[2] Prologue for my novel (updated version will be up shortly)

Prologue



            A dark figure stood on the crest of a hill, gazing out towards an expanse of trees.  A slight breeze blew over the hill lifting the black shawls that encompassed the lone soul.  The moon Envestier full in the sky with her sister, Ingrith adding her silver light, cast the figure into the shadows of a great oak that it stood next to.  The oak, which should have been covered with leaves of spring, was now only covered with soot and ash from an immense fire.  The tree's usual brown bark now bleached grey from its roots to the tip of the highest branch.

            "Darnicht," the figure spoke in a low whisper.  It disappeared leaving only an impression in the ashes where it had been standing.

            Soft tufts of ash formed clouds up in the air as invisible feet created small depressions in the soot.  Holding in a gagging sound as it breathed in the clouds of ash that were just settling down it walked on towards the Petrified Forest.  It remembered every minute detail of that night, the night of pain and fire, of blood and death.  Bet even more clearly was the morning which brought ash and loss.  Remembering the past only made the pace of the invisible traveler quicken.

***

A pair of eyes sat staring from between two black oaks and their undergrowth calculating every move the hooded group made.  Their black robes as dark as pitch, at times, made members of the group blend in seamlessly with the darkness between the trees.  The only reason why most of the congregation was visible was due to the light of a bonfire.  The stack of petrified wood stood well over ten feet in height and was possibly twice as wide.  The flickering flames were eerily silent.  They danced over the fuel, reaching up to touch some of the scarce branches of the trees that stuck into the earth like thousands of arrow shafts shot from on high.  The figures seemed to glide aimlessly over the rocky soil.  The sound of a gentle breeze rustling the trees' leaves came to rest on the eyes' keen ears.  But there was no breeze to be felt and no leaves in the trees.  The mass of bodies seemed to flow together and apart like the wind blowing one way and then the other, splitting into two separate entities then entwining together.  Suddenly the pace of those in the stone meadow, where nothing grew, quickened.  The "breeze" became a confused mumbling as the volume increased.  Barely breathing, the shrouded observer in black shawls and darkness itself, watched as the hooded members' movement became faster almost frantic.  The mumbling was now audible... it was a spell spoken in some strange language of which the invisible watcher could only understand, a handful of words.  Faster and faster those in the stone meadow moved, and as their pace increased, so did the height of the soundless flames.

            "Har oo servanteles deaemon Öf de sivth circl Öf Hell en Darnicht.  List tu Ör sairvin.  Har oo servanteles deaemon Öf de sivth circl Öf Hell en Darnicht.  List tu Ör sairvin.  Har oo servanteles deaemon Öf de sivth circl Öf Hell en Darnicht.  List tu Ör sairvin."  Without warning they stopped.  The hooded figures stood in a circle around the fire, which was slowly returning to normal.  Four people came into the circle three were robed, one wearing nothing.  The cloth less one was being dragged between two of the hooded three, the other led them to a spot near the bonfire.  The leader bore a crimson insignia on the front of its robes, which marked it out from all the plain black robes of the underlings.  The two bearers began turning their burden to face him towards the fire.  Just as he was being turned though his haunted eyes were caught in a stare by the eyes of those observing from between the trees in the darkness.  The utter terror and pain in those eyes caused several images to go through the hidden figure's mind. 

            Children laughing and playing in the sun and the fields, adults in long smoke grey robes conducted business, talked, and laughed together.  A family sitting around a fire on Autumn's Eve.  A mother teaching a daughter to throw knives with deadly accuracy, the secret hand-to-hand combat, passed down from a beautiful woman to her equally beautiful daughter, a rock hit the girl on the head to show what had given her away and to tell her that she had been found in one of the endless stealth exercises she was put through daily. 

            Forgetting the situation the one watching smiled, remembering the happier memories of its past.  Suddenly its teeth were clenched as new images flooded and suffocated the first ones.  Fire sprang up on the rooftops.  Children screamed, men and women ran about only to be shot down, arrows sticking out of their bodies.  Their once grey robes now stained scarlet from their blood, clinging to burning flesh.  A burst of light, brothers and sisters screaming.  More light, a grunt, more screaming.  Then as the mercenary bore down on the last child a knife flashed in the firelight, and then plunged into the temple of the careless soldier of fortune.  Pain that reached for back into the past, hate that ran deep to the core of the being shrouded in darkness, an impulse to move and to kill the hooded figures rushed through it as these nightmarish images replaced the happiness.

            The darkness hissed in anger, its hands finding comfort as they closed around the hilts of two unique throwing knives hidden in its shawls.  Its eyes burned more intensely than the fire as it fought to regain its composure.  It had waited too long to let this chance slip away.  If nothing were learned the individual cloaked in the essence of night would kill the hooded congregation, or die trying.  Nothing else mattered.

