Madness: Prologue
“Elethain, why are we hunting a dragon, exactly?” the elf asked while brushing branches aside, clearly agitated.
“Because, Rotheilan, I am going to enslave it. Our people would benefit greatly from such an asset.”
“As would you, no doubt.” Rotheilan cast a smug look to his older brother, who only smirked in reply.
Eithas, the more skeptical twin of Rotheilan, leaned closer to better hear the conversation. “How are you even going to enslave it?” He was convinced their task would fail yet refused to allow his three brothers to continue without him. Despite Eithas’ unshakable loyalty, he never failed to question their eldest sibling.
Elethain sighed as he halted his march through the thick brush. In his moment of silence, the necromancer stared out through the screen of purplish-blue leaves that restricted most of his view. He could still see the sparkling light reflecting from the surface of the water far below. Their climb up the Eye of Cerenos, the ancient tree near their homeland, Y’thirya, had been more treacherous than expected. Elethain looked to his brothers, each beginning to wither from exhaustion due to traversing the enormous magical growth. Even Idérys, their youngest kin, who was often so full of youthful energy at just a mere two-hundred years old, could be seen dripping with sweat. Elethain had requested they join him in his quest—for the future of their people, supposedly.
Elves had been living on Y’thirya for countless millennia, typically in harmony. However, the elders spoke of a foreboding future. Though they held no mystical knowledge, they believed a great war was fated in the years to come. The date and its cast were unknown, yet they were confident the act would occur. Elethain was not one to believe such prophecies but found advantage in their ramblings. He had heard a myriad of tales of a dragon who rested atop the Eye of Cerenos. As a necromancer, the elf possessed the capability to enslave beings within his domination, to be used as he commanded. In truth, a dragon could aid in their future endeavors. However, enslaving the beast was no simple task.
“Well, we have to kill it first. From there, I should possess the ability to trap it within the Undying Realm where it will answer my call,” Elethain finally responded.
“Should?!” Eithas blurted in surprise. “You mean you are not certain?!”
Elethain smiled. “Should. Once it is dead, I do not expect it to be a problem. However, I have never done so before, of course. The ritual itself is not so difficult, it seems. The struggle lies thereafter.”
“What do you mean?” Rotheilan asked as he casually cut one of the thousands of luscious apples dangling from branches twisted around them with one of his swords. His second sword chopped down another just above his twin’s head, plopping it on his noggin with a dull thud and bringing a smile to each of their faces.
“Once it is trapped within the Undying Realm, it is no longer dead. It would be reanimated and with a constant will of its own. I must maintain control by sheer domination of will. That is how the link is created, master to slave. It can take years—dozens, even hundreds—to ensure complete control. During that time, I cannot risk summoning it to the Living Realm, or it could break the link.”
Idérys pressed further in eagerness, possessing only a lust for excitement and adventure. “What happens if it breaks the link?”
Their youngest brother’s curiosity brought a smile to Elethain’s face. “If the link breaks I can either attempt to maintain a semblance of it in order to reel the slave back in under my control, or I can relinquish it, which would simply eliminate the reanimated corpse.”
Each of Elethain’s brothers had nothing left to say, being far out of the realm of their knowledge—or interest. Unlike their eldest kin, they were warriors of the blade. The twins each favored a pair of swords to strike at their foes, while Idérys preferred the shield and spear. The band rested easily against thick branches as they ate their apples, pondering their task ahead. Elethain had assured his family the task could be completed, though he remained secretly unconvinced. Very few dragons had ever been conquered in the past, let alone reanimated to be the slave of a necromancer. However, he could not deny himself the chance of such a claim. His pursuit of power pushed him to heights others, even those who greatly surpassed his thousand-years of age, dared not risk. The warlock bit into his apple, hoping he could achieve all he desired.
* * * * *
“Elethain!” Idérys called out, his eyes full of terror in the moment the golden dragon’s massive clawed talon swiped at him.
The necromancer watched in horror as his youngest brother was torn apart in a spray of purple blood by the razor-sharp claw. Elethain looked on, trembling in fear, as Idérys’ form spilled its entrails onto the floor made of purplish-blue leaves. His brother’s hollow eyes remained open but unseeing—a sight that would haunt Elethain for the rest of his long life.
Elethain broke from his distracted state as Rotheilan and Eithas bellowed in unison at the fate of their kin. They each stood atop the horns of the drake and pitifully swatted at its eyes with their negligible steel. The dragon roared in annoyance and shook its head violently, throwing them to the ground. Elethain could only watch as the godlike beast turned and retracted its tail, aiming to smash the twins against the ground of its home platform.
As the monstrous appendage came plummeting toward the pair, Elethain conjured a wall of black magic over top of his brothers. Rotheilan and Eithas stared blankly from their prone position as the massive, mace-like tail smashed into the barrier. They cheered to their eldest sibling for saving them. In their excitement, they failed to notice the giant golden tail whooshing through the air once more, slamming into the barrier above. This time they did not cheer, as large cracks appeared in the magical shield.
