Chaos Destiny Page 4

The Guild of the Free Warriors

  The first to reach their destination was Hermon. The guild of the Free Warriors was only a little way from the entrance gate, after all, near to the city entrance to offer their services to those seeking trade and adventure.

  Unfortunately, in the peaceable Middle Kingdom there just wasn’t that many who sought out a dangerous life. The Guild of the Free Warriors was a small building; there just wasn’t that many Free Warriors. When Hermon entered, he was immediately greeted by a magic being guarding the door. “How can I help you, stranger?” it asked. The servitor-being had the shape of a human but only when it needed to did it develop the sense organs. It was speaking, so the mouth was created, then disappeared again into the mass. Hermon always thought these creatures were weird but said nothing.

  “I’m looking for supporters for our cause,” he said in an overly loud voice.

  “What cause?” the thing asked.

  Hermon came closer. “We want to change the cycle of the 100 years. I am a friend of Eldana who...” Before he could finish the sentence, the magic being created hands, and put them over Hermon’s mouth. At the same moment, it created a mouth that moved close to his ear.

  “You live dangerously. Hermon, son of the Berserker King”. Hermon retreated away from the hands and mouth. He had never mentioned his name and did not look like any Berserker. The change spell was supposed to make him unrecognizable.

  “We should talk inside. It’s too dangerous out here,” said the thing as it shifted once more, moving aside to let Hermon in. He went in, still stunned, cautious and on guard.

  Once inside, he saw the barman first, looking bored from the lack of guests. There were many small curiosities scattered around the room; little circles of light that hovered in the air; magical lamps. There were also tables, full of runes and signs that were constantly changing; and chairs that creaked as one approached. Everything was in motion, except for the few people in the room. They were cloaked in silence, dark hoods covering their faces. Hermon took all that in and felt at home. Here sat free men and women, able to do what they wanted. They were mercenaries that sold themselves to the highest bidder. They were able to protect themselves and hold their own against any army, and as such they focused on themselves, not carrying anyone else’s burdens. Hermon was the son of the Berserker King. His burdens followed him everywhere. He admired the freedom these warriors enjoyed, even though they were looked upon by every kingdom as dishonest men. He could even see himself here one day.

  The magic servitor created a hand, pointing into a corner where one of the guests was sitting. “That is where we will speak,” it said. Hermon hesitated to take orders from a being so strange. “All right,” he said gruffly, following the creature’s hand signal. The chairs creaked and turned as he walked past.

  When he arrived, the being bowed to the person in the corner. “This is the son of the Berserker King. He seeks allies to break the cycle of balance and chaos,” it introduced softly. It then turned to Hermon.

  “Hermon, this is D’rmas, warrior of Qeltifom.” Hermon didn’t know quite how to act so he nodded briefly. D’rmas nodded back. D’rmas was a tall bald man with an overgrown beard. The golden ring that looped through his nostrils glittered when light hit it.

  He waved his hood away and looked Hermon in the face. “Sit down.” The warriors of Qeltifom had a special quirk about them. They were not bound to just one class of power but could use two. They mastered the magic arts but also the sword. They were incredibly valuable as allies but also unpredictable. You never really know if they will use you for their own purpose. They lived solely by reputation. Once they campaigned for a cause, they would fight to the last breath to end it, and they were quick. They were said to be as fast as the warriors of this City of the Middle Kingdom, who were incredibly fast.

  “Tell me about your journey, Hermon,” the stranger started the conversation, his eyes dark as night. His hands and ears were a little longer than usual, making him look gangly.

  “We seek assistance in the fight against the house of the King. Every 100 years, a warrior-princess, for the good of the world, is sacrificed to the gods, Camin and Lowus. These sacrifices are to maintain the balance of this world. Otherwise, there will be chaos once again! Her sacrifice would give more power to the warriors to keep the creeping evil in the heart of creation at bay. She is chaos alive, and balance at death, or that is how it was supposed to be. But Eldana, the current princess to be sacrificed, resists because she has found a way to maintain the balance permanently. This would mean that there need never again be any concern about chaos.” Hermon paused to see if his opponent was taken by his story or had already lost concentration. He couldn’t interpret the look.