***

            _________ smirked as his captive now faced the fire whimpering and pleading.  It was all futile, of course, but the way he hyperventilated, the jerky movement of his eyes as they rolled and rolled, like a rabbit's eyes before the fox clamps more firmly, ending the pain.  It all touched him perversely.  The grips of his disciples were like the iron shackles that had held their prisoner captive for the past two days and nights.  Escape was unthinkable, not to mention the number of others around them.

            Dropping into the same language as the chant the two ritual servants stated in a monotone, "service given without consent, service freely taken."  Then suddenly the one on the left of the man released the man's arm with one hand, and then grabbing a fist full of hair, he yanked back.  The man howled as a new wave of agony sprouted from his scalp and wound its way throughout his head.

            If this wasn't so risky, _____ thought to himself, I would love to do this more often.  Closing his cerulean eyes he began the ritual chant, "har oo servanteles deaemon Öf de sivth circl Öf Hell en Darnicht.  List tu Ör sairvin."  As he droned on repeating the chant he began to raise a blade of the blackest obsidian, crafted into a bland and handle, whose edges are razor sharp.  It was a very plain knife without any special curves or jewels.  What made it special was how it was forged, and in the end, blessed with unholy words. 

The stone needed to make this knife was taken from the top of (Volcano Name), which is said to be a direct portal to the twelve circles of Hell.  Then the obsidian was ground into the finest powder, which is then soaked in blood from unicorns and humans.  After three moon turns of soaking the mixture is then hardened in a forge.  The bodies of captives and slaves that no longer have any use fuel the flames.  After the blade has been forged, the High Anarch Mage himself carved the glyphs in the blade and blessed it with unholy words and in his own blood.  Hundreds died in the making of the High Anarch Mage's ritual knife.

            The captive now faced the fire whimpering and crying out.  Pleading with the hooded figures.  ____ droned on with the monotone chant raising the blade.  The runes started glowing as the chant was continued.

            The prisoner screamed, and screamed, and screamed.  His eyes went wide, his dilated pupils prominent to the whites.  He screamed incoherently, hysterically while the blade was lifted higher into the air.  Then with a great arching swoop ___ swung the knife horizontally, cutting through the victim's throat.  Blood spurted out onto the logs and into the fire.  No hiss was heard where one should have been.

            The chant halted abruptly, the only sound was the gurgling of the now dying prisoner.  His scarlet blood stained the rocks in front of him and pooled around him.  The silent fire continued to dance as any normal fire would.

            Did something go wrong? ___ thought to himself.  Did somebody mispronounce a word or speak too quickly or too slow?  It seemed impossible, for ___ had chosen only the disciples that were competent.  Even then they had practiced for the last few tendays endlessly to perfect the ritual.  They had found excuses to tell or show their wives or masters.  The man on the left of the prisoner, which was the second most important position in the scheme of the ritual, had even persuaded a mountain troll into attacking the outer most village of Helbane, the city where the majority of the Chaos Templars lived.  He had also ensnared and possessed a (giant wolf).  (description).  Possessing in itself is something the High Chaos Mages have difficulty doing.  Let alone finding one of the cunning beasts.  But alas it broke free well after it had wreaked enough carnage.

            That's one I need to look after, ___ thought.

            Then just as the fears of all of those in the circle almost became audible a great pillar of flames erupted from the bonfire.

           

***

            The column of flames that had unexpectedly shot out from the fire in the middle of the stone meadow blinded the figure where it crouched in hiding.  Rising in an instant it pierced the clouds above the clearing.  The column punched a hole through the thick clouds and bathed them in its yellow (opaqueness/glow/radiance) as it created a vortex, which the cloud began to get drained into. 

A deafening roar, like a thousand of battle ready (dragons/berserkers) blasted outward from the tower of orange and yellow.  The sound wave pressed the robes of the hooded Chaos Templars against their bodies.  The body of their sacrificial lamb was picked off the ground and flung towards the encircling trees over the invisible watcher.  Its flaccid body contorted sickeningly around the tree as it smashed into it.  The invisible shawls of the figure were whipped about behind it as the constant gust of wind was propelled from the newly heated area.  Some of the Chaos Templars were blown over, creating gaps in the circle.  The leader and the two templars with him stood erect and unmoving, even though they had taken the biggest hit of heat and air.  It turned the rocks near it into embers that glowed with the same intensity, smoking as the temperature increased.

_____ grimaced as the flames licked closer and closer to his body.  The heat was reaching to the point of where it was becoming unbearable.  Then the fire returned to a bonfire but this one twice the size of when it had started.  A black mass formed in the center of the flames, its shape becoming more defined every moment.  ___ gaped at what now stood before him a full fifty feet tall, with two black horns that curved out from its shoulders and head.  Its skin, a hue darker than ebony, was streaked with crisscrossing veins of a glowing red substance.  Its arms were like oak trees with mammoth claws at the ends, each finger resembled enormous swords. 

