the orb into oblivion. Banishing it to another dimension or teleporting it away from this place wasn’t enough. He had to destroy it, to make sure that it never fell into the wrong hands again.
As if sensing his intentions, the orb flashed and sent a surge of energy into Hellric, as if yelling for aid. The mad wizard must have heard for he turned and screamed.
“Blasphemer!”
Graeak almost dropped his spell when his eyes fell upon his friend for his face looked just like the back of his head, the skin twisted and colorless. His features were barely discernible. The only things Graeak recognized were his eyes, but they were not the bright vibrant blue he had known. They were a dark red, blazing with power and malice.
The orb and Hellric both flashed with power. The spell that hit Graeak had come from his friend so fast that he hadn’t even had any time to scream. The blast of force lifted him from his feet and slammed him into the back wall. His staff went flying and his head crashed into the hard stone. Stars danced before his eyes. If not for the spells protecting him, he had little doubt he would be nothing but a bloodstain.
“Hellric!” Graeak struggled to say as the magic held him aloft, pinning him against the wall. “Fight against it!”
His friend said nothing. He did not even acknowledge that he had heard the words. His eyes just flashed, along with the orb, as he sent another blast of killing magic against Graeak.
The magic broke apart against another of Graeak’s shields, but it also took the ward with it, destroying yet another protection. Another spell followed after Hellric saw the first two had done nothing. That spell destroyed another of his friend’s wards.
Graeak knew he would not last forever. Hellric seemingly had an endless supply of power, granted to him by the orb. He had to separate the two, but he did not know how.
“Hellric,” Graeak said again, this time with more force. “Stop this!”
The only response he received was another spell of death, which tore away yet another protection and sent a surge of pain through Graeak’s body. A few more like that and he was done.
Graeak closed his eyes and sent his senses forward, hoping to feel Hellric or something that had been his friend. Unfortunately, all he sensed was darkness and death. He had hoped there was something of his friend left inside that twisted body, but there was nothing. The man he had known was gone. There was only one way to save him, but even he doubted he had the power.
Even though he was pinned, he managed to wriggle his arms free and blurt out a handful of powerful spells, meant to throw Hellric away or distract him enough that the pinning magic would fail. Each spell was met with failure, being blocked by Hellric and the orb or fading away before they even came close. Hellric just laughed hysterically. Luckily, the maniacal laughter and countering kept him occupied, which gave Graeak more time to figure a way out of this mess. Unfortunately, he saw no way of getting free except by luck so he continued to throw spells.
They were blocked as before, but Graeak did notice something that could prove useful. Though Hellric was unaffected by the magic cast against him, the ground at his feet showed that it was not. If that was the case, the orb’s protection only stretched to Hellric.
Just as Hellric was about to send another spell at Graeak, a guard appeared at the top of the spiral stairs.
“By Kilgar!” he said, seeing the chaos.
“Back!” Graeak shouted, but by then, Hellric had already sent a ball of fire at the guard’s head.
The man disappeared beneath an explosion of fire and heat. The blast of air slammed against Graeak and his wards flashed as they fought against the flames that filled the room. The floating debris was incinerated, as were many of the broken objects that lay scattered throughout the chamber. The tumult continued for many moments and it felt as though it shook the entire tower. And that shaking is what gave Graeak his chance.
He dropped to the ground as the stones behind him shook. The fall was unexpected so he fell onto his backside when the magic disappeared, but even in his old age, Graeak was quick. He brought to mind a spell and as the smoke and flames cleared, sent it streaming at Hellric.
Hellric still stood, laughing as if he had just heard a humorous joke. It could have been raining daggers and he would not have cared, so when Graeak’s spell came at him, he did nothing to stop it. The orb flashed, lending its strength to Hellric to assist in overcoming the magic. But the magic had not been aimed at the maddened archmage, but at the very ground he stood on so the orb was powerless to stop it.
A section of stone heaved, as if a tremendous amount of pressure had been building beneath it. Hellric, now giggling, was thrown back, right out of the tower and into the night. Graeak just caught the tail end of his friend’s robes as he disappeared from sight.
Graeak turned to the orb and watched as it flashed and hummed with vigor. The purple lightning also flashed and grew more intense. It looked as though the orb was trying to lend its magic to Hellric, to protect him from the fall. For a moment, Graeak wondered if it had that kind of power, but when the glow around the orb suddenly winked out, the purple lightning fading away, and the sphere settled on the ground, he knew that his friend had met his end. Though the wind that was flowing through Godspire assaulted his ears, Graeak swore he had heard his friend laughing all the way to the street.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” Graeak said in remorse. He desperately wished that there had been another way but he knew that Hellric had offered him no choice.
“You should not have died like this,” he said, painfully rising to his feet. “Rest easy now and give Dalria my best.”
