Stillborn 1 - The Dark Kingdom: Chapter 16

 

16.

Garaz laughed maliciously as he made a small gesture with his staff. Thousands of little Sul'Awen signs flashed brightly, and it seemed as if the staff was suddenly ignited in silvery flames. Aniceth felt searing heat inside of him, scorching the flesh beneath his skin. The pain faded fast, but the immense strength of it left him gasping for air, helpless, perfectly incapacitated. Barely able to stand with every muscle aching and twitching, Aniceth leaned against the cave wall to support himself, struggling against the overwhelming weakness that refused to leave his body.

Garaz leaned against his staff with a cruel smile playing on his thin lips.

”How do you like my new staff, Aniceth?” He asked playfully, ”You may remember it from my last visit to the Bel'Derian house.”

How could he forget? The mystic had been holding the same staff ten years ago when he had appeared in the training hall, the very same one where they had cruelly backstabbed Brend, completing the plan of betrayal that sealed his fate. He began to understand the true power of this staff before the mystic said one word about secrets it contained.

”It's designed specifically against Gargoyles,” the mystic informed him, a shade of genuine pride in his voice.

The staff was still glowing soft light that seemed to be directed toward Aniceth as if it recognised him as an enemy.

Garaz approached him, chuckling to himself. ”See, I know you could kill me in a blink of an eye, so I had to prepare myself in case you would disappoint me.”

Aniceth was able to feel terrible might radiating from the staff. He knew that Garaz was going to kill him, and there was nothing he could do to stop him, not with this unnatural weakness still lingering in his muscles. Feeling his strength drained, Aniceth knew he could not stand for much longer, for his knees felt wobbly and his whole body was shivering from the effort to stand still.

”I must finally admit it, Aniceth,” the mystic added sadly. ”A disappointment is what you have been, all along the way.”

”I never wanted to use this weapon against you, but you leave me no choice.”

Raising the glowing staff high in the air, Garaz took a step back, preparing for the final strike that would end his failed experiment. But because of the light, the Darfin was able to see again. Using the moment they were talking, he sneaked behind the mystic without being noticed. And as Garaz was getting ready to deliver Aniceth a mortal strike with his staff, the Darfin pulled the back of his robe to gain his full, undivided attention. Garaz had not though of the possibility of the Darfin interfering his actions. He thought the slave would have escaped into the darkness by now, and he was very irritated to realize that was not the case. Garaz swang his staff all the way around him, attempting to smack this annoying creature out of the way, and if the Darfin would have been just an inch or two taller, he would have been killed instantly by the flaming weapon, but this time it swept harmlessly through the air just above the Darfin's head.

”You missed, old man,” the Darfin informed him before kicking the mystic in the knee as hard as he could.

The Darfins are not very tall, but they are sturdy and strong, and his worn boot crushed the kneecap, causing the blind mystic to shriek in sudden pain. His staff dropped from his hand; the glow faded almost instantly as his concentration faltered. Aniceth felt his strength returning as he watched his creator wriggling on the ground, moaning and swearing.

The Darfin moved quickly and kicked the fallen staff farther away from the mystic, who was already trying to wrap his fingers around it.

”He is all yours!” the Darfin yelled through the darkness, hoping for Aniceth to recover faster than the mystic could regain the control of himself.

Over by the cave wall, Aniceth was standing on his own, and his thermal vision was beginning to work again, He saw Garaz on the floor, crawling away as fast as he could, but the injured mystic was too slow.

The cold brimidian blade landed on Garaz's neck, freezing him to place. The aura of fear radiating from Foregil began to strangle his heart, and he found himself shivering with cold sweat running down on his back.

”I could kill you easily, old man,” Aniceth said emotionlessly.

”Go ahead then, cut my throat, you cursed, worthless worm,” Garaz growled defeated, and for a moment it seemed like Aniceth was seriously considering it, but then he retreated away from the helpless mystic.

”You are not worth it,” he then said. ”Crawl back to the Dark Kingdom and live the rest of your miserable life feeling the failure of this day in your heart.”