            "Who disturbs I?" the demon spoke in guttural tones.

            ___ was speechless.  The colossal being in front of him was nothing like what he had imagined.  "Bistch."  With the single word, black chains began to pin the demon to the portal.  The word was repeated all around the three templars standing closest to the demon.  The three of them yelled the word in unison after everyone else had reiterated it. 

"What treachery is this?" the demon roared.

            "You'd as soon help us as destroy us," _____ stated as if explaining this to a child, "I don't see any reason why I should take the chance of releasing you just yet."

            "On the contrary, petty human, by releasing me I would be," the demon paused, "most gratified."

            "Be that as it may it is also for your own safety.  If you are to be released now the Order Templars would release their Demon Trackers and destroy you in an instant.  You are too valuable to lose."  The demon subsided a little and some of the strain of the chains was eased. 

            "Point taken petty human."  It looked to ____ as if the being in front of him was smirking, if that was possible.  _____ turned his back towards the demon behind him.

            "Vanter," the servant that had been on the left side of the prisoner spoke.  A globe of water shot forth from the cracks in the rocks and hurdled at the demon.  ____ whirled around, his black robes twirling around as he turned to look at the Demon King of the Seventh Hell just in time to see the water collide into the back of the demon's throat.  He stared at the steam rising up from the demon's mouth; its eyes were glowing red, brighter than the embers of the fire that it had been transported to.  The demon roared in agony as steam began to escape and rise from its mouth. 

            "You wouldn't want to do that, Demon of the Seventh Hell," the servant spoke.



______ wrenched his neck to look at the disciple that had just spoken.  "What in the twelve hells just happened," he yelled perplexed.  The servant laughed softly.

            "Well to put it lightly, sir, you were almost incinerated by this oversized piece of scorched rock that was unfortunate enough not to be born with a mind capable of possessing the mental capacity of a squirrel," the servant that had shot the water out said matter-of-factly.  "I just happened to be paying attention and saved your life by sending water into the back of the things throat when he opened it to shoot a fire ball at you."

            "Thank you, thank you very much," _____ stammered trying and failing to keep his composure for an instant.

            ______ turned back towards the demon, "now, petty demon, are you ready to begin or are you going to continue to waste my precious time?" The sharp, commanding edge had slipped back into his voice.  The demon from the Seventh Hell just stood there his mouth clamped shut and his mind blocked off from any telepathic communication.  "I think our little friend needs some reminding of who he's dealing with and maybe a little coaxing."  ______ turned around and walked between the two ritual servants.  Placing his hand on the servant's shoulder that had saved him, he leaned in and whispered into his ear, "have some fun." 

The servant sneered, "As you wish, my lord."  _____ continued to walk for a couple of paces and then turned around.

"_____, to my side."  The other servant followed and stood just behind and to the side of the High Anarch Mage.

The servant stretched out his arm and opened his hand palm down.  "Vanter," the servant invoked.  Water sprang up from the cracks and into his hand.  It formed into a handle and then continued to lengthen until it was over six feet in length.  The handle became as solid as any piece of wood, but the rest of the water continued to ungulate.  The demon stared at the water with a look of fear that it didn't even know it possessed.  The servant stepped forward, oblivious to the heat that caused his outline to shimmer distorting it into a black form that none of the Chaos Templars could recognize.  The servant raised his arm and brought it crashing down.  The length of water followed in an arch behind his hand and just as it seemed it would do nothing, he wrenched his hand back and the water cracked against the demon's flesh in a whip-like fashion.  Where the water whip had struck the demon steam began to rise.  The once black flesh cracked and exposed the bright orange, magma of its vulnerable insides.  In quick succession the servant whipped the demon over and over again, unrelenting and without mercy.  The hissing of the demon's disintegrating shell caused the other templars faces to tighten and their eyes to dart around the circle to see if they weren't the only ones reacting to one of their owns actions.  The demon began writhing, struggling to free itself from the magical chains that bound it to the portal.  The protective plates on its shoulders split with a resounding crack as the chains bit into the demon's shell. 

