The Bane of Karrak_Ascension Read online

  About the Author

  Robert’s first book, The Ascension of Karrak, was published in March of 2017 and this is the second instalment of an enthralling trilogy, not a bad result for an inaugural publication. Winged creatures, slimy beasts and magnificent dragons have always dwelled in his thoughts, and he wants to share them all with you.

  Harbouring the typical self-doubt that lies within most of us, Robert delayed penning his ideas for far too long, choosing instead to pursue a 35-year career in the retail furniture trade. What a waste!

  Originally writing this story for his wife, Jane, in an attempt to raise her spirits whilst she was seriously ill, it never crossed his mind to submit it to a publisher. She, however, despite her ill-health, believed in him far more than he believed in himself.

  If this is your first venture into Robert’s world, enjoy. If you’ve read his first book, Welcome back.

  Robert J Marsters

  The Bane of Karrak

  ASCENSION TWO OF THREE

  Copyright © Robert J Marsters (2017)

  The right of Robert J Marsters to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-1-9996518-3-1 (Paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-9996518-2-4 (EBook)

  Acknowledgements

  To my wife Jane, for her continued support, as always. Thank you, I love you.

  To Nick Berriman, my faithful test-pilot, you survived again. Thank you, my friend.

  To Lucy James and Kenny Andrew, of The Studio Tettenhall. Thank you for yet another stunning book cover design.

  To David Berriman, for sharing his wealth of experience and giving his valuable time so freely. Thank you, David.

  To everyone at Austin Macauley, for their diligence and professionalism in setting me on the right path. I feel honoured to be accepted as one of your featured authors.

  Finally, to all of my friends, well-wishers and people who have purchased either the first, second or both of my books, a huge, huge thank you.

  CHAPTER 1

  Burying his face in his hands, Emnor collapsed to his knees. The destruction of Reiggan Fortress and the slaughter of countless friends and colleagues were too much for him to comprehend. Raising his head, he stared, a glazed look in his eyes as he surveyed the corpses of fallen wizards all around him. Karrak, it seemed, had spared no one. From learned seniors, similar in age to himself, to young novices, barely in their teenage years, all had been butchered mercilessly by either Karrak himself or one of his followers.

  Each face Emnor gazed upon brought a memory, a memory of a discussion, a collaboration or even an argument that had taken place decades, if not centuries, before.

  Hannock stood behind him and placed his hand on the old wizard’s shoulder. “Why, why would Karrak do this? Surely, the artefact can’t be that important to him?” he asked.

  “His mind was consumed by the thought of possessing The Elixian Soul, Captain. This is only the beginning of the atrocities, he truly is insane. You forget that I have faced him, I saw the madness in his eyes. He will not stop until he dominates the entire world,” replied Emnor.

  “This may sound like a stupid question, Emnor, but is there anything I can do to help?”

  Emnor sighed, “I think it best that you return to Jared and your companions. The danger has passed here. These were our friends, it seems only fitting that we should be the ones to lay them to rest.”

  Hannock nodded and turned away.

  Harley, having heard the entire conversation, approached him, “I’ll take you back to Cheadleford Village. We’ll rejoin you later,” he said quietly.

  ***

  Harley returned almost immediately to find that Emnor, having composed himself, was instructing Xarran, Alex and Drake on their next, woeful course of action. As difficult as it would be for all concerned, the bodies of the fallen would have to be dealt with. However, with so many dead, they would not receive the proper ceremony they deserved. Emnor stood in the centre of the courtyard, chanting quietly, offering a prayer to the various gods in which his friends had believed. He raised his arms and looked to the skies as a huge, bright green, magical flame appeared before him. This was no mere bonfire, no heat came from the fuel-less inferno.

  For many hours they toiled. Wrapping each corpse tightly within its own robes, one by one the victims were levitated into the heart of the flame. There was no smoke or separate flame from the cadavers; they simply evaporated silently, Emnor speaking the name of each individual as his body vanished.

  With the cremations seemingly complete, Harley approached Emnor. He could see in his master’s eyes that the proceedings had taken their toll on him, more mentally than physically, although he hid it well.

  “Master Emnor,” he began, “there is nothing more for us to be concerned with at the moment. Why don’t you rest?”

  Emnor shook his head vaguely, “No. No time, Harley. There may be survivors! We must begin a search of Reiggan immediately. I should have thought of it before. What if there are some of our friends locked in rooms or trapped in the basements?”

  “Alright, Master,” replied Harley, quickly, “we’ll start right away, but you wait here. We can squeeze through gaps more easily than you, and if there are any survivors who find their way here, you will be here to greet them.”

  “No, I should come with you,” insisted Emnor.

  “And should anyone find their own way out and discover the courtyard empty? They may flee, thinking that they are alone,” urged Harley. “You must stay here, Master.”

  “Stop treating me as if I am some sort of frail old man, Harley. I have seen worse horrors than this!” snapped Emnor.

