The Ascension of Karrak

  Robert J. Marsters was raised and still lives in ‘The Black Country’ in the West Midlands of the UK. Taught that hard work is the only way to live, Robert made a career in the retail furniture trade, working his way up from warehouseman to store manager.

  In 2014, his life took a drastic turn when his wife was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. He began to ponder the many hours wasted when, on public holidays or at weekends, he was working, leaving his wife to fill her time visiting with family or meeting friends, by herself.

  Always a keen reader, fascinated by fantasy and science fiction, he imagined how wonderful it would be if, when faced with adversity, one could simply wave a magic wand and make it all better. Create a new world: two moons and a pink sky. Why not?

  This world is his first creation… enjoy.

  A huge thank you to my wife Jane, whose tireless encouragement and confidence in my dream eventually made it a reality.

  To my best friend Nick, whose larger-than-life personality was inspirational.

  To Kenny and Lucy of The Studio Tettenhall, Wolverhampton for their diligent attention to detail when producing the cover for this book, thank you.

  To Nick Berriman for somehow finding the time to be my test-pilot, I will be forever grateful.

  Robert J. Marsters

  THE ASCENSION OF KARRAK

  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 unauthorized 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.

  PROLOGUE

  As Karrak stared into the eyes of the man who lay dead at his feet he felt no remorse. His days of feeling any hint of compassion were a distant memory. People were flawed and weak, something he had deduced after the slaughter of his first victim, a man whose name was, to this day, unknown to him. The only emotions to pass through him now were hatred and rage. As he continued to stare, he could hear the snarling of the hideous beasts scrambling around at the foot of the shallow ridge on which he stood. Placing his boot against the scorched, broken corpse, he pushed it over the ledge, much to the beasts’ delight as they gnashed and snapped at one another in an attempt to be first to the kill.

  “Feast my pretties,” he muttered under his breath, but even if they could have heard, they would not have needed this instruction. Teeth and claws ripped and tore at the flesh, and within seconds the body was in pieces, being devoured by these ravenous beasts. Not a natural lifeform, these were the result of Karrak’s tormented mind. He had realised that killing was not always the most fun he could have using sorcery, he could twist and warp the minds of people just as easily as he could twist a small twig. Once this was done, they became his ‘pets’. All sentience had gone and they obeyed his every command, with no comprehension of fear. Occasionally, Karrak would torture one simply for his own amusement, the others oblivious to its pain. Only then would he destroy it, throwing its carcase to the rest of the pack.

  He turned slowly and quietly walked back into his cave, this being his temporary home. This was no simple cave, the barren rock of the walls remained but the ground was covered with large rugs, not of the highest quality but more than fit for purpose and furnished in a sumptuous manner with large wing-backed chairs strategically placed. Many large tables sat against the walls but few chairs were around them as they were not for entertaining guests. They were covered with scrolls and tomes, mostly on the subject of sorcery save a few that were on necromancy, a subject in which he had not had much interest until quite recently. For these to be of any real use he would need ‘The Elixian Soul’. His power over the mind was great indeed, but sapped his own strength and he could only affect one person at a time, but the magnification of his power by the Soul would allow him to bend the minds of numerous victims who foolishly drew too close. Then would come his revenge on his dear father and brother who had so cruelly banished him, and he would be king. His pets would do his bidding, pets to him but they were people, or at least, they had been.

  Stranger still was the way he treated them. They did, after all, alert him of the intruder’s presence, as was the norm when a visitor approached, snarling and growling, acting as his own personal guard dogs.

  Karrak was an imposing figure, standing almost six foot six tall and of a heavy muscular build. Even before he realised his affinity with sorcery people would avoid him, stepping from his path, and if that was not possible, looking down at the floor hoping not to catch his eye. Occasionally there would be the unfortunate soul who could do neither.

  ***

  Once, in a tavern within the city walls, the barkeep had suggested that maybe he had had enough to drink.

  “Who are you to tell me when I have drunk enough?” Karrak roared, grabbing the man by his hair and pulling him over the bar. A look of terror came into the barkeep’s eyes as he was hoisted onto tiptoes in order to face his abuser, a difficult task being almost a foot shorter.

  “I meant no offence, Your Highness, I was merely thinking of your wellbeing,” said the man, noticeably shaking. The whole kingdom had heard of Karrak’s violent temper.

  “My wellbeing should not be your concern, peasant,” he hissed and, lifting the man clean off the ground, drew back and head-butted him in the face. There was a loud crack as his nose shattered, blood spattered across his face as he howled in pain, but this was not enough for Karrak who then hurled the barkeep through a table, smashing it to pieces.

  Almost as a whisper and whilst drawing his sword, Karrak continued, “Do you think that I would be advised by a piece of filth like you? I have scraped better from my boots.” He raised his sword above his head…

  “Sire!” The word, loud and unexpected, came from behind him.