Aniceth sheathed his blade and walked away. In the middle of the darkness he heard the words of might being whispered, and further down the tunnel he saw the staff on the floor, responding to the mystic's chant by glowing faintly again.

”Beware! The staff is coming alive!” the Darfin's anxious warning echoed in the tunnel.

Aniceth knew immediately what was happening. Faster than a thought, Foregil was in his hand again, and with an incredible haste he leaped forward and struck the sword through the old man's back. The brimidian blade pierced through his wildly beating heart, breaking his concentration and thus interrupting the spell.

Garaz tried to say something, but gushes of blood rushing out from his throat drowned his words, the staff turned dark and lifeless once again.

Aniceth drew his sword out from the mystic's body and rolled him over to make sure he was dead. The white, milky eyes were open, an expression of fear and frustration was frozen on his dead face. Aniceth remained still for a while, gazing down at the man who was responsible for his existence. He felt unspeakable anger inside of his heart, an urge to break and tear the body of this man into a bloody mess.

The Darfin brought him back from his deep thoughts by handing the staff to him.

”Do you think you could get the crystal to work? I could really use the light.”

Aniceth looked at the staff and smiled tiredly. ”I believe I can if I study these signs for a little while.”

Realizing the insanity of such urge, he sheathed his sword and focused on the Darfin's problem. Mangling the dead mystic's body would not make a difference for him.

 

* * *

 

After a few minutes studying the staff, Aniceth had figured out enough to invoke the light of the crystal. He knew the staff had a lot more to it than just that, but his limited skill with the secret language prevented him from fully understanding the potential it had. He hummed the words to activate the crystal and it began to shine a soft, white light.

”That's so much better, thank you,” the Darfin said and sat down on the ground.

”What are you doing?” Aniceth wondered.

”Waiting for my death,” the Darfin replied shortly with a bit of sarcasm in his voice. ”I'm still a slave of the bluedust fungus, so I don't have much hope left. It doesn't matter if I lose my mind here or somewhere farther away.”

Aniceth smiled lightly, picking a good sized cloth pouch from his pocket. ”As you can see, I have a lot of it with me, plenty for you to make it all the way back home.”

The Darfin raised an eyebrow. ”My people might have an antidote for it, but why would you, an Arathan, do such a favor for a mere slave like me?”

Aniceth smiled again. ”I need a guide to show me the way out as I have never stepped outside of my homeland. Besides, I really don't want to see you die in here like so many others. The bluedust addiction means a slow and very painful death, no one deserves a fate like that.”

”But why would you want to get out? There is nothing for your kind out there,” the Darfin insisted, still unable to believe his ears.

”There is nothing for me here either,” Aniceth said firmly, but at the same time so sadly that it made the Darfin halt his questions, and instead scratch his long beard thoughtfully.

”You do seem different for an Arathan,” he then said, ”I would sure like to hear your tale one day, but right now we have to get away from here. These tunnels are not safe.”

Aniceth nodded in agreement, there was no time for telling stories.

”I am Angwar Frostfire,” the Darfin introduced himself as he walked to the dead Sin'Garath warrior and picked up his sword from the ground.

”Aniceth An'Arath,” Aniceth replied quietly.

Angwar studied the sword for a while, pouting his nose at the unfamiliar weapon. ”Not exactly a spear or an axe, but it will do until I find something better. Let us move ahead then, Aniceth Annarath,” Angwar prompted. His wrongly pronounced version of Aniceth's last name made the Arathan smile, but he did not bother to correct it. The Sin'Garath name was simply too strange for the Darfin's tongue.

They did not talk much, for there was not much to be said, but a new, fragile hope was blooming in their hearts. Aniceth knew his appearance would always be a burden for him, and he was scared of what would happen once Angwar finds out what he really is. The soft light of the staff had not revealed his eyes to the Darfin yet, and in the darkness the red glow meant nothing more than an indication of the ability to sense thermal light. But sooner or later, it was going to happen, and that would truly measure this Darfin's heart. Could he see through the veil of a Gargoyle into the good soul behind those intimidating eyes?