Chapter 12: Death and Destruction

Chapter 12: Death and Destruction

 

Ten days travel from the Temple brought Dyorn, and a very haggard, delirious, Yaren to a clearing in the Ashetar Forest.  Both men looked worn, and Yaren’s mad ramblings had wavered from near sanity to the total loss there of.  They both rested underneath the shade of the surrounding Lorevine Trees, Yaren’s insane cycle coming back around.  “We need somewhere to house our new road.  A determinable point that will last however long is necessary.”

Dyorn stared at the man.  Of all the things he had said, the sane things anyway, had never been helpful.  “What are you talking about?  A lasting structure would take years to complete.  Time that neither of us have!”

Yaren’s grin was truly that of a madman, only someone who had lost grip on reality could find anything remotely amusing about that.  “Fools one, fools all.  I had hope in you, Dyorn, but you are as bas as your father.  Possibly worse.  You think the Towers were built by hand?”  Yaren scoffed.  “And yet I’m the mad man.”  He chuckled and shook his head.  “Relax and watch.  Perhaps you’ll learn something and drive away that foolishness.”

Dyorn growled and found his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, more for the tone of his voice than his words.  “Gods be blessed, Yaren, if I didn’t need you I would have left you to rot.”

“And if it weren’t for my son I would never have agreed, and you would have died here.”  Yaren’s words were strained, his concentration elsewhere.  A faint rumbling tumbled Dyorn onto his back before the sound arrived.  An avalanche, rockslide, and a thunderstorm couldn’t match that sound.  “Temple of Blood, I call thee.  Arise, Heart of Black.”  His voice had changed each phrase more stone than human.  The rumbling became a roar.  The earth shook beneath their feet, though Yaren didn’t seem to notice.  Around him a temple rose from the ground.  Black obsidian stones rose to form the walls, than curved to make a dome.  Inside the Temple sat a lone alter of pure marble, the black of the walls making the white of the marble shine even more.

As Yaren entered, the alter was covered in midnight velvet, upon which sat a sword.  The blade of the sword was dark enough to make the walls seem light.  The hilt was finely crafted from a Lorevine tree, the magic of the wood flickering in the darkness.  Dyorn entered shortly after Yaren to find him flat on the floor, mumbling incoherently.  A sharp crack echoed in the temple as the Blackturner crest appeared etched around the doors.  “Miraculous.  Truly brilliant!”  He walked around the temple, stopping to examine the Blackturner’s Bane.  His hand reached out to grasp it, but was stopped by the steel grip of Yaren, who had somewhat recovered from his madness.

“Don’t.”  His words were hissed, eyes narrowed on Dyorn, his free hand hovering near the hilt of the dagger Dyorn had given him.  “You touch it and it is useless…touch it, Dyorn, and I will kill you.”  Yaren released his hand as Dyorn pulled back.  “This sword has one purpose, to destroy that evil brat who calls himself my son.  Understand there was no evil in my family before him.  We were champions for the first Andros who ascended the throne.”

Yaren’s voice lowered and Dyorn stared, unsure how to react to this.  “Our name says it all.  ‘Blackturner’.  The ascension didn’t go smoothly.  Many people hated your ancestors.  My family convinced them otherwise.  We spied, misinformed, and assassinated when necessary.  We proved ourselves to you, not with our successful undercurrents but years later.  Brell, now the Spirit Lord of the Lake of the Dead, revolted against Arkhan Andros, the tenth Andros on the throne.  He wanted to rule Dragonia, no matter what the cost.

“That was how the War of the Lake began, and Castlelake built, Castlelake was originally a fortress to protect the Royal Family.  It was during the final battle, called the battle of Rainon’s Thunder, or Rolling Thunder at the time.  Brell penetrated Castlelake, deceiving everyone with his monstrous horde.  He found the way to the bed chamber of Arkhan’s son and daughter.  My distant grandmother was guarding the Emperor’s wife, but by chance saw Brell enter.  Guessing his intention she followed.  Brell was about to murder Sala, Arkhan’s daughter.  M y grandmother stopped him, and died in the process.

“Before she died she killed Brell as well, earning the Blackturner’s their place at the Emperor’s left side.”

Yaren fell silent and Dyorn stared, at a loss for words.  The silence stretched for minutes before Dyorn spoke.  “And there you have been, supporting every Andros that came to power.”

“Yes, Until Kagain.  That ungrateful wretch wanted power beyond him.  The truth is I know he is not my son.  My former wife, rest her soul, was known to be a bit friendlier with men of power.  I was blinded by love, and refused to believe it until she was with child.  She died birthing him; her last words till haunt me.  ‘My love, forgive me’.

“I decided then to raise Kagain, and if it wasn’t for your birth days prior, and the kindness of your late mother he would have died.”  Yaren’s laughed as he picked up the sword.  “If I had not asked your mother’s help, none of this would have happened.  Interesting, isn’t it?  How our choices come back to ruin us.”

“If you love your wife so, and Kagain, what made you create something with the soul purpose of destroying him?”

“I loved Kagain as my own son, until he started to show his true nature.  He clung to you, Dyorn, for the Power he received.  When your mother died, and you and your father were grieving, he saw me with the power to rule…and he wanted it.  He tried desperately to allow him to ‘learn the ways of an Emperor’ as he put it.  When I denied him, he snapped.  He learned all the demonic magic he could, and is still learning more.  I knew he would attempt to take over so I vowed to stop him.  Thus, this sword came to be.  There is just one thing left before it is complete.

