"The Gods' Favorite" cd Terranum (chapter 5) V

 

What did this madman do?! What did he do?! The Editor-in-Chief of "Życie w Miejskie" (City Life) thought intensely. He and Robert Miś were driving in a car as far away from the warehouse where the tragedy had taken place as possible. He still had vivid memories of the moment when his employee, in a fit of madness, had attacked four sword-wielding Remaths. What was he thinking?! An idiot! An idiot! A knight! Bare-knuckled attacks on super-assassins?! He'd gone completely insane! And he'd paid for it with his life... Saving the queen—Kozłowski saw it clearly—he'd been stabbed twice in the back. Then...

Then there was only a burst of light, its blast tearing apart the attackers, engulfing the entire warehouse in flames. It was like a gas explosion. All the windows blew out of the building. Kozłowski and his companion, Robert, were thrown back through the gate into the trash-filled courtyard. When they gathered themselves, the wail of sirens could already be heard in the distance. They only peeked inside for a moment to see what was left of the closet and the people inside. If he could, he would erase the image of the smeared bodies on the floor. Traces of blood stained even the walls! He didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do. He was distraught. Distraught and angry. He was gripped by remorse. After all, he had sent Sienkiewicz there that morning...

And the portal. It was gone. As the elf had predicted, the portal exploded because a dead man—not the chosen one—fell into its reach. The barely regained contact with the primeval world was destroyed! Such a chance, such... He didn't know how to properly describe it. How to describe what he felt. He turned to Robert: "I need a drink!"

He slowed down. He began searching for a sign for some bar or pub.

***

Elpitaphet, chamberlain at the court of Lord Setherinna, Lord Remanthilldros, sat quietly in the spacious royal kitchen, like a mouse under a broom. The gigantic cavern-palace shook to its foundations from the angry roars of its master. The saberman only silently hoped the Highest One wouldn't grow hungry too quickly and send for him. Another muffled roar rolled through the cavern like thunder, causing a stalagmite to fall from the ceiling and shatter with a crash onto the black marble floor. Large horse and deer haunches dangled from hooks attached to a metal frame along the ash-gray wall. On the other side, a large oak barrel of the finest wine, imported especially from Terranum, shook dangerously.

Remanthilldros became furious when his necromancers "read" from the fragments of the bodies of warriors sent to the human world, which were returned to Setherinna thanks to the necklaces, that such a tasty prize as the Queen of Portals - Ellamina - could have been captured alive!

Now he was thrashing furiously around his cave, and anyone with even a shred of common sense had retreated as far from the ruler as possible.

Elpitaphet had been kidnapped at a young age from his home village in Passador, the land of gnomes and halflings, which had been relatively recently (40 years ago) invaded by hordes of a black dragon. After many years of suffering and humiliation, he finally found himself at the court of House Bessard—the dragons ruled by the aged Santhe. It was there that he learned the art of cooking and, after his master's death, was sold to Lord Remanthilldros. His talent was quickly recognized, and over time, allowed the gnome to rise to the position of chamberlain. Compared to the conditions Santhe enjoyed at the court of the ruler of Setherinna, he might even be tempted to say he was quite happy there. Of course, maintaining all proportion and defining "happiness" in terms that only and exclusively prevailed in dragon courts.

Unfortunately, he felt an unpleasant tingling in his head. A trickle of warm blood flowed from his small, hooked nose. The ruler probed his mind. He knew the dragon would soon speak in his head.

"Come to me, little one!" he heard. "I have a task for you, and have them bring me wine!"

The ruler retreated from his mind. The gnome wiped the blood with his sleeve and trudged into the corridor. The torch-lit tunnel, five meters wide and ten meters high, was made of Remathilldros's favorite material—black marble imported from Alba. He quickened his pace, not wanting to anger the dragon further. The corridor ended, and he entered a spacious chamber, decorated with gigantic burgundy curtains of the most expensive velvet, where the ruler received envoys. Lighting such a vast space required elven magic. Although the dragon hated that race, other techniques simply wouldn't work here. At the end of the chamber rose the Lord's enormous lair. Adorned with gold accents that reflected the light of the multi-tiered chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, it was upholstered in soft, purple satin. Wherever possible, the artisans had inscribed Setherinna's sigil, a two-headed black dragon inscribed within a six-pointed star—the symbol of the dragon world. He passed the lair and turned right, into a corridor leading directly to the treasury—Lord Remanthilldros's favorite haunt. The lord's personal guards, two winged hybrids, let the chamberlain pass without incident, paying him no attention. Elpitaphet had heard that they were a cross between wolfhounds—great mountain wolves inhabiting the remote reaches of the icy land of Issenijkh—and the most bloodthirsty creatures after dragons from the northern steppes of the sandy land of Bandalloum, the Wozarths—felines with poisonous claws.