  “Alright, here’s the truth of it,” said Harley, snapping back at his master, “If Karrak comes back while we’re in there, you’ll be able to defend us! I don’t want him creeping up behind us while we are searching in the darkness! Only you are strong enough to face him, we’re not, and I don’t want to die today!”

  ***

  “Xarran, give me a hand to move some of this rubble, would you?”

  “Don’t you have any muscle at all, Alex?” asked Drake.

  “Not as much as you Drake, and it’s Alexander.”

  Xarran moved across the room toward Alex, attempting to find gaps amongst the masonry in which to position his feet. “Have you found something?” he asked.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” replied Alex. “There seems to be a hollow space between here and the wall.”

  Drake joined them and together they carefully moved the larger pieces of rock. “Hang on…” said Drake, “… what’s that?”

  Xarran pushed past him and reached into the gap. His head dropped. “It’s a boot, and it still contains a foot.” They had recovered the bodies of a few victims, half-buried amongst the devastation so far, but none that were completely entombed.

  “Look, I know it might not be the nicest thing to do, but I think you should just grab it and see if you can pull him out of there. It’s not as if you’re going to hurt him, and I don’t mean that disrespectfully.”

  Xarran disliked the idea as much as the others but realised that Drake, on this occas
ion, was right. Taking a firm grip on the heel of the boot, he pulled as hard as he could.

  “Aaarrrgghhh…!”

  The boys recoiled at the scream. Whoever it was, was still alive.

  ***

  “Master Emnor, we’ve found a survivor!” yelled Alex.

  The two larger boys had fervently resumed their digging and sent Alex to fetch Emnor, who now came charging into the room. “Who is it?” he asked warily.

  “Not sure, master, he hasn’t spoken since I tried to drag him out,” replied Xarran.

  “Move away, boys, it may not be a friend,” said Emnor, pointing his staff toward the rock pile.

  “Sorry, master, but if he is a friend, he won’t last much longer under this lot. I’m getting him out and if he kills me… you can punish me later,” yelled Drake, not even turning to face him.

  With the aid of Emnor who, with the use of magic, threw larger pieces of rubble to the side, they unearthed the survivor. His face was smeared with blood and dirt and was swollen, making him unrecognisable to any of them.

  “We’ll get him cleaned up and attend to his wounds, but for now, I want his hands bound and he must be watched until he regains consciousness. That is, of course, assuming that he survives,” ordered Emnor.

  He was cared for by Drake who, despite his faults, had become quite skilful, mostly due to the regularity of patching up self-inflicted wounds during his wand-testing exploits. “Mostly cuts and bruises, Master Emnor, must have had a bang on the head though, to knock him out like that. The worst is his leg, it’s broken.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to wait for him to wake up then, Drake. Then perhaps we’ll find out who he is,” said Emnor.

  “Yellodius Tarrock, you silly old fool!” muttered the old man, suddenly. “I must be in a bad way if you don’t recognise me, Emmy.”

  Emnor rushed to the man’s side, and leaning down, grabbed his hand. “Yello, is it really you? I thought you were halfway across the world. What are you doing here?”

  “Heard about some upstart brat prince who needs a lesson in manners, thought you could use some help. I only returned yesterday, but now I’m starting to wish I’d stayed where I was.” Yello attempted to sit up, but the pain very quickly quelled his enthusiasm. “Ooh, I say, that twinges a bit…” he said with a chuckle, “… I feel like I’ve had a fortress dropped on me.”

  “Just stay still, old friend. You’re in a bad way, not too bad, nothing life-threatening,” assured Emnor.

  Yello raised his arm to study the bandage on it. “Who put this on me? They’ve done a really good job.”

  “You’re welcome, Master Tarrock,” said Drake, looking rather pleased with himself.

  “Just call me Yello, dear boy, everybody else does. Now where’s my staff?” Emnor smiled as the boys all turned to face Yello. “Don’t look at me like that, stupid traditionalists, a good staff can become your best friend, boys, trust me.”

  Harley stepped forward without a word and handed Emnor his staff.

  “I say…” said Yello, “… we have been busy, haven’t we, Emnor?”

  “Well, not me personally, old friend, I had a little help.”

  Drake gave an indignant cough and looked around the room in a veiled attempt to disguise it.

  Emnor smiled as he glanced at him. “Well, to be completely honest, Yello, a lot of help,” he added.

  “And from the look on his face I’d say the help was from this young fellow here,” said Yello.

  Drake began polishing his nails against his chest and inspecting them whilst trying not to look too smug.

  “One source…” replied Emnor, “… but every one of these fine young men helped in the staff’s creation. Drake here plays the most dangerous role I believe, he’s the chief tester, and he has the scars to prove it.”

  “Please, Master Emnor…” implored Xarran, “… don’t say any more, we’ll never get his head through the door as it is.”

  “Do you not think he should be proud of such death-defying feats?” asked Yello.

  Xarran opened his mouth to offer an answer but could think of no suitable reply. He had never really contemplated just how dangerous the testing of a wand, let alone a staff, could actually be. Turning away, he looked at Drake. “Sorry, Drake, I’d never thought of it like that,” he said.

