SoA II Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"It's so boring in here," Arkos whined, sitting in a simple wooden chair in the corner of the large tent.  The tent was large and bright, lit by unseen
"Drink your rum," Silandrythar said, sitting cross-legged in the center of the tent.  
Arkos looked to the top of the tent then to the door-flap.  "Can I execute one of the orcs?" he asked, ignoring the two armoured orcs standing on either side of the entrance.  They were brutes, the largest Silandrythar could find.  Their armour was ornate and flowed elegantly around their orc forms and so powerful was it that they even looked like they were faster than they had been before.  And in truth, the armour did make them faster.  It made them stronger too, and Silandrythar had created them with these aspects in mind.  But those were small abilities compared to their main purpose, the reason Silandrythar had created them to begin with.  The orcs knew nothing of it, which was why Arkos could so easily insult them without consequences.  Silandrythar could take complete control over any wearing that glowing red armour with only a thought.
Currently, he wanted the orcs to stand at the entrance and control the flow of those coming into and going out of the only entrance.  He was particularly glad he didn't have to continually issue them orders, as he knew some magical items needed.  Instead, he could give them one order, whenever he felt necessary, and they would obey him, thoughtlessly, for as long as they wore that armour.
Silandrythar sighed loudly.  "Drink your rum," he said without opening his eyes.  
Arkos stood and walked to the other side of the tent, where a table was set up.  The top was littered with maps, notes, scrolls and cases to store them all.  It was a mess of brown bleached paper, nearly every piece ripped, crumpled or folded in some way.  Black, red and green lines filled the spaces where black script was not etched.  He moved his eyes around the area, trying not to get lost in its confusing array.  In the far left corner, a large map was spread, an island on the edge of a storm.  It was the same washed out, brown colour as every other paper, but this one's difference was in content.  
The map clearly depicted the world's continents in bold, black lines.  Arkos tried reading from it, but his mind wasn't in the proper state to understand writing.
Across the table, over the debris of papers, a black box lay on the corner.  Arkos made his way slowly to it and put his hand on the stone box.  It was cold, but unnaturally cold, even to him with the rum running so thickly through him.  He lifted the hinged lid and marvelled at the contents.
Inside, the box was lined with red velvet, and in spaces cut out, were four black stone figurines.  Arkos recognized none of them, but he realized that they were rather dangerous looking creatures.  He picked one up, from the far right, and examined it closely.
"Put that down," Silandrythar said with an unusual sharpness.
Arkos snapped his head up and slammed his hands down to the table.  His right hand hit the table too hard, and he dropped the figurine and grabbed his right hand with his left, trying to ease the pain.  The figurine hit the ground and started to glow red.
Silandrythar opened his eyes and sighed before the figurine exploded, and out of it came the being it depicted.
A great wyvern stood and stretched its wings, not only lifting the tent thirty feet above the ground, but also knocking Arkos backward and into a small group of orc soldiers.  He propped himself up on his elbows and stared up at the giant beast.
Its entire body was covered in overlaying black scales, making the beast a shadow against the starless night sky.  Its head was that of a great dragon, with horns lining the bottom of its jaw.  Angled eyes set themselves on Arkos and something in his stomach wanted to burst out and flee.  He stared on, not knowing quite what to do.
Orcs all over the camp, at once resting, were in a panic, rushing out of the camp or to their weapons.  A spear arced up and bounced pitifully off the wyvern's scales.
Silandrythar turned and stood in one swift motion.  He motioned to the wyvern with his hand and the creature immediately turned its head in his direction.  He spoke to it, though in a language no one else at the camp understood.  It was  language sharp and ugly, even the orcs could feel their ears burning when they heard it.
  The wyvern seemed to laugh, and then let out a roar that shook the trunks of the trees.  It bent its powerful legs and brought its wings up over its head.  Silandrythar only stared on, gathering his energy.  He brought his hands in front of him and spoke words now elegant and cunning.  His hands began to glow a faint blue and he opened his eyes to sight in his target.
The wyvern jumped and flapped its wings, the air rushing out from beneath it knocking back several orcs and even pushing Arkos along the grassy ground.  But Silandrythar stood firm, keeping his eyes on the beast.  With the final word he brought his hands up and released the energy.  The wyvern brought its head back and watched as the beam of blue light caught it in the back, blasting right through its thick scales and coming out the other side its body.  It stumbled in mid air, clawed at the sky with its feet and wings and started its quick descent towards the forest floor.  
It landed hard, crushing a few tents and even snuffing out a fire.  Before its body could settle into place, though, a great cloud of black ash enveloped it, then disappeared, and the wyvern was gone.
Silandrythar stood with a wide stance, staring down at Arkos, who was still on his back.  The elf wanted to say something, something terrible and insulting, but Arkos wouldn't understand, and it would do no good.  
"Where is Kire?" the elf asked.  The orc woman appeared before him within a short moment.  
"Many of the soldiers have fled," she reported.
"I know," he started, but was cut off by the sound of screaming far behind him.
"Elves," Kire said.  "They've likely takent his accident as an advantage," she stared hard at Arkos.
Silandrythar nodded.  He closed his eyes and searched deep within himself for an answer.  He looked to the sky, then behind him.  
"Kire, I want you to put Arkos in a safe place within the camp.  Keep him here, in fact.  Make certain he stays right here.  Give him no rum, or any alcohol of any kind.   Feed him water and bread, and that will be all he consumes.  Is that clear?"  Kire nodded smartly.  
"You will also order every orc scouting party back to this camp.  Watches will be lengthed and increased in size."
"Arkos cost me a great amount of power by summoning that wyvern.  I have others, but that wyvern was the only flying creature I had, and its not coming back.  And I spent far too much energy killing it.  So I will be leaving."
"Sorry?"
"To a plane I created a while ago," Silandrythar explained, moving to the table and closing the black box.  "I will return with more power than I would be able to gain by simply meditating in this reality.  It will tax me greatly in the end, but it will be worth it, ultimately."
Kire looked at him in confusion.  "What are you planning?" she asked.
Silandrythar sighed.  He picked up a great book bound in orange leather and opened it to a page with an illustration of a great cloud of flames.  
"I'm going to burn down the forest."








