Spirit of Vengeance - Prologue. PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

It was foretold.

The rain was a heavy burden upon the earth. It beat down on the animals grazing in the fields and the farmers who hurriedly moved their livestock into barns. It had come without warning through a clear sky as though some divine being had touched the land and swept the sea across it. What would have been a perfect day to take a walk in the sun had become overcast, gloomy, and foreboding.

Yet, it was not the first time such a storm had happened. It was the next in a series of several such occurrences. It materialized only once a year but never came at the same time of day or even in the same month. The first time it happened, most of the villagers were frightened. Such a storm could not come about on its own through a sky that was nearly devoid of clouds. The obvious answer was that it had been brought about by magic – the only force capable of creating such a storm from nothing. The more obvious implication was that the magic user, or more likely, magic users were nearby and they were not friendly if the storm was any reflection of their intent.

But with each year and each storm, nothing ever happened except the deafening and continuous bellowing of the thunder. There was no wind. There never was any wind with these storms. The trees were still except for the patter of raindrops upon their leaves. In most cases, the thunder and heavy rain left as quickly as they came, usually no more than a few minutes. With time, the villagers had shrugged it off as one of those quirks that came with living in their tiny village.

The old innkeeper of the only inn in the village though was not convinced. He was even more troubled that the storm this year seemed more volatile. It was darker and seemed to rage as though it was in some state of desperation. He watched the skies with silent trepidation as he stood upon the porch outside his modest business.

“The weather workers are a bit enthusiastic today, don’t you think?” said a one-legged man as he ambled to the innkeeper’s side. He had lost a leg to a wild animal when he was but a child and had grown instead with a wooden stump on his right leg. Healers had tried their best to restore his limb but the damage was greater than anything even their magic could do. By the time a more accomplished healer had arrived, the leg had been lost.

“They didn’t say it was supposed to rain today,” the innkeeper said. He ran his tongue over his teeth which included a tiny empty section where a tooth had rotted and fallen out. “It had just rained a few weeks ago. They should not have enough magic stored to create something like this in such a short time.”

The one-legged man grunted his response as though he had suspected as much. He wasn’t a local. He was just passing by through the tiny village on his way to the Mage City of Nuvalae where he hoped to visit an old friend, whom he had not seen in many years. The village, though tiny, offered him shelter from the storm and a place to rest his weary legs. Even if he had a stump for nearly all his life, it still hurt him to walk on it for such long distances. Caravans were sparse along the road that time of the year and using a horse was simply out of the question.

“Best come inside where it’s warm,” the innkeeper said congenially, remembering his manners as host. He gestured with a hand, urging his only custom of the day to enter back into the warmth of the fire in the inn’s common room. Custom was often light during these times of the year and it allowed him more time to chat with those few who passed by their village. “What were you saying about Arantiva? You say the city was attacked?”

The one-legged man nodded enthusiastically, glad the innkeeper wanted to return to their discussion of earlier before the storm and thunder had interrupted. Whatever else they said to one another was drowned out by the noise of the storm. Everyone was inside their homes or businesses keeping warm for the few minutes the storm would rage overhead.

Everyone that was except two men on horses, each much bigger than the other. They stood towering over the village on a nearby hill. Anyone with keen enough eyes simply needed to look out their window in that direction and would see the outline of something that did not quite blend with its surroundings. Those with even keener eyesight might even see a greenish tint about the two men and their horses as though they glowed with their own light.

“You have guarded him so long,” the larger man said. His voice sounded distorted. Perhaps it was the storm. Perhaps he was sick. Perhaps he was just old. It was too difficult to tell for he wore a cloak over his head where nothing but the tiniest hint of a blackened crown peeked out. But whatever the case may have been, it almost sounded like he spoke with two voices that said the same words at the same time. “It’s so… amusing… that despite your power, you cannot bring him to the safety of your arms without arousing suspicion. You fear the humans around you when they should fear us. We’re not so different, you and I. We are both of great power. We use pawns where we see fit. We care little for those who die in our service. The only difference is that I am bold enough to do what must be done.”

Thunder rolled across the skies overhead as though it was responding to the man’s words.