As he entered the dark, cold corridor, he could already hear the dragon's heavy panting and growling. Despite the constant drafts in the palace, he could smell the stench of sulfur. He entered the largest chamber in the entire complex. The treasury and ruler's bedroom.

"You were in no hurry," a subdued voice echoed in his head, giving no indication that Remanthilldros had calmed down. Dragons didn't have vocal cords adapted for speech. Therefore, they communicated through telepathy.

"I arrived as quickly as possible, Lord!

" "Silence, dog! You're lying! You're lying like your entire tribe!"

Elpitaphet cringed, mentally reprimanding himself for not keeping his tongue in check. The dragon lay atop a pile of his treasure, its brilliance blinding the motionless gnome. Jewels plundered during numerous expeditions from raided territories. Countless gold and silver bowls, carafes, plates. Diamond-studded necklaces, chains, belts, intricately crafted armor, swords, and shields. Everything was thrown haphazardly into one large heap, upon which perched a reptile covered in pitch-black scales. Its enormous head, topped with three curved horns, rested on its clawed forepaws. Its two yellow eyes with vertical pupils stared intently at the chamberlain.

"You will prepare a new expedition to the Earthling world," the gnome's mind boomed. "This time, Hephates is to construct twenty necklaces, and if Cyanth puts up a fight, I will bite his head off myself! We no longer need the portal! We need as many necklaces as possible! For the entire army!

" "Yes, Master," Elpitaphet said, knowing that carrying out this order would be practically impossible. He also knew that any attempt to explain to the dragon the impossibility of this task would, at best, result in singed clothing and hair. Lord Remanthilldros brooked no objections or reports of difficulties. He was a despot at his worst, and very impulsive, always seeking the guilty, whom he punished harshly. Most often, by death in various elaborate ways. Once, a dark elf managed to prove his innocence and had enough... stupidity to point out the culprit, the dragon. He didn't live to see the evening... To this day, a proverb circulates among the people of Setherinna: "Don't be wise like the elf Melvinth."

"And one more thing," said the dragon. "Choose the Remanth from my bodyguard for this task. They must be the best! Out!" The

chamberlain waited until the dragon curled up and closed its eyes. Only then, with a nervous pace that was halfway between a walk and a run, did he hurry back to the kitchen.

"What!? Twenty necklaces?! Cyjanth fumed, an elven renegade who had been tempted by Lord Remanthilldros's power many years ago. One of the greatest mages in the history of Terranum had defected to the elves' eternal enemy after their army was defeated in the war for Abdenroth, the world of the Ogres. This happened in the middle of the fifth era, three hundred and fifty years ago. Many elven princes lost their lives in that war, and several thousand elves became slaves to the dragons. A few, like Cyjanth, had willingly joined the Lord. They were captivated by the powerful magic the dragon possessed.

"Twenty necklaces in a week?! He's gone mad!

" "He went mad many years ago...

" "Yes. Yes," the elf calmed down. He was angry, which, given his pale complexion, gave his face a demonic look. His short, for an elf, gray hair was neatly cut to his shoulders. He wore a navy blue cotton tunic, into which some unnamed tailor had woven silver and gold threads. In the bright light from the lanterns lining the walls of his workshop, the tunic shimmered differently each time. On his chest was a medallion depicting an astrological vision of the solar system, of which Terranum belonged. He was four hundred and thirty-seven years old, and even for an elf, he was already a venerable old man. He used to say that his longevity was due to the power of Remanthilldros's magic, a part of which the ruler had decided to part with and share with his new ally.

"Making twenty necklaces will take me a month, and that's if circumstances are favorable," he began to calculate. "Assuming the dwarves deliver the red rubies quickly enough.

" "You will employ apprentices," the chamberlain explained calmly. "You will teach them how to make necklaces so they can train new craftsmen themselves."