"You should see it!" Hidalgo exclaimed.
"These rooms," Marius said with a gesture, "They reach on for ages!  Gold and diamonds, wands of material I've never seen!  This place is marvellous.  May we build a new home here?"
Ferithar stared at the halflings for a moment, then as though the thought suddenly struck him, he shuddered and snapped "No."
The group of warriors and citizens were now resting in one of the countless treasure rooms that composed the Fey Caverns.  Ferithar had sent the two halflings out to search for ways out or traps that may have been set by the elves against intruders.  Currently, they had returned, and Ferithar regretted not sending them further.  They ran off, to talk to Terrien, probably, as the elf waved his hand in dismissal.  
Vagn laughed, putting his hand on the shoulder of the elf.  "They have a fascination with treasure, but of course; they're halflings," Vagn laughed again.  "But they know where their hearts are."
Ferithar shook his head.  "With their treasure," he scoffed.  
Vagn nodded, then leaned in close to the elf.  "Have they asked yet for their reward?" he whispered.  Ferithar's eyebrows raised.  "They know where we are, it's not at all hard to figure out.  Why haven't they said anything?"  
Ferithar stared into the eyes of the paladin as he realized the truth in his words.  "But, the prophecy."
Vagn nodded.  "I've thought of it also," he held his hand out in a gesture for them to start walking and Ferithar nodded.  "These two play a key part in our travels, so you've told me.  With them, we'd not be here, the Fey Caverns, a place fate wished you to be."
Ferithar kicked at a rock and shook his head.  "Could it be that we've somehow misinterpreted the prophecy?  Could one of us, or two of us, have items that were not intended for us?"
Vagn nodded.  "It is entirely possible, of course.  The pedestals may be able to make mistakes."
Ferithar nodded.  "This bothers me."
"Because someone is not worthy?" Vagn asked.
Ferithar shook his head and looked back to the two halflings, who were busy pestering Terrien.  "Those gifts were meant for someone, one specific person each.  It is obvious that that person can use the powers of the gifts to its greatest potential," he looked back to the paladin with worry in his eyes.  "I don't want our group to die because of a mistake that I cannot control."
Vagn nodded and reassuringly put his hand on the elf's shoulder.  "The pedestals may have been wrong.  But then, we could be also."

Killian breathed in deeply, his eyes closed, staring at an imaginary portrait of his friend, Galaran.  It was difficult for him, though.  Galaran was so great, so powerful, that no single portrait could capture his entire character.  So the picture would shift, to a different picture of Galaran, a different part of his personality.  But Killian didn't like that.  He wanted just one, something simple, something easy, something that encompassed all that Galaran was.  It would be what he could remember Galaran to be easily.  A picture that could be recalled in an instant, whenever he neede the strength of his friend.  
  
%%%%%  Authour's note:   Killian later realizes that Galaran's character cannot be portrayed as Galaran himself.  The only image that makes sense would be Nolan, Galaran's beloved tree from back in Kronrich.  And, of course, some editing will take place to ensure that the tree's description from the last chapter I wrote mirrors Galaran's personality perfectly, though I'm sure it comes close already.
BAM
%%%%%  Turing joke

But nothing came to him.  There was not one image that Killian could conjure that would portray Galaran in the proper light.  Killian shook his head and washed the image away, wanting to think of something else for a while.
He opened his eyes and stared on at the group of Kronrich citizens that was sitting on the hard ground before him.  Away from him.  He had isolated himself, not wanting to waste his time with people he already knew he wouldn't care about as much as Galaran.  He closed his eyes hard and clenched his fist, hating the sorrow that consumed him whenever his friend returned to his memory.
He stood and decided to walk.  He didn't care where, just so long as he was close to this main group.  He didn't, after all, wish to be left behind in this maze of treasure.  
He walked along the wall of the cavern, following it until he came to an exit, then turned round and walked back.  He looked to his right and stared at the great piles of treasure that took up most of the space of the large room.  He stopped and decided to take a look at the treasure.  
Knolls of treasure rose and lowered around him, glittering, but not drawing his attention.  He moved aimlessly, without purpose.
Eventually he came to a staircase that lead down into a squared pit.  Against the opposite wall he saw a pedestal, exactly like the ones those heroes had all been to, but different.  This one before Killian was entirely made completely of jade, transparent and green.  Atop it lay a scroll, just like the earlier pedestals.

%%%%%  Just so I can get through this, the scroll says something about jealousy, greed and such.  Killian's gift is a cloak that is hard as steel and as soft as silk (silk-steel, groovy) and is pretty much impervious to the elements.  Of course, this cloak belongs to Kethryn, but seeing as our dark elf friend is off playing with his new sword, Killian gets it.  Also, the end of the chapter should be Killian looking in a pool of water and saying something like "MacMillan..." to heavily foreshadow him turning into Galaran.....his mind, at least.  I didn't want to narrate ALLLL of this because if I do right now, it's going to come out as ugly and as gross as those last few paragraphs I just wrote.  So, in order to keep this moving along, I'm just writing in these comment-lines.