Intergalactic Hall of Heroes - The Chalice of Souls

Book One – The Ravaged City

Chapter One

Race For The Tower

The Head Gaoler, a very hardy fellow who had many scars across his face, which looked as if it had been carved from granite, sat glumly at the round wooden table in the centre of this small prison. The prison, of which, was situated underneath a rather important tower.

Supporting his bald, heavy head with his fist, he appeared deep in thought. One would wonder what burned deep inside the soul of such men, for they would never show the entirety of it in fear of advertising a weakness.

And yet another thumping explosion nearby reverberated inside the prison, which shook various chains and loosened grit and plaster from the ceiling.

“They’re coming... But they’re not all here yet. I can just about... sense them.” Spoke an eerie, wispy, burdened voice from one of the cells.
“Shut up!” The gaoler shouted back.
“They’re in... peril.”
“Will you bloody shut your mouth? I’m thinking.”
“May I ask... what you are pondering?”
“No.”
“You can tell me... I won’t tell anyone.”

The head gaoler jolted upright and marched towards the cell in particular, grabbed onto the bars with big strong hands and bellowed:

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU, RIGHT! I DON’T CARE. JUST SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP OR GOD HELP ME, YOU’D HAVE WISH YOU DID. ALRIGHT?”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-“
“I WON’T BE SORRY WHEN I’M FINISHED WITH YOU.”
“I didn’t mean... any offence.”
“I’LL SHOW YOU BLOODY OFFENSIVE, MATE.”
“Please... I meant no harm.”

Another shockwave hit, dusting the gaoler’s head. This did nothing for the gaoler’s rage.

“Nothing would satisfy me more than throwing you outside into the absolute hell outside right now. Of course, after I’ve taken that Stone of Submission they tied around your neck and shoved it right up your f-“
“Spinson!” someone bellowed (in a friendly manner).

Spinson jolted around to see the jolly white bearded magician plod into his domain, who stood there, belly ungracefully out protruding from within his loose scarlet robe. He stood there, with a jolly grin.

“Why, I heard shouting from above. Is there cause for alarm, Spinson?”
“Oh, just the prisoner, my lord. Never will shut up, will he?”, he replied, attemping to meet the wizard’s jollity of the moment.
“Well, sorry about the noise outside. The wizards of the west are approaching, just a little covering fire, ho ho!”
“How is that distress signal going?”
“Coming along nicely. If we can solve that conundrum of breaking through the barrier of course. No reply yet though, but more people are coming to join us to focus their efforts. The more the merrier, as I always say!”
“Well, yeah.”
“No need to look so glum, Spinson! Cheer up! Help WILL be on its way!”
“Ain’t gonna bring back my family though, will it, sir?”

The jolly magician put his hands onto Spinson’s shoulders, who managed to hide his embarrassment for now.

“We must look forward, Spinson! Never backward! Now, let me have a word with old nastyface.”
“My pleasure.”

Spinson walked away back to the table. The only thing he actually liked about this tower was that even in these adverse circumstances, with all the crap going on, this place was quite safe. You just had to put up with all manner of weird people, people from all kinds of magical professions wittering on about their experiments and meditations, far away from the company of equals where most of the conversation would revolve around sport, dirty jokes and sexually attractive members of the opposite sex, and what each of them would like to do to them.

The wizard peered into the cell, where a dimly lit figure, concealed in brown rags sat.

“Are you giving my friend trouble again?”
“Not... intentionally, my Lord. I take it that you have made... no contact yet.”
“That is not for any of us to discuss with you.”
“My offer to help... is still offered to you.”
“I can say that we shan’t possibly need your help. Not that I’d consider releasing you. You may sooner ally yourself with the enemy than give us aid.”
“Your efforts... will fail, Lord Pommenby.”
“That’s enough.”

Lord Pommenby’s patience was truly tested. Normally, the gentle lord was convivial, upbeat and accommodating, but even he showed disdain towards the mysterious prisoner. It wasn’t the stale pissy smell emanating from within, but something much worse than a bad smell.

The wizard turned around to Spinson, who was sat at the table again, playing with a broken pencil.

“I must leave to meditate. The more powerful I am, the more chance we can break through and finally make contact.”
“See you, then.” Spinson replied, not even making a glance up from the table.
“Farewell, Spinson!”

