Chapter 5: The Fury Of The Masters

There is a long column of Clan Soldiers, and riding in the center of them are the eleven remaining Masters. The pulsating rage of darkness is fed by fear and failure, and evil emanates from malice and weighs heavy in the air.

They are winding their way up through a well-used trail in the Rye Mountains, headed towards their evil fortress. The Fire Dragons are perched high on mountain peaks keeping a watchful eye out for whoever might be insane enough to invade the Masters' personal domain, although in truth and darkness they considered all of Owen their personal domain and all the people their personal subjects.

They are nearing the black epitome of evil, the Masters' evil fortress. All are silent in the ranks, for the soldiers know that their Masters are beyond angry about their incompetence and inability to apprehend the stranger and traitors whom the Masters believe are plotting against them and their evil god Zarton. You can see the rage in the Grand Master's eyes, for they are glowing a burning red that paralyzes any of the unfortunates that are careless enough to glance in his direction. And with the many scars and rune tattoos on his face he is barely human looking.

As they creep nearer and nearer to the castle, the walls loom higher and higher until they disappear into the purple mist altogether. Yes, the very same purple mist that has covered the Rye Mountains every since the Black Sorcerers took it for their own some thirty odd years ago.

They come through the gates solemn and angered, and ride across the compound of black stone to a huge doorway that leads into the hall, which is in the center of the fortress. They dismount their possessed horses and walk with purpose and intent into the hall. The clan guards take up positions around the walls and in front of the huge hall doors, with the orders that if any are to intrude the guards will be the ones to pay.

As the Masters prepare for their ritual gathering to discuss the situation of the two Masters being killed in the plains city of Murtz, and the stranger that has to most assuredly be a wizard, and the possible uprising that seems to be gathering around him.

The Grand Master, Zomaas the Tainted, steps up to the podium and is pensive before he speaks, "Be seated, my brethren, for the time is upon us to contrive the horror we are going to unleash upon this land if there are any more signs of rebellion." Every word that comes from the lips of any of the Masters drips with arrogance. The Grand Master has so many scars and tattoos on his face and gray in his hair and beard, that nobody from the old days would even recognize him.

As they seat themselves around the long oval table of black maple in the center of the great hall, the tension becomes even thicker, as it is all too obvious not to notice that there are two empty chairs that once belonged to their fellow sorcerers and comrades, Momak and Iktar.

Nakoosa, the second most powerful sorcerer, if not as strong as the Grand Master, and definitely the most evil of the lot, speaks and says, "We must bring forth the hammer!" He slams his fist down on the table to accentuate his point. "We must exterminate and desecrate the plains city of Murtz where our fellow Masters were annihilated, and we must allocate one child from every household and kill it. That will discourage any rebellion that might be headed our way!"

Master Finlock speaks bravely as any do who contradict him, "You are vehemently wrong, Nakoosa! If anything that will help the uprising right along."

Nakoosa, infuriated at being spoken back to in such a manner, rises to his feet and with disgust says, "You are a inept fool, Finlock, and I will enlighten you to the true meaning of pain and anguish."

Finlock rises to his feet, "You, Nakoosa, are erroneous and nothing but horse dung, and I am not afraid of the likes of you."

You can feel the power surge in the hall as the two Masters square off against one another.

Just as they are ready to release their powers, Grand Master Zomaas rises to his feet, he is surrounded by a furious red glow and he commands, "Sit down you hollow fools. This is not the time for your dissidence and continued petty bickering. We must endeavor to work together on this or we face certain defeat. And no, Nakoosa, we will not destroy the city of Murtz, and we will not perpetuate butchery on any more children than we have to, except for the ones we use to train our apprentices.

"What we will do, is a few of us will take a contingent of Clan Soldiers and roam the Blackheart Forest. Then a few of us will take up positions here at the entrances to the Rye Mountains, and the rest will remain in the fortress waiting for word of victory or new information on our enemy's progress. When, and only then, that time comes we will reevaluate our tactics and proceed henceforth from there."