The smaller man did not say anything. He understood that it wasn’t him that was being spoken to by the other man. He, like the larger man, was also wearing a cloak which concealed his face and body yet the shadows did not seem to blend as much across his face as it did to the other. A pale and thin yet handsome face looked out from beneath the hood onto the tiny village. He had an impassive, almost indifferent, look upon him in that moment. He did not wear a crown like the other man but he did not need one. He could have been someone most people would admire or follow for his looks if it wasn’t for the green fiery glow that seemed to burst out of his eyes.

“I have one in my dominion,” the man said as he looked to his side upon the young man. For a moment, something slimy and resembling lips showed through his cloak as though he was smiling. “And my master is now corrupting the other. How many do you have? One?” He looked up into the sky and something that resembled decaying teeth peeked through the hood as he tilted his head back. “You are holding back. Why? Have you started to care for these petty things? These humans who serve you?” He grinned darkly as though he was savouring some delicious thought. “No, certainly not. Even you can’t change that much. What is it then? Whatever it may be, your hesitation will be your undoing as you will see. Now,” he paused as he looked back again at the tiny village. It looked so serene, peaceful, almost worth painting or drawing. “Now, I shall have another.”

The younger man raised a hand to his side. Magic gathered into his finger tips as though it was the easiest thing in the world for him. Green fire burst from there, turning, roiling, until they engulfed his hand forming a wild ball of flame just above his fingers. Without being told, he threw the ball of fire towards the closest building at the town’s edge.

As it hit the village boundaries, something shimmered in the air as if some invisible shield was shattered. The air thrummed with energy and the ball hesitated for the briefest moment in the air as though some sort of resistance was working against it. But as quickly as it slowed, it sped up and a deafening crack that put thunder to shame roared through the village. The ball of fire slammed into a wooden building and exploded. The building’s roof, walls and foundations flew into every direction with the blast. What things did not fly away burned as the fire grew and spread despite the heavy rain that should have quenched it.

The old innkeeper nearly ran out of his inn as he heard the explosion. His inn was near the center of the village but the tiny size of the village meant his inn was peppered with debris from the explosion.

“What’s happening?” the one-legged man said as he struggled to the innkeeper’s side. Fear was evident in his voice. “Did lightning strike…” The rest of his words died as he stared upon the green flames that had engulfed one of the buildings at the borders of the village. The flames instead of dying in the rain seemed to grow stronger. The tongues of fire were already infecting nearby buildings.

“What in the…?” the innkeeper said, unable to find words to fit his thoughts. “Who?” His words were cut short as a ball of fire hurled across the sky from somewhere outside the village. It flew in a slow, graceful arc before colliding with a building right next to the inn which exploded much like the first. Wood and stone flew in every direction, including a rather jagged piece of a former great oak which impaled itself into the innkeeper’s neck.

The one-legged man was knocked down by the force of the blast. He recoiled as the innkeeper fell lifeless on his wooden stump.

A choked sound escaped his lips. He tried to scream but his voice seemed to have abandoned him. He turned his head moments before the roof over him exploded and the inn was devoured by the flames. He gasped and shook in the cold rain that suddenly submerged him. The green flames behind him that engulfed the common room gave him no warmth from the rain. He shivered not just from the cold but the fear.

He yanked at his leg which was buried beneath the innkeeper’s body and the remains of the inn. He heard a crack and the wood splintered, freeing his leg but leaving behind the stump he used to walk with. He crawled with two hands and his one good leg from beneath the fallen building, attempting to escape the flames before they reached him.

His hands sank into the road which had turned to mud from the rain. He paused as he came upon a horse’s leg. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head and his eyes up. He looked and saw a face that may have once been human but was nothing more than skin and bone, a reflection of what dead and maddened kings must have looked like in their graves. The horseman’s head was adorned with a blackened crown and his eyes… his eyes glowed with green fire.

“Someone,” the one-legged man said in strangled whisper, “someone, help me.”

The crowned horseman smiled, making his face even more frightening. “You will do,” he said in those two synchronized voices. He reached down with a hand at the broken man who could do nothing but whimper.

As the green flames slowly engulfed the village, the rain poured as heavily as ever, far longer than it ever had in the many years it has come to protect the village from this man. But today, it failed and the thunder was silent.