  “Why are you involved?” D’rmas asked. “You are a man with a strength that many not dare to dream about. You are of royal blood and could live a life as a king. Instead, you are helping a leper who has no idea what she is getting herself into.”

  What D’rmas said was true. But not for Hermon. There were many reasons why he was trying to help her. Eldana had been the first to treat him without fear. All others saw only the king’s son in him. Perhaps, Hermon considered, he trusted her because he saw in the princess a kindred soul. She was a princess after all, and faced the same control and expectations as he had. Indeed, Eldana would have continued to be a princess if the mark of chaos had not been discovered on her body, and she was thrust into a life that she had never asked for. Then there was the fact that she was a warrior too; Eldana and Hermon had spilt blood on the same battlefields. There was a kinship in strife that no other who had not endured such hardship could understand. But in the end, even after all of those reasons, Hermon looked up and just said, “Because she needs help.”

  D’rmas now leaned back in his creaking chair. “So, you want me to help you because she needs help? Is that all?” The older warrior looked at Hermon scornfully.

  “You have no reason why I should help, do you? You think I should help because it’s the right thing to do? What do you take me for? Do you think I got all my skills for nothing?” asked D’rmas.

  Hermon nodded, controlling his temper. Warriors of the free Guild were supposed to be noble, to step in when the balance of nature was threatened. “I figured…”

  “So you haven’t thought for a second about what I want for my services?” D’rmas insisted.

  Hermon could feel his anger starting to rise. Who was this guy that would allow an innocent woman to be slaughtered? There was more at stake here than just Eldana, though. Hermon couldn’t let his feelings get in the way, but his inner Berserker was starting to break free, and blood spilled from his finger, which he tried to hide, but it too late. He couldn’t get too angry!

  D’rmas watched all this, bemused, before he stood up. “Well, I think I should go.”

  Hermon looked stunned. “Why are you leaving now? Is that it?” He glared at the creature that had brought him to D’rmas. It created shoulders that it used to shrug. It had no idea what was going on.

  “Offer me something I can’t refuse,” D’rmas created a little ball of fire. “How about a little fight?”

  Hermon thought he heard wrong. “What do you mean? You want to fight me? Are you crazy?” D’rmas lauged, giving Hermon a challenging look.

  “Berserker son, you have come to enlist me. You bring nothing but your dignity and the duty to do right. Why should I care?”

  Hermon could only look puzzled. No one had ever fought him just for ‘fun’. Usually, others always ran from Hermon. They don’t stop. They shook with fear! The power of the Berserkers was known throughout the land. Unless they had the same power themselves, there was hardly anyone who would go to that trouble willingly.

  “You would go down in history as D’rmas the Great, who changed chaos forever. Is that worthless?” Hermon stood up and confronted D’rmas. He wasn’t angry. He was curious. Why would
anyone risk their life to fight him?

  “I’m not interested in glory. I’m interested in the perfect fight. I’m tired of wandering this world and not meeting a worthy opponent. Show me that you are one and I’ll join you,” D’rmas paused and looked Hermon in the eyes.

  It was rare to meet someone who drew fascination from fighting. But he understood. Challenges like these were normal among the Berserkers. Tournaments would often be held as part of a long-standing tradition. Part ritual, part staging, but still demonstrations of power and a crucial part of the culture, but the goal was not to die in the end. Hermon had to play by his rules if he wanted to take this fighter with him. He would have to be careful not to kill him. He needed him. All the other free warriors had stood by the windows of the tavern and watched with interest. The magical servitor had been right to put Hermon and D’rmas together. All other warriors were weaker. D’rmas, however, had the strength and will of many and seemed to be the leader of the whole.

  D’rmas drew his sword. He cast a spell that turned his arm to stone and made his helmet appear. The crest on the helmet began to glow.

  “Will you do me the honor, Berserker prince?”