The Demon King launched a claw out to snatch up its torturer, but missed as the servant sidestepped the attack.  As the demon retracted its arm, the disciple leaned back and lashed out with his whip, catching and snaring the demon's arm.  Its flesh hissed and popped as the water bit into it.  The demon howled and began flailing the captured arm.  The servant wrenched the whip as hard as he could, leaning back into it.  The Demon King of the Seventh Circle was yanked forward, the chains cutting deeper.  The watery noose began closing, threatening to sever off the claw.  "Why don't you pull harder?" he cried in a maniac tone.  He leaned back and began backpedaling pulling the lasso tighter and causing the chains to bore deeper.  The demon's slitted eyes went wide in pain.  Grinning insanely, the disciple's breathing came out in great rushes as he pulled harder, spittle flying from his lips.  Those watching kept as straight of faces as was possible, twitching nervously as they watched one of their members seemingly lose his mind.

He groaned as he pulled with all of his strength, and with that final heave the hoop closed and sliced the hand of the demon clean off.

Just when they thought he was done he began laughing.  It started as a low chuckle and then rose to one of extreme ecstasy.  The other templars wore masks of shock as one of their brethren began to lose his insanity in front of their eyes.  "You're tougher than I thought, Demon of the Seventh Hell," the servant said in a sarcastic tone.  With that he began whipping with a fury not comparable to the previous ones.  He rained down over fifty blows in only a minute.  Each strike made contact with the demon's exposed flesh and caused the demon to struggle more against the chains that bound it to the portal that it had entered the material world through.  Each hit caused more steam to rise until finally an unearthly roar ripped through the night as the King of the Seventh Hell finally began to give in.

"I think he's ready to talk my apprentice," _____ spoke to the obvious displeasure of his servant.

The disciple looked up at the hunched form in front of him.  Large chunks of the Demon King's black shell were missing from where he had whipped them off.  Deep rivets bore streaks in the demon's shoulder from the binding chains it had been pulled against.  "Pitiful," the servant breathed and turned to walk away

"As you wish, Master," he spoke with an almost sarcastic tone to the work, master.  _____ let it slide.

"Now demon, are you ready to delegate?"  The High Anarch Mage's apprentice stood directly behind him.  The demon glanced over at his tormentor who wore a malevolent grin.  He was causing the water whip to twirl around his body and back into the palm of his hand, making sure that it would catch the light so that the demon would know that it was at hand.  The demon was not the only one that was afraid of the sight.

"I'll tell you what I know, of whatever it is that you ask," the demon projected into everyone's minds.  It no longer carried the arrogant tone of power nor, did he refer the High Anarch Mage as a petty human.

"Good, now that that particular portion of business is settled we can move on to more important matters.  There was a prophecy that I by happenchance heard," he gave a sly but all too obvious wink to the templar he had referred to as apprentice, "and I need to know everything, and I do mean everything, that you know about this prophecy.  It consisted of thus:


Born unto the Light

Of those of the Light

Darkness at birth may not touch the Child of the Light

But vulnerable it is when grown

 

The Dark fear its birth place

The child's birth may or may not be the downfall of the Darkness

Its life is the hope of those of the Light

And in its grasp, it holds the demise of the Darkness

 

            The Demon King of the Seventh Hell began to snigger deep in his throat.  "Oh this is too much," he laughed some more, "it spells it out for you.  The child will be born of our enemy, the Order Templars, which is what 'Born unto the Light' means.  The rest of it is as it seems, the child must not live but it is untouchable until it  is no longer a babe.  The longer you delay the slaying of this Child of the Light, the greater the chance that it will be trained in the killing of demons and yourselves."

            "But how will we know who it is?"

            "You will not know.  That is a great problem of which you will have to face and I shall contemplate.  But think before you act, for if this goes awry then all will be for not and we may not have a second chance."

       ____ nodded several times contemplating what his next move would be.  "You are right, Demon King, we will call on you if your help is needed."

            The Demon King began sniggering again, "I'm sure we'll meet again because of this subject before you've found it."

              The great expanse of flames that had been the Demon King's portal to the material world began to recede with an inward suction of air that howled through the trees; until it was nothing but a sphere of light no bigger than that of an average man's head in the center of what would have been the petrified woodpile. 

Their bindings no longer needed, the gathering began to disperse into nothingness as one-by-one they all disappeared from the clearing to predetermined destinations, leaving behind their sacrifice, the watcher, and the spherical flame.  Seeing the danger in staying put, the shrouded observer quickly turned and began sprinting as fast as it could from the clearing, stumbling over half exposed rocks in its haste. 

The orb suddenly exploded and a ring of fire was released from its epicenter, rippling outwards.  Trees exploded as the ring passed through them and everything burst into flames.  The now visible spectator looked back over its shoulder to see a shimmering heat wave rushing towards it, but even before it could turn its head around, the heated gust caught up and flung it through the air.  Its head missed a tree by a hairsbreadth and it crashed onto the packed ground with a thud.  The halo of flames dissipated moments before reaching the prone form of the onlooker, its life spared.  Assessing that it had not sustained too much damage the observer got up and began moving away, a new purpose in its step. 

End of Prologue