Nethos speaks next, "We should at least bring about retribution on the Stiefel's for their furtherance of the traitors, but we will have to go to the Pheminol Mountains ourselves because, as we found out, they are tricky little bastards and the Clan Soldiers are too incompetent to do it themselves, and even the mighty Fire Dragons cannot find them."

Akmora, the Dragon Keeper, is insulted and articulates his view, "You leave my children out of this. They can kill only what they can see."

Zomaas answers, "Yes, we will take care of the Stiefel race once and for all when we are finished with what is at hand, whatever that might be."

Ornak asks, "What about the boy, the stranger, whoever he might be, freed from out of our prison in Turlac. The witnesses of the encounter between our now defunct Masters and the enemy said it was a boy who did most of the fighting."

Dobrin adds to that, "That boy has a long genealogy of Mystic blood running through his veins. It was his traitorous father Morka who pretended to give homage to us and become apart of our consanguinity, only to get into our secret vault and steal back the incantation that can send Zarton back to his prison."

Zomaas sighs and answers, "Yes, the parchment I took out of the Mystic Wizards' library when I came over to the evil side of Zarton, our great God of all that is evil and all that is powerful. That boy, who is called Tork, must be first on our list of priorities to kill. I truly do not think it was as much the fault of the Clan Soldiers and Fire Dragons not to capture or kill them in the Pheminol Mountains, as it was the power of the Lost Mystic Caverns, which are in the eastern part of those mountains ... somewhere."

Zoran, almost in a reverent tone, speaks and says, "Then they truly do exist, and even though all the Mystic Wizards have been destroyed the power remains in the caverns."

"Yes," Zomaas says, "You know I was once a Mystic Wizard until I found a stronger calling. I trained in those very caverns."

Spornak speaks next, "Then why can you not find the place any longer?" looking at Zomaas with distrust in his eyes.

Zomaas, seeing the distrust in Spornak's eyes, angrily replies, "I have explained to you all with divine coherence that the Heavenly Gods made those caverns, and nothing evil can enter or even find them."

Looking hard into all their eyes, Zomaas almost growls, "Perhaps you would like to challenge me on that?"

They all say with reverence, "No, Grand Master." except Nakoosa, who just grunts.

"Good," says Zomaas satisfied, "Then let us adjourn for now and prepare for tonight's ceremony to honor Zarton and ask his guidance and power in these matters. That is all for now, sorcerers."

Night has fallen on the accursed land, and outside as well as inside the castle there seems to be a storm on the way. The Masters' servants are running around preparing for the ceremony that is a regular event around the fortress, but that does not make it any less unnerving.

"To call upon evil is a mistake not soon forgotten, but for those who embrace it are soon lost to it." This is a passage from the book of the Wise Ones.

The ceremony is beginning. The Masters walk into the Black Sorcerers Hall in single file. Zomaas, the Grand Master, is wearing a long blood red robe with the hood covering everything, but his evil tainted eyes. The other Masters are wearing long death black robes with the hoods covering their heads as well. The hall walls are surrounded by row after row of black candles that emanate an eerie greenish glow. The Masters ritually walk up to an object that looks more like a coffin than like a sacrificial altar. But that is what it is, the altar to petition their evil god Zarton. Behind it is a deep cave that seems out of place here in a castle that looks to be newly manmade, and yet the cave looks ancient and evil.

The Masters come forth towards the black altar and kneel before it. They bow their heads, and in a deep inhuman voice Grand Master Zomaas starts speaking in an ancient tongue that only the Gods can possibly understand. Then the other Masters join in and start chanting praise to their evil god. Several minutes of the feverish chanting has gone by now, longer than usual, which hints at that maybe, just perhaps, their evil god Zarton is too infuriated with them because of their seemingly incompetence in stopping the possible threat to him to come forth.

But slowly outside the wind starts to blow and howl, and thunderous clouds roll overhead with deathly green lightning bolts lighting up the sky in a greenish haze. Between the purplish mist and the greenish haze the Rye Mountains look truly inhospitable.