  “Yes.” Hermon nodded. “But this is not a fight to the death.” D’rmas head lowered, he was ready to fight. “Every blow counts. Servitor, play the referee!” The creature immediately hovered into the air to their side.

  “The winner is the one with the first three hits, both magical and physical.” D’rmas smiled and nodded.

  They moved to the back of the Guild house, where there was a courtyard out back, with a circle was drawn on the ground. Neither of the fighters could leave this circle until the fight was over. What Hermon underestimated was the speed with which D’rmas struck. Before Hermon could even make a punch, D’rmas was right before him and struck him with his stone fist in the center of the chest.

  Whether it was the unbelievable speed or the stone arm, the punch brought with it a force of incredible strength. Hermon flew across the courtyard and crashed into the stone wall. Slowly, D’rmas pulled himself back into his combat stance.

  “One-nil, I’d say.” The free warriors had followed them and were snickered. They liked that, a fight like the old days. Hermon, his head still resting against the stone wall, turned slowly around and glared at D’rmas. This was about demonstrating strength, not killing. He had to keep telling himself that. Hermon’s eyes turned a deep red. His body grew and bled. A deep scream of pain emanated from him, a pain he missed yet hated so much. The magical servitor quickly created a spell that made the courtyard soundproof. Passers-by outside the guild, who had heard a part of the scream looked around curiously, but the sound had been smothered just as quickly as it had arrived and they went on, chalking the noise up to fanciful imaginations.

  D’rmas concentrated. He knew it was getting serious. Hermon eyes firing daggers, his transformation was complete. Hermon restrained from attacking. Not yet, he thought. His rage was too great. He needed time to fully be in control. D’rmas shouted a spell of belligerence, much like the Berserkers did when they magically summoned their true nature. D’rmas charged towards him to strike a second time with his stone fist. He commanded the sword to ignite, and it became as hot as lava.

  “Two-nil now,” D’rmas boasted as he struck the Berserker across the back. Despite the force and speed he’d used, it lacked the same effect as his first strike. This time, Hermon was prepared. His rage was so extreme he would have ripped D’rmas head off, but he held back. With a kick, he could have sent D’rmas to the ground! Hermon launched himself at D’rmas with a barrage of blows but D’rmas was quick. He dodged every blow effortlessly and vaulted back a safe distance from Hermon to gloat from there.

  “I expected more from you, Berserker son,” said D’rmas as he hurled himself at his opponent again. Hermon reared back and protected his body with his mighty arms. None of the blows hurt him, no matter how fast D’rmas was. Even his fire sword barely made a scratch on Hermon. Without any pain or sign of distress from Hermon, these blows could not count in the challenge.

  D’rmas reared back, threw the sword in the air, and said two words that turned it into a frighteningly giant axe. Hermon stared at the display of power and chuckled. He had seen better from Siem and Eldana and was unimpressed. D’rmas swung the axe and Hermon feinted to the side. The rock behind him was cut in half. D’rmas decided to try another strategy this time. He stood in front of Hermon and transformed into a miniature version of himself. The momentary shock Hermon experienced was all he needed. D’rmas rolled under Hermon’s legs and stood behind him in an instant. Before Hermon could react, he returned to normal size and struck with a hard punch. D’rmas reared back and rejoiced loudly.

  “Three-nil.” He seemed to know exactly what was needed to spice up the fight and he delivered. “You lose, Berserker! I would have thought better of you!”

  Hermon panted, and nodded, but Hermon’s eyes red and his rage barely contained as he said, “How about one more? Why don’t you prove, beyond all doubt, that you really are the better fighter?”

  “Four-nil would not be bad,” D’rmas gloated, and agreed.

  Hermon had seen and heard enough. Now it was time to end this charade. This time Hermon launched the attack. This somewhat daring move unnerved D’rmas. In a flash, D’rmas stone arm had turned into a shield. Hermon struck with the full force of his fury and the shield broke. The blow hit D’rmas in the face and had him violently flying halfway through the barracks, but before he touched the ground, he saw a huge shadow above him. Hermon appeared again and this time. he kicked him in the side. D’rmas suddenly flew into the crowd of the other fighters and was caught by them. Hermon stood there and grinned with a proud tilt of his head.