As the Wizard left, Spinson grabbed his face with both hands and stretched the skin down. It helped ease the stress and tension. He growled slightly, just so anyone else could just hear.

The man in the rags lay eerily still. You couldn’t tell from looking at it whether whoever it was in there was indeed alive or dead. It never flinched, it just sat there perfectly still as a statue.

Above, at the great portal to the Wizard’s Tower, in the pouring rain of the evening, two fists rammed hard upon the wooden door.

“Is there anyone there?” bellowed the bald mage, as heavy rain hammered onto his head.

The door opened, where stood Lord Pommenby, as well as a few other important looking wizards.

“My goodness. Come inside at once! Are you hurt?” Pommenby asked.
“I’m not used to this weather. I live in a desert!”

This wizard was completely soaked to the bone in his sky blue robe, and shivering. He staggered in.

“Are there others with you?”
“They didn’t make it.”

Pommenby waved his palms through the air, weaving a complex pattern of magic, and chanted:

“Amutis Entstrai!”

Suddenly, the soaked wizard’s clothes and hair plumped outwards, spraying fine droplets of water in all directions. The wizard examined how dry he and his clothes were.

“My many thanks!”
“Ah good. Now, would you like a nice cup of tea?”
“Oh, yes please!” The wizard emphatically replied.
“Well, if you would follow me upstairs please, tell me, do you like custard creams?”
“Ah, don’t mind if I do!”

After the nice cup of tea, Pommenby introduced the new guest to the other wizards up at the top room of the tower, where the staircase also led to the very top. Various learned men and women from different magical professions were congregated here, some of which had also travelled considerable distances.

It was a relaxed environment here, with gentle lighting, dark wooden furniture and a large round red carpet.

A tall, thin man with olive skin, harsh features and a hooked nose approached the newcomer. With a deep, booming voice he said:

“Welcome, Wizard of the West, to the Tower of the Eternal Light. We have heard many stories of your kind, and your journey must have been long. I am The Most Venerable Ardnal, Grand Sorceror from the Entesis Empire and former advisor to the late Emperor.”
“We have heard word of you before. I am Haklatus, Senior Thaumaturge and Trainee Overseer from the Krentok Academy. Though I think I’m the last one left.”
“All of us have lost people close to us here. Now you ARE here, you can aid us in preventing any more deaths. You must rest, obviously, for later, but please make yourself acquainted with your new colleagues.”

Back in the dungeons, the thing in the cell spoke again.

“Someone’s arrived.”
“What?” Spinson replied.
“I can just about taste it in the air... Whoever it is has come from afar... yet alone.”
“So what?”
“It means there’s little chance that... anyone else will arrive. It’s been a whole month... now... since the message went out. ... This is all the help... that they will get. It isn’t enough.”
“Well, there’s bugger all else to put my faith in right now. All of the major cities have fallen, or have been destroyed. Everyone’s surrendered.”
“I have... not forgotten. Quite impressive... don’t you think?”
“Well of course, I forgot. The murder of innocents. That’s right up your street, isn’t it?”
“I achieved... much. Now my notoriety... is forgotten. They stole it from me.”

Spinson giggled.

“Does it piss you off that this made your genocidal rampage look a little tiny?”
“You could sum it up... like that, yes. It makes me... jealous.”
“Well, it’s good you can’t do anything about that then, is it? Now, will you shut up?”

An old man’s voice from one of the other cells croaked.

“Water! I need water!”
“Oh, not you as well.”

Spinson shook his head, huffed in despair and went upstairs to fetch a bowl of water.

“He’s really good to us, you know. Us old evil types.” It croaked.
“You’ve lost... your touch. I think prison... finally broke you. You know I admired you... once.”
“Oh, that was a long time ago. Fourty years ago I think. Many, many robberies.”
“We showed them... in our own ways... our greatness.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I just got rich, and then lost the lot. I am nothing but a cursed name now, a trinket, a prize to be bandied around the world in a cage.”
“Are you... proud?”
“Only proud. Erghm.”

The croaky man, making some disgusting noises, coughed up some phlegm and spat it out somewhere.