Seeing the elf's growing anger, he quickly added, "The Lord wants to send an entire army to the human world soon." The elf fell silent before he could begin. He sank into his leather armchair. Undeterred by his reaction, the gnome continued, "The portal to Saphillmahl (as the human world was called) has probably been damaged. There's no other way but to get there using the necklaces."

Cyanth waved his hand resignedly. He expected that Remanthilldros would eventually demand the impossible. Without sleep and working day and night, he could make twenty necklaces in a week, but that would be the limit of his abilities, and he would probably pay with his life.

The chamberlain's impassive gaze only confirmed his conviction. The gnome rose from the armchair the elf had placed him in and headed for the chamber's exit. Just before the cast-iron doors, he stopped and turned.

"Surely such an attack will displease the Council of Five Dragons..."

He said this casually, as if thinking aloud. Then he turned and left, leaving Cyanth alone with his thoughts.

The elf sat motionless, staring sightlessly at the magical book. The chamberlain's last words echoed in his head: "...Such an attack will not please the Council of Five Dragons."

Exactly! This is my chance! He thought. He quickly stood up and ran to the Purple Citadel, where he hoped to meet Naldur, the Lord of the Red Dragon Clan.

***

Purple was (of course!) Prince Naldur's favorite color. He ordered the walls, stained-glass windows, curtains, and all the furnishings in his fortress, commonly known as the citadel, to be decorated in this shade. The building itself was perched on a small hill almost in the center of Setharinna's capital, named Rema after the ruler. The citadel had always been an object of envy among its tribesmen. It stood out from other buildings not only for its color but also for its size. While Lord Remanthilldros's palace-cavern was, as its name suggests, a cavern carved into solid rock, much of it underground, with only a small palace above ground. The citadel, however, was built entirely "outside the city." Its perimeter could easily be compared to a medium-sized elven or orc settlement. It boasted six towering towers, each a hundred meters high, towering over the entire city and, in clear weather, visible from forty miles away. A wall built by specially brought-in dwarven craftsmen, twenty meters high, formed an impenetrable barrier even for Remanthilldros's elite troops. A single gate led inside, uniquely crafted from black tempered steel by the city's finest blacksmiths. The citadel wasn't designed for dragons, as Naldur favored human form over dragon form. He even ordered all his clanmates to assume human form during visits or ceremonies at his castle. A strong force of mutant warriors was permanently stationed in the fortress, which, in the event of a surprise attack, could defend itself against an invader for a long time.

The head of the red dragon clan placed great importance on his own safety for one significant reason. Dragons were the most treacherous creatures in the known world. For their own gain, they did not hesitate to attack their own tribesmen. Despite their undoubtedly great intelligence, they were devious and deceitful creatures, and conspiracies and intrigues were commonplace in every court.

Each clan had its headquarters in the capital, but only the Citadel "poked" the dragonlord's eye. Every time he looked toward the red towers, anger and jealousy rose within him. Then he lashed out at his subordinates. He also repeatedly attempted to undermine Naldur's authority and influence among the other dragons and the Council of Five Dragons, which held supreme power in Setherinn.

The figure Neldar assumed was reminiscent of those who had left Terranum centuries ago. He had black hair, a swarthy complexion, a pronounced chin, and an aquiline nose. His well-built figure complemented the armor he wore today. Crafted from an alloy of silver and steel by the capital's finest armorers, it gleamed in the sunlight. The breastplate was coated in red paint, and in the center was engraved the clan's sigil—an eye within a six-pointed star.

Accompanied by his bodyguard, Neldar strolled through his garden, which was the second thing Lord Remanthilldros hated. However, in this case, the ruler had allies among the dragon nobility, as Neldar's love of gardens and plants was frowned upon in this world.

Besides, the vegetation in all of Setherinn was rather sparse. There was just enough to feed the slaves, countless of whom worked in the dragon camps. The red dragon, however, didn't care if others frowned upon his preferences. He had proven time and again that he was no weak leader. Add to this his achievements in battles with other nations and the fact that it was during his rule that the Red Dragon Clan gained respect among his race. In short, Neldar was currently "untouchable," and this gave him immense satisfaction.

That's why Cyjanth approached him and presented a very interesting proposition, which he was now considering. It was a golden opportunity to strengthen his position on the Council, which, although chaired by Remanthilldros, was the Council that made the final decisions. He decided to meet that evening with his supporters, Alesathr, the Champion of the blue dragon Clan, and Phyjhon, the brother of the Champion of the white dragons.