  “Three-one,” Hermon growled, as the Qeltifom warrior struggled and wobbled to his feet.

  D’rmas was beyond insulted. He had truly believed he would best the Berserker completely, and the blows he sustained bruised not only his body but his spirit. He was a fine warrior that hated to be dishonoured. He did not intend for the Berserker to have the final laugh. He intended to win. He bowed his head and muttered some words, summoning his strength to create a huge shield around him, a gigantic bubble of energy that looked impenetrable.

  The free warriors were astonished. The power one had to muster to create such a shield was overwhelming. It required even more to destroy it. They doubted even the Berserker had such power. D’rmas saw with satisfaction that everyone else was terrified. The shield around him rumbled and glimmered with power.

  Hermon was not impressed. Most of them had never and were probably not ready to see what came next. He vaulted off, speaking the Berserkers’ tongue - “Seberu, Berserker!” The power of the Berserkers came from the depths of Taos like any other magical ability, but the power that Hermon accessed now had not been seen in this world for centuries, only the oldest clans of the Berserkers knew how to access the deepest powers of Toas. The blood that ran down his body turned black, as did Hermon’s eyes. It would leave him completely drained for some time after the fight, but Hermon did not care. D’rmas wavered for an instant, shocked by this display of forgotten magic.

  The ground of the courtyard tremored, rumbled – and split in two! People screamed as the force of Hermon’s power unsettled everything, rocking the walls of the Guild house, and sending the spectators stumbling. D’rmas most of all felt the full force of it as his magnificent shield broke and he was struck in the chest. He fell to the ground and trembled. The fight was over. Hermon had won. After a few minutes, Hermon wore his human form, and stood over the struggling D’rmas, who looked up at him.

  “What was that, Hermon? I have never felt such power.” D’rmas asked as Hermon fell beside him, feeling faint.

  “Something I am reluctant to show, a force from the depths of Toas so powerful I can barely control it myself.” Hermon breathed heavily and sweat glistened his
brow. They said every time a Berserker went berserk, his life span was reduced.

  D’rmas nodded. “Thank you, Hermon. Here’s to our future battles.” He signalled to the magic servitor who conjured a cup of ale in their hands. D’rmas took a swig and gave Hermon a contented smile. “We can leave as soon as my healing spells put me back together again!”

  Hermon smiled triumphantly. He had convinced him. “So be it. Welcome, Brother D’rmas.”

  Mikko & Lord Taboon

  Siem was careful. She knew that if she were caught, she would be threatened with immediate death. Here was the center of all evil, everything ruled by the minds of selfish beings who had given in to hubris and darkness. The change spell helped her look different, but she still had a hard time acting normal. Siem was the most responsible of the three companions, she was constantly worried about the other two. It annoyed her that neither of them thought about how dire the consequences would be if they were caught!

  “We’re going to be fine,” she muttered under her breath, reassuring herself not for the first time that day. She looked down and shook her head, lost in thought. The fact that Hermon had problems controlling his temper and Eldana was incredibly stubborn did nothing to allay her fears. She had more than enough reason to be worried. As she muttered exasperated curses under her breath and walked towards the magic citadel, she noticed that someone was following her. She felt the same life energy for a while, which was very unusual in such a huge and crowded place like this. Usually, you only feel the same energy but fleetingly because someone is constantly walking past you. But this energy was constantly behind her and always with the same intensity.

  Fear washed over her like a wave. Had she been discovered? Was there anyone here who knew she was in town? She had to come up with a solution and fast. She subtly glanced back but saw nothing unusual.

  Moving a little further, she saw a street on one side. Siem didn’t care that she had no idea where it led. Instinct had her walking briskly into the dark alley. The passage was narrow, and the walls were decorated with magical signs. At a small restaurant in the wider street behind her, food was just delivered to customers who were loudly rejoicing about it. Foe powder and gnome cake were served, a delicacy in the capital. The customers were practically drooling. But Siem concentrated on her stalker, not the food...