  “I too must apologise, Emnor,” said Yello, “I think I’ve just turned one of your boys into a man.”

  Drake could sense the tension in the air and decided to relieve it in his own inimitable way. “Alright,” he said, “enough of this crap, are you going to lie on that floor all day, Yello?”

  “I’d rather not, my backside’s frozen. Has anybody seen my bag?” he laughed.

  The group searched the room and found Yello’s staff and, digging through the debris, eventually discovered his carpet bag.

  “Is this it?” asked Harley.

  “That’s the one. Do me a favour, would you? Inside, there’s a green vial. Pass it here, there’s a good chap.”

  Harley rummaged through the bag, a look of disgust on his face; chicken’s feet, raven’s wings, dead frogs, what on earth are all these for, he wondered. He took out the vial and passed it to Yello.

  “Excellent, dear boy, thank you,” he said. Removing the stopper, there was a faint hissing as a green vapour puffed into the air. Yello sniffed it and pulled a face. “That smells disgusting,” he announced and, holding his nose, drank half of the contents. He coughed and spluttered, his skin briefly glowing a similar green to that of the vial. “Good grief, it tastes even worse,” he gasped through a twisted smile.

  “What is that?” asked Alex, pulling a face similar to Yello.

  “Abigail’s Mercy,” replied Yello.

  “What does it do?” asked Xarran.

  “Well, it dulls the pain initially, then it speeds up the healing process. Wonderful thing Abigail’s Mercy, despite the smell.”

  “So why haven’t we heard of it before?” asked Alex.

  “Rare ingredients, dear boy, very rare.”

  Yello gestured for his staff to be passed to him and began to gently wave it back and forth over his broken leg. A faint glow appeared as Yello braced himself, sucking air through his teeth.

  “What are you doing now, Master Yello?” asked Harley.

  “I can’t walk on a broken leg, so I’ll have to fix it, can’t do it as well as a Vikkery admittedly, but I can get it most of the way.”

  “You know a Vikkery?” asked Harley slowly.

  “No, I know the Vikkery, lovely folk, so pleasant,” replied Yello through gritted teeth, but only because of the pain. Within a few minutes, he was on his feet. A combination of magic and Abigail’s Mercy had helped with his injury, but he was still limping badly. Using his staff as a makeshift crutch, he insisted that he was fine and would accept no aid in walking. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he accompanied the others to the courtyard.

  Yello gasped as he witnessed the devastation and gently took Emnor by the arm. “How many, how many survived?” he asked with pleading eyes.

  “You were the only one, my friend,” Emnor replied quietly.

  “Who did this? What mind could be warped enough to do such a thing?”

  “Wait there, Yello. Let me speak to the boys and then I’ll tell you everything you need to know about Karrak Dunbar.”

  ***

  Leaving the solemn duty of the few remaining cremations in the capable hands of the boys, Emnor guided Yello into one of the relatively undamaged chambers within Reiggan. “You said that you had heard rumours, Yello, exactly what did you hear?”

  “Nothing too detailed, just that some prince discovered his magical abilities and started throwing his weight around.”

  “It’s a bit more than that I’m afraid, as you can see,” said Emnor pointing at the ruins around them.

  “So, who is this…?” Yello began asking.

  “Karrak Dunbar, son of Tamor, King of Borell. He now calls himself Lord Karrak, as do
his followers.”

  “His followers? How many followers?” Yello asked slowly.

  “I’m not quite sure, maybe dozens, maybe hundreds. All I know is that he won’t find it difficult to enlist more, now that he has what he came here for,” Emnor sighed.

  “And what did he come here for?” Yello sat forward, not entirely sure that he wanted to hear the answer.

  Emnor sighed heavily, “Do you remember the prophecies of the Peneriphus Scroll?”

  “Oh, not that again, Emnor!” exclaimed Yello. “You’ve been banging on about that blasted scroll for the last four centuries. Peneriphus was just an old lunatic who thought he could predict the end of the world. We’ve had this conversation time and time again and you know my thoughts on it better than anyone; it’s hogwash. I’m just amazed that you’re sober, you usually start ranting about it when you’re in the wine, mind you, two glasses and you’re hammered. That’s why I usually disappear after your first glass.”

  Emnor folded his arms and crossed his feet, “Have you finished?” he asked calmly.

  “That depends, Emnor, have you?”

  “I know exactly how you feel on the subject, Yello. Just give me five minutes to explain what I have to say and I promise that if you’re not convinced, I will never mention it again.”

  “Five minutes?” asked Yello, sceptically.

  “I promise,” vowed Emnor.

  Yello shook his head, disbelieving that he was about to allow himself to be subjected to a debate about something he had decried so many times before. He nodded and sat down. “You have five minutes,” he said.

  “Do you remember the tales of Tamor’s queen?” asked Emnor.

  “Of course I do, you’ve told me enough times. She was a witch, went mad and sacrificed some young girls in the dungeon and then tried to kill Tamor himself.”