  Karrak turned slowly. A member of the royal guard stood before him head bowed, “Please forgive me Your Royal Highness, but His Majesty will not be pleased and has vowed that the slaughter of innocents will no longer be tolerated, even by a member of the royal house.”

  An evil grin came across Karrak’s face.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, “yes my father did say that,” at this he began to laugh, a slow menacing laugh. “You don’t think that that comment was directed at me do you? I mean solely for me, simply because I have been known to be a little tetchy now and then?”

  The guard offered no reply to Karrak’s rhetorical question.

  “Can a man not just be allowed a little fun?” He turned again to the poor barkeep.

  “Well,” he said leaning over him, “you get to keep your pathetic life, peasant. Tell me, have you learned your lesson?” The barkeep tried his best to speak, his words incomprehensible, whilst nodding his head frantically. “I don’t think you have, not yet anyway.” His sadism unsatisfied, Karrak raised his foot and stamped on the man’s already blood-soaked face, then twice more. He placed the tip of his sword against his helpless victim’s shoulder and thrust it into the joint, holding it there for a second before twisting it, the barkeep now screaming for mercy.

  “Now you’ll remember your place my dear barkeep, somebody bring me more ale.”

  Naively, in his youth, it had never crossed his mind that the power of sorcery could aid him in his search of ways to inflict
more, and greater suffering. But now he had a sinister synergy with magical forces, and the unspeakable torture it allowed him to perform.

  Thus was the cruelty of the man.

  CHAPTER 1

  As Karrak studied his tomes he heard a faint hissing sound from outside the cave. The cleansing rain, he thought, at least that will wash away the blood of that pious wizard. The wizard, who was now no more than a pile of bones scattered by his pets.

  How did the fool think he could possibly defeat a sorcerer as powerful as I?

  The wizard had approached the cave quietly, not intentionally, it was just his way. The growling from the beasts was through fear, not as a warning, for they could sense magical power, possibly a symptom of the curse that was put upon them by Karrak. As the visitor approached they had backed away, most uncharacteristic of these savage, twisted lifeforms.

  “I am Emnor,” he announced, “I will speak with you, cave dweller.”

  “What would you say that could possibly interest me, old man?” came the reply from within the cave. “Be on your way, I prefer my own company, stranger.”

  Remaining polite, Emnor spoke again. “I would speak to you face to face, Sir, not to the entrance of your lair, or are you fearful of me?”

  In his younger days Karrak would have been outraged by this question, but he was far different from that person now. He emerged from his home, amused by this confident interloper. He drew himself to his full height, his black robes immaculate from the hood to the ground, the edges embroidered with ancient runes of gold thread. Emnor was impressed at how impeccably attired he was for one living in such conditions.

  “I face you now, old man, what is it that you want? I am very busy and your presence is unsettling to my pets.”

  “Your pets are of no importance to me, but I advise you to keep them at heel, if they misbehave I shall be forced to put them down.”

  “You would wish to destroy these noble creatures!” exclaimed Karrak, “They do no harm and surely you would not expect me to be unguarded in these harsh surroundings?”

  “I hardly think a sorcerer as powerful as you would need protection, Karrak.”

  “Well, well, well aren’t we the clever one? You know my name, but you are mistaken, friend. I am just a simple man who enjoys living amongst nature. The lakes, the forests and the mountains are all I have, I am no sorcerer,” Karrak was enjoying this little game of words.

  “You, Sir, are Prince Karrak Dunbar, son of Tamor, heir to the throne of Borell, second in line to your brother, Jared, whom you tried to murder.”

  “And would have succeeded but for the likes of you, wizard,” Karrak snapped, a maniacal glint in his eye. He so wanted to destroy Emnor. For the old wizard to have the audacity to even face him was as much of an insult to his power as a mouse teasing a cat.

  “So what now, wizard?” he continued, “Do you mean to evict me or are you simply here to bore me to death with your inane prattle?”

  “Neither, I am here to give you notice. You have three days to remove yourself from these lands, you and these abominations,” replied Emnor pointing at the beasts. “If you do not, you will be driven out, by order of your father, King Tamor.” Having said his piece, Emnor turned and began to walk away.

  The rage came upon Karrak in an instant. He roared and thrust his hands out in front of him. Emnor had anticipated a cowardly attack by Karrak and turning swiftly raised his hand. A bolt of flame that had leapt from Karrak’s hands was deflected but just managed to catch the side of Emnor’s face. He could smell his own burned flesh and the singed hair of his beard before hearing the explosion, as the tree behind him was engulfed. He thrust his own hands forward now, casting his own spell. Spears of ice flew straight at Karrak, who simply held up one hand. A sheet of flame appeared before him and easily melted the ice spears. Emnor had suspected that his first spell would be of no effect and had just used it as a ruse to play for time, for even as Karrak had defused it, Emnor had cast another. A wave of ice was already encircling Karrak and before he could react, Emnor’s second spell was upon him. The ice wave struck him from behind wrapping itself around his body like a blanket, encasing him and throwing him to the ground.