“Elethain!” Rotheilan called, looking toward his brother who was struggling with all his might to maintain the forcefield.
Beads of sweat poured down the necromancer’s face as he attempted to gather the strength to fortify the shield that prevented his brothers from certain death. “Get up, you fools!”
As if they had forgotten their position, the twins quickly attempted to rise. They managed to turn around and nearly escape before the beast’s tail came crashing down once more—through the barrier.
Elethain watched as the twins faded from view beneath the heavy limb. His gaze could not be averted as the appendage peeled away and revealed the crushed elven warriors cemented to the armored scales. Their once pale skin resembled a massive bruise with blood being pressed through each pore. The necromancer could see bones protruding from their bodies where they managed to pierce the skin. Elethain’s mouth wavered in a feeble attempt to form words.
While words were impossible, noise was not. The elf screamed as loud as he could, pressing all his emotion into a single outcry. Flashes of his brothers’ destroyed forms raced through his mind as he continued to scream. His eyes grew wide in his maniacal state of pain. Elethain reached out to each side with his hands and conjured a dozen large spear-like manifestations of black magic, all pointing to the monster that had eliminated his family.
With another cry of rage and sorrow, Elethain launched every magical spear toward his enemy. They crashed against the dragon’s scales, though could not pierce the hide. The monster started running toward Elethain, its mountainous form shaking the thick branches beneath its feet, determined to eliminate the last of its intruders. As it approached, the necromancer only grew more maniacal. This was it—his moment. Deep inside, he knew the fate of his kin was his own fault, though he refused to accept such knowledge. The demon charging toward him was the cause. There was no regard for Elethain demanding they wake the slumbering beast. To threaten it within its home when all it hoped for was peace and solitude. There was only the conviction that the dragon was the assassin to press the blade, not he.
Elethain roared in denial and forcefully extended his left hand high into the air. As he did so, an enormous magical hand appeared in front of the drake’s face. As the elf clasped his own hand shut, the magical formation followed suit, clamping tightly around the beast’s neck. The dragon roared in anger at being restricted. It thrashed wildly, snapping with its jaws and swinging its tail. It didn’t matter. Elethain kept his hand clenched tightly to keep his prey immobilized while the other shook harshly in the air. To the side of the monster’s exposed neck, a large spear began to form. The shape matched Idérys’ spear, driving Elethain’s pain more. But he needed it. His anguish turned to strength as he felt every emotion running deep through his veins. His body felt empty yet so full of life due to the sorrow. Such an odd feeling. As if one was a shell that contained too much, but nothing could be seen inside.
The necromancer struggled to maintain control of the dragon while also building up a tremendous amount of energy needed for his weapon. Just a bit more . . ..
Then, the dragon stopped thrashing. Elethain’s confusion nearly broke his concentration. The mythical beast stared directly into his frenzied eyes, seeing the pain behind them. The passion, the power, the lust. The golden drake simply maintained eye contact as the spear was launched toward its neck at blinding speed. It never blinked as it telepathically spoke to Elethain. I forgive you.
Elethain’s eyes widened in surprise and quickly turned to sadness as he watched the spear pierce through the dragon’s exposed neck, just behind the jaw and into the drake’s brain. Tears welled up in his eyes and he fell to his knees. The tormented elf cried out in pain as the dragon’s eyes slowly slid closed with a final low exhale. He sobbed uncontrollably as the shining, golden scales that encompassed its body turned to a dull gray, one by one. His painful throbs of woe only grew as he made eye contact with Idérys’ ripped corpse a short distance away. During his channeling, Elethain failed to notice that the dragon’s thrashing caused the twins to be thrown to the side in a shattered heap.
He continued to weep for what seemed an eternity. His brothers had fallen in his quest. His pursuit of power. For a purpose they cared naught. Their only concern had been for Elethain’s safety. His guilt was immense in that moment as the realization struck him hard. Never before had he felt such agonizing pain as his mind assaulted itself in guilt. After many grieving moments, the necromancer finally stood from his huddled-over position and walked over to the dragon.
In the presence of his target, all thoughts of his guilt faded immediately. Too drawn was he to the power at hand. His mind shut out considerations of consequence as he produced the transparent orb in his necklace. Eyes wide with lust, Elethain began channeling the magic needed to absorb the dragon’s faded corpse, trapping it in the Undying Realm and within his pendant. The ritual did not take long. The beast’s corpse turned to a trail of energy and soared toward the orb. Once gone from the Living Realm, the godlike drake could be seen peering around from inside the small globe, fully revived. The orb emitted a bright golden light that resembled its captive.
Elethain pulled the pendant to his face and stared at his slave with a grin. “Hello, Aurum.” The dragon gave no response other than a deep sigh of hopelessness. Not at its own fate, but its captor. The irritated necromancer tucked the necklace away and stared straight ahead to where its corpse had been. All that remained were the trample marks of its previous existence atop the Eye of Cerenos and the mutilated husks of his brothers. He walked to the center of the platform between each of his sibling’s corpses. With little effort, Elethain called upon each of them to heed his call.
The elven warriors began to rise.