“After I create the Mage Road I will bind my soul, and every other righteous Blackturner soul I can summon.  Kagain and every other Blackturner born of his blood will be in endless torment until this sword has fulfilled its destiny, or is destroyed.”

“Than let us finish what you started.  Sixteen years from now my friends have gathered to defeat Kagain.  Return me, Yaren, so you may rest in peace and I can rule Dragonia, and give you your proper honor.”

Yaren smiled sadly towards Dyorn.  “Perhaps there may yet be hope for you.  Wait outside, and rest.  It seems that you will need it when you return.”  Dyorn left and Yaren eyed the sword in his hand.  “A shame how he will die.”  Yaren’s eyes closed as he felt his Power hidden in the blade.  He pulled on the Power than spoke.  “Road of Place, Road of Time.  Mages create, the Road divine.  Here and now, there and then.  Open the door, to where and when.”  A single hole appeared in the air next to the alter; a faint blue haze illuminated the Temple.

Dyorn saw the light and entered, just in time to catch Yaren before he fell.  “Yaren, are you alright?”

Yaren mumbled incoherently and madly for a few minutes before getting another grip on himself.  “Go Dyorn, for our future and your present.  Imagine this place in sixteen years and that is when you will e.  May you succeed where I am destined to fail.”

“Good luck, and thank you Yaren.  May the Gods protect you, and the Dragon’s Flame reside in your heart[1].”  Dyorn stepped through the gate and onto the Mage Roads.

“A Dragonian Imperial Knights farewell…perhaps he will succeed.”  He returned the sword, cutting himself in the process.  “My blood is your blood.  Ancestors, I call upon you.  Evil has been born to us, help me to punish him, and all others that follow in his line.”  A silver light illuminated the Temple, surrounding the Blackturner’s Bane.  Each light, a Blackturner soul from the start of their righteous ways, embedded itself in the sword, each making it even darker.  The last soul, Yaren’s, stood near the sword.  “Here I shall stand until the time comes for Kagain to die.”

Yaren’s body stepped through the portal, laughing.  “Hello ‘Father’.”  He never saw the knife in Kagain’s hand.  Nor did he feel his heart explode, leaving his essence to flow freely down the blade to pool on the floor.  “Welcome home.”  Kagain’s evil laughter echoed in the halls of their home.  Once the laughing faded a Blood curdling scream ripped through the silence.  “MURDER!”

 

Dyorn stepped onto the Mage Roads, and found himself bathed in a shimmering blue light.  Everything had an ethereal, unfinished, bring of creation look and feel.  He looked around and saw nothing.  There was no doorways, or gates, nor even a path.  Everything looked to extend in every direction for as far as the eye could see.  He set off directly ahead, picturing the temple in his own time.  Gates began to appear, showing the passage of a year each time.  At the sixteenth gate he paused, admiring how very little had changed.  The marble alter had dulled a it over the years, but that was all.

Lyra entered the temple, and reached for the Bane.  Dyorn watched in shock as the bane vanished.  He saw Lyra’s mouth move, but he couldn’t hear her speak.  Minutes passed before the Bane reappeared.  Lyra rushed out of the Temple, the Bane wrapped in the black velvet upon which it had sat.  He saw Alora fall to the ground through the open door.  Lyra retrieved the bane, and loomed over her, smiling.  “Lyra!”

Dyorn rushed off of the Road and leapt out of the tower.  “Killing you, my dear.  Your father will have no choice but to give me what I want.”  The Bane flashed hungrily towards Alora, only to find Dyorn.

Alora looked at Dyorn, who had pushed her out of the way just in time.  The Bane had run through Dyorn the hilt pressed tight against his chest, precisely where his heart lay beating to a stop.

A high pitched squeal pierced the clearing.  The Temple started to shake, sending dust in all directions.  Brell, who had been impersonating Lyra, had already fled leaving them both to die.

Rocks began to crumble away from the Temple, forcing Alora to drag Dyorn’s lifeless body to safety.  The squeal only became higher, and louder, only to stop.  Moments passed in endless silence before an earth quaking explosion issued forth, sending pieces of what had been the Blackturner Temple high into the air to rain down upon everyone.

A slightly quieter squeal rang loudly in Alora’s ears.  She looked to Dyorn just in time to see the Bane shatter, every piece vanishing with a ghostly wail of shock and agony.  Only the hilt, and a short knife sized piece of the blade remained in tact.

Alora slumped the  ground, eyes downcast, and tears racing down her cheeks.  Barely suppressed sobs rocked her body for a few minutes before a beastly how was torn from her.  All of her hatred toward her father, all of the pain she had hid, all became too much.  The first man to see her as more than a Blackturner was dead.

Though Dragonia didn’t know, its darkest day had dawned.  Kagain was succeeding and the one man who could have stopped him, their Emperor, Dyorn Andros had been slain by an ancient enemy of the Andros, in the form of his beloved wife.

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[1] As a way of wishing luck to a soldier, each company of knights has their own specific farewell.  Using the farewell of the Imperial Knights bestows the highest honor on a person.