Graeak closed his eyes and struggled to hold back the tears. He let a few go and wiped the rest away. He would mourn his friend and drink to those that had fallen, but that would have to wait. Now he had sort through the chaos that ensued and rid the world of something that never should have been created.
“My Lord Loyalar?”
Graeak turned from the orb and looked to the stairway. He could see the tip of a blade just emerging from the opening.
Thinking quickly, he turned and cast a spell, creating an illusion over the orb that hid it from sight. He would take no chances with something so dangerous. No one needs to know it existed and until he found a way to destroy it, he would keep it hidden, from everyone.
“The danger has ended,” he said as Supreme Lance Delonshire came up from below. “The zombies?”
“Their life has once again left them,” Delonshire said. “Where is Hellric?”
Graeak just pointed toward the sky. The Supreme Lance walked over and looked down to the street. He could just barely make out the mess that had been Hellric Sazzor. He looked over the city, at the dozens of fires and broken buildings that surrounded the tower.
“I’m sorry,” he said, tearing his gaze away from the destruction and walking back over to Graeak. “I know he was your friend.”
“I had to be done,” Graeak responded softly. “For the safety of everyone.”
“What happened? What could have caused this?”
“I know not,” Graeak lied. “But what I saw shall haunt me forever. Hellric was taken by something. Perhaps a ritual gone wrong? A potion? Whatever the reason, I shall try to find out so it is never repeated. How fare your men?”
“We lost a few,” the Supreme Lance said, looking toward the stairway. “The rest are combing through the tower, searching for survivors.”
Graeak nodded and walked to the edge of the opening. He looked out over the city, staring at the pain and suffering his friend had unwittingly caused. Seeing his expression, Delonshire left him in peace, to join his men, looking for any that may have survived what had happened.
“Lord Loyalar?” came a soft voice a half-hour later. Graeak had not moved in all that time. He had just stood gazing into the city, thinking of all the memories he and Hellric had shared. When Delonshire called, he turned slowly.
“We found only one survivor. A small boy, about five winters.”
“A boy?” Graeak asked in confusion. Most of the apprentices that Hellric had taken on were in their later years, the youngest he knew of being about fifteen. He did not remember his friend mentioning a boy.
“Yes, my lord,” Delonshire said. “His mother and father were students here, accomplished wizards by the looks of them. It looks as though they hid him away when the madness started. We found him in a closet, buried underneath a mountain of clothing.”
“His parents?” Graeak asked. When the Supreme Lance shook his head, Graeak went silent. Delonshire did not elaborate on how the boy’s parents had been killed, and Graeak really did not want to know.
Graeak turned and looked into the city once more. Just another young innocent soul caught up in this tragedy, he thought to himself. How many more families had been destroyed because of Hellric’s actions? Because of his own lack of action? He knew of at least a dozen, a dozen or so apprentices who would never again see their mother or father again, whose families would spend the next weeks, months even, mourning the loss of their children.
“Does he have any other family?” Graeak asked, fearing the answer.
“None that he will speak of,” the Supreme Lance said. Graeak knew that meant the boy had other family that he was estranged from or that he truly was alone.
“So you know,” Delonshire added, seeing the distressed look on the wizard’s face, “the boy looks like a practicing wizard as well. He was dressed in robes and wielded a wand. Almost blasted us. Took a moment for him to recognize us as his saviors.”
Graeak looked at Delonshire, a hint of interest creeping onto his face. A five-year-old wielding magic? It was not unheard of but very rare. He could let the guards take the boy but Graeak knew what growing up in an orphanage could do to a child, especially one coming from tragedy. If he truly had the aptitude for magic, it would be lost unless he was placed in the proper care and tutelage. He only had one real choice.
“Please take him to my tower and tell Vambalar to give him food, new clothing, and a room to stay in. He is to by my...guest until he chooses otherwise.”
“I have already seen to it, Lord Loyalar,” Delonshire said with a smile, knowing Graeak would take the boy in. The wizard nodded and smiled back. Delonshire turned to go.
“What is his name?” Graeak asked before the Supreme Lance disappeared. He wanted to know what to call his new guest.
“The lad gave his name as Druzeel.”
Supreme Lance Delonshire gave his old friend one last look and left him in peace. Graeak turned back and looked into the city for a few more moments. With a heavy sigh, and an even heavier burden, he turned toward where the Orb of Decay lay and dismissed the illusion.
“I will find some way to destroy you,” he said to the orb. He felt an intense hatred but was able to focus his will and push it away. “But first the city needs my aid and a young boy needs a new teacher.”
Graeak left the chamber then, knowing he would have his hands full in the years to come, not just with trying to find a way to destroy the orb, but also with repairing all the damage his friend had done. He intended to start with repairing the city then turning his full attention to the young student that he had just inherited.
* * * * *