Incarceration

Cy 4844, Novan…a cold winter

Vengeance is the sound of a Necromancer’s blade on the roof of Merlynar’s temporary sanctuary…a hollow scraping, a dead sound as Illeum Runesabre taunts those within. The nae priest can only prey, he wonders what fate besets him and his trapped companions in the tomb of his making. He wonders what dread torments lie ahead as the arch sorcerer above plots the revenge for his daughter’s death.

A cold fear grips Merlynar. It seeps into his bones and threatens to overwhelm him; nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. His stomach somersaults but he realises his only protection is from the Faith and belief in Willowstar’s power. He remembers an older priest from his youth, a jovial fellow well liked by his peers. ‘Fear is not so bad young master Merlynar,’ he would say, ‘without it how would we appreciate the calmness of peace, the comfort of home cooking? Fear is to be welcomed lad, embrace it and remember that on the other side of fear is joy and relief.’

But when the cave starts to bleed he wonders at the wisdom of those words. Small damp patches begin to drip with a dark viscous crimson blood that has the stench of death. Droplets at first but then like the steady patter of raindrops it begins to soak the cavern dwellers and exacerbate their fear.

“Death is near,” Runesabre says, his voice muffled through the rock but there is no mistake in his deadly intent. “And you will linger in pain and despair before your release…but be clear that death will not be the end of it. Your lifeless bodies will serve me for many years until your humiliation is complete…”

A door opens…

Not a normal portal whose hinges creak – this door is only visible in the mind of Merlynar, the light from the threshold sheds warmth and courage into his soul, it fortifies his strength and Merlyanr sees a figure in the doorway of his conscience. Silhouetted against the brilliance behind he senses the figure smile without seeing any detail in the face.

“Your life will not end this day Archer.” The voice is powerful, musical and has the perfect tone of a trained singer. It is elven and most definitely female; a sensual lilt that betrays mischief, pride, and an indomitable spirit. “I will drive away the Necromancer above but in doing so your debt to me will require a service at a later date. My mother will not deny me this small interference, as I will be saving one of her Favoured Ones. In time you will learn that my mother’s sentimentality can sometimes get in the way of the task at hand…but I must not disrespect her – or you for that matter. She is all-powerful and I love her. But Illeum Runesabre will not take you this day – or any other day while I breathe upon Grayhawk.”

Merlynar strains through the bright light to catch sight of the woman but his efforts are not rewarded.

“It is forbidden Archer,” the woman says, “by your goddess. For if you should stare upon my naked face your soul would be mine…love would overcome you and you would drift from a more important path. I will not be responsible for the pollution of your Faith but you must respect my right to our debt. You will soon owe me Merlynar…and I will pursue payment of this debt before your life ends.”

The voice is gone as the door closes. Above there is silence. No sign or sound of the tormentor above…the walls of the tomb begin to collapse around the priest and soon daylight punctures the crumbling walls of the tomb. Merlynar knows that Runesabre has fled…run for his life and soul. In the distance he sees the woman, barely visible on the horizon he wonders what power she wields that she can so easily dispel such a magician.

“I am but a fledgling yet,” she says in his mind as if reading his thoughts. “Soon Elena will mature into a power beyond compare…”

But Merlynar sees a second figure in the distance. A young man who embraces Elena and shares an intimate and sensual kiss…his mind leaps. The second figure is taller but has a towering arrogance that marks his soul as clearly as the mightiest sword of power.

“You are a fool,” the young man says.

But Elena remains defiant. “How so brother?”

“You meddle in things that should not concern you.”

“Runesabre is an abomination,” she spits, “I will not allow him to butcher innocent believers.”

The tall young man laughs with massive contempt. “Grow up sister mine…your fantasies must end before long. Illeum Runesabre has every right to be annoyed…his daughter will walk the lonely paths of the dead forever and there is nothing he can do about it. How would you feel if I died so?”

Elena considers the question. “Terrible.”

“Exactly…now leave this alone and stop interfering.”

Elena sighs. “I cannot…”

The young man shakes his head. “Then your fate is set…you will languish with mortal sentimentalities and never grow. You are doomed sister…doomed to a life of servitude and honour. Why not shrug off the bonds of duty and follow a different path?”

Elena shakes her head. “I cannot…”

Malakar spits on the ground in disgust. “Weakling!”

But Elena half turns towards Merlynar, then remembers the dangers. Instead she bows her head and follows her brother into the Astral plane, sheathing her golden katana in the process…