  Karrak began to laugh, “Had your fun, old man?” he asked, “Because now… it’s my turn.”

  He began to mutter under his breath and the ice instantly melted from his body. He rose to his feet, his voice getting louder. Trees began to erupt around Emnor, splinters struck him from every direction, some piercing his skin. Everything around him was ablaze, an evil smile now on Karrak’s face as he glared at the wizard. His own conjured flame was about him, but he remained unharmed. He raised his hand and Emnor was lifted off the ground. Karrak, simply by moving his index finger from side to side as if conducting an orchestra, caused Emnor to crash into tree after tree lacerating and burning him beyond recognition.

  “You now see what true power is,” stated Karrak. “Your party tricks are no match for me, old man.”

  Emnor, still in mid-air could not comprehend anything that was being said to him. The pain from the cuts, burns and broken bones were the only things on which his mind could focus.

  Karrak waved his hand and the flames were immediately extinguished, as Emnor’s life was about to be.

  He looked into the old man’s eyes, “Time to die,” he said. “Now what was your name again? Oh never mind.” He held up his hand, his palm facing the wreckage of the once-proud wizard and once again began to chant. Emnor floated toward Karrak and began to shake as Karrak slowly closed his hand. Emnor’s head began to contort as if under immense pressure until, with a crunch, the back of his skull split open, blood spurting like spilt wine. Karrak dropped his arm to his side, and Emnor’s lifeless body fell to the ground before him, eyes still open.

  Why had this impudent upstart accepted such a suicidal mission? Karrak pondered. Did he have such fealty for my father? Did King Tamor actually send him? Or had he hoped to gain the fountain of knowledge contained within my library for himself, and why now?

  Countless wizards, mages or sorcerers would do anything to possess such a collection. Some would use it for their own evil purpose while others would bury, hide or destroy it to keep its power hidden. Or was it because he was closer to finding the location of the Elixian Soul than he had realised? He dismissed that question immediately. He did not make mistakes and if the Soul had been in close proximity, he would have heard its call. To him this was not arrogance, he knew that he was the most powerful sorcerer that had, or would, ever exist.

  CHAPTER 2

  King Tamor stood atop the highest tower of his castle, surveying the countless leagues of his kingdom. As far as the eye could see and beyond belonged to House Dunbar. He and his ancestors had fought many wars across centuries, brother beside brother and father beside son, to protect these lands but Borell had now enjoyed peace for over fifty years. The land was fertile and green, every tree was abound with succulent fruit and the livestock was of the finest pedigree thus supplying copious amounts of meat and poultry. Life in Borell was good and King Tamor’s subjects knew that this was because of him. He was as loyal to them as they were to him.

  “Tell me, Father, what do you see when you look across your lands?”

  The king was quick to reply and spinning on his heel, bellowed at the top of his voice, “How dare you address me so in front of others?” he said, glancing across at his royal guard. “I am your king and you will address me as such, Your Majesty, My Liege, King Tamor, any one of these would be suitable!”

  Prince Jared’s expression did not change as he looked into his father’s eyes. There were a few moments of silence between them, as slowly the corners of the king’s mouth began to curl upwards, before bursting into fits of laughter and throwing his arms around his son, who was now also laughing.

  “What I haven’t seen is you, my boy, and for far too long. Where have you been? What took you so long? I expected your return over a month ago, why did you send no word?�
��

  “Please, Father, one question at a time,” said Jared smiling at the king. “I am dishevelled and smell worse than my horse, I need to bathe, and then we shall talk.”

  “Yes, yes of course, my boy. Go, get yourself cleaned up, oh, and we have some very pretty young maids new to the castle, should you need any help.”

  Jared gave a sigh, “Father, will you never change?” he asked, smiling.

  “Well,” said the king holding his arms out from his sides, “I can’t help it if they all love me.”

  Jared made his way toward the steps that lead to his chambers. Once inside, he closed the door and half leaned, half fell against it. The pain in his shoulder was worsening, but how could he visit the court physician without his father knowing? He had sworn his personal guards to secrecy and this promise they would uphold, not through fear of reprisal, but for the love and admiration they all had for him.

  He had barely removed his gauntlets and greaves, preferring to do this himself and not instruct one of his soldiers to undress him as if he were a helpless child. As he struggled clumsily with the buckles he heard a knock at the door and a voice announced, “Sire, I bring refreshment should you feel the need.”

  Jared knew the voice, it was Hannock, a loyal friend to the prince. “And by whose order were you demoted to the position of chambermaid, my dear friend?” said Jared pulling open the door.

  “Well I thought you wouldn’t mind me earning a little extra coin, Sire,” said Hannock with a huge grin on his face. He stood with a very large tray balanced on one arm, the other stretched out to his side so that his hand and forearm were obscured beyond the doorway.

  “What are you up to, Hannock?” asked Jared.