“I am only proud that those who caught me were otherworlders. They were heroes from afar. All I did was go into exile, but they had to get outside help to find me.”
“The Intergalactic... Hall of Heroes?”
“Oh yes. Nothing but the best of course. I heard on my way here that that’s who they’re trying to reach. They’re trying all their magical knowledge, but nothing is breaking through the barrier!”
“I know... They tried to summon the best minds in the craft here... but they forgot at least two.”
“Oh I was a cunning one, but I was never a powerful wizard! And all my power has gone away now. They should ask you to help.”
“If only... it wasn’t a matter of principle for them.”
“That’s a shame. They need you, you know. But they won’t admit it.”

The croaky man coughed some more, and didn’t seem to be able to stop. Though it had taken much effort, he shouted (croakily):

“Help!”

Spinson returned, hurriedly, down the stairs with a bowl of water.

“I’m only gone two minutes. What’s the bloody matter?” He asked, unlocking the croaky man’s cell.
“I’m a dying man!” He croaked.
“No you’re not. Keep yourself warm in that blanket over there. Don’t be stupid.”
“Can I have my water?”

Spinson huffed as he passed the bowl to the croaky man, who gripped it with shaky hands and raised it to his mouth to drink. Droplets of water streaked down his matted and unkempt beard. The empty bowl was handed back to Spinson.

“Thank you.”
“Now, wrap yourself up.”
“Okay.”

The croaky man shuffled off the floor to get the blanket off his bed, while Spinson locked him in again. Spinson huffed, then began to whistle a tune, which kind of resembled a popular folk song of these parts, “The Naughty Bard” if only he could get any of the notes right.

Later on, at the twilight before dusk, all of the wizards began to congregate on the very top of the tower. The storm continued to lash up here, and the wind howled past, catching the wizard’s robes. Leading the party was Lord Pommenby, who somehow managed to stay upbeat, despite the awful inclement weather.

“All of you assemble around the perimeter for this one!” he shouted, “Link arms with the person stood next to you.”

Senior members of the magical profession arranged themselves near the battlement perimeter, steadying themselves, and linking arms with their neighbours. Meanwhile, Lord Pommenby was passed a large, gnarled wooden staff by an assistant, who nodded and then turned to leg it downstairs out of the rain.

Lord Pommenby tapped the butt of the staff onto the worn flagstone floor three times. He then chanted:

“Blessed Hazdar, eastern Lord of the Sun, aid us in our quest to break the shield. We are gracious for your presence here. Give us the power of your maelstrom.”

With the butt of the staff, Pommenby began to draw a clockwise spiral towards the centre. Still, the wind howled as the sun set.

Pommenby finished his spiral.

“Hazdar, though you set, your power rains eternal. We call on you to bring light to dark, bring hope to suffering, bring peace to war. I summon thee here!”

All together the wizards and witches chanted:

“We summon thee here!”

Where Pommenby had traced the spiral onto stone, a red line appeared. Pommenby walked to the edge to join with the other wizards there.

“Could I just put my staff here, by the wall? Thank you very much.”

And together they chanted.

“The setting sun is the rising sun.
Power is eternal.
The setting sun is the rising sun.
Power is eternal.
The setting sun is the rising sun.
Power is eternal.”

From the centre of the spiral, a shaft of golden light had burst upwards through the clouds, dispersing them. Above, an expanding circle of clear sky flickered between day and dusk. The shaft widened and intensified, spinning rapidly, twisting itself into a drilling golden helix above, which would be visible for miles.

The tower vibrated, which coursed back down to the prison below. Spinson had retired for the evening, leaving the two prisoners to their own devices.

“You... Rondar. You escaped from prison before... This building does not seem... structurally safe.”
“I don’t think we’ll get out of here, unless you fancy climbing out of thousands of tons of rubble. If you’re still alive. If I could have escaped from here, I would have done it years ago.”
“Oh... bollocks then.”
“Well at least it’ll be a quick death.”
“Hmm.”
“I think I’ve had a good innings anyway.”
“I don’t think... my work is finished yet.”
“Well if you can escape from a wizard’s prison, fair enough. But you won’t.”

Atop, the wizards and witches held fast as the light continued to burst upwards. Then the light began to wane. Soon, they were all bathed in darkness, but as people of magic were, this would not be for long, as various people began summoning light for personal uses, whether it be at the end of wands, floating orbs, magical rings lighting up or ghostly fireflies and stuff.

“Thank you once again, ladies and gentlemen.” Pommenby announced, “I will see if we managed to get through!”

© Luke O'Sullivan, 2009