Mareth shook off the cold as he entered the temple Lord Merca had commandeered and twisted into his own personal lair. Holy relics, statues of saints, even the floor tiles that had been engraved with heroic images pulled from scripture had been defiled and perverted into something vile. It was not that he was a religious man. It just showed the complete disdain Merca held for anything that did not suit his own belief or purpose.
Where polished wooden pews once set in orderly rows before the pulpit now sat eight cots arranged in a circle, the heads of the cots forming the core with the bases pointing outward. On each cot laid a mage. Each unkempt and malnourished and in a semi lucid state secured by bonds of wide leather straps with their eyelids forced open with some form of adhesive material. Though unable to speak or move one could see the agony on their faces. A handful of servants tended to the care and feeding of the involuntary coven, just enough care to keep them alive. Rumor was each captive had been an extremely powerful mage at one time, each falling to Merca’s personal conquest for power. After defeat the beaten that still lived were turned into a living channel for Merca’s destructive arcane powers. Combined together under the full control of Merca they made up the sorcerers abilities that made him so valuable to the Lord General’s plans for conquest. It was not that Merca was not a force to be reckoned with on his own, but no magic wielder no matter how powerful could open up the heavens to rain down destruction on entire cities. All the other tribal shaman, wizards, druids that had flocked to the Lord General’s cause were a bonus of course but the real power behind the legion’s many conquests laid here.
It had been several days since he and Jillian had rejoined the Lord General’s legions in the city of Aknoir placed purposely to intersect all the major eastern trade routes at a place the locals called crossroads. Reinforcements from the homelands across the Beriatic sea had arrived in mass greatly swelling the numbers and reducing the need to rely upon enslaved locals. Most of the legion made camp in the outlying countryside but the lords and commanders had made the city itself headquarters forcing the locals to flee, be enslaved, or drafted for the cause. Since their arrival He had secured private quarters within the city for him and Jillian, had even met with the Lord General briefly but Merca had been silent until now. It was a fair bet that Merca wanted to gloat over his recent failure and assign him some new quest Merca was sure to deem of great importance. He was not in the mood. Much had changed recently.
“Sorcerer,” Mareth called as he approached the dais at the head of sanctum where Merca was pretending to be too busy to take notice. “I don’t have time for your games, what is it you want?” Left hand resting on the pommel of the long sword he favored whenever in camp, but as always when in public in full armor except for his helm cradled in his right arm.
Merca shot Mareth an irritated glare and tossed aside the tome he had been pretending to study. “It is you that answers to me, and my time that is important. Best you remember that.”
“At one time,” The warrior replied meeting the sorcerer’s gaze, “not anymore. I’m no longer here for your cause. Whatever game you are playing in guise of aiding the Lord General’s cause is yours alone.”
Merca rose from his chair and marched to the edge of the dais using the platform height as a show of dominance staring down at Mareth trying to impose his will. “Insolent fool, I’m the one that discovered you leading a band of thugs raiding pathetic poor villages and calling yourself a warlord. It was me that helped turn your band of brigands into a force to be reckoned with allowing you to gain favor with the Lord General and raising you status in this world. You will do as I command or else. Irritation quickly turned to rage as Mareth began to laugh.
As if shooing a pest Mareth Waved his hand dismissively then turned his back on Merca and slowly circled the subdued coven. It was an obvious show of disrespect. He could faintly hear the sorcerer hissing with rage at having been so casually dismissed. “And thank you for seeing my men delivered with the newest reinforcements,” Mareth let a smug smile form on his lips. “You see Merca,” He stopped next to one of the cots and studied at the pitiful soul strapped to it. “I have had an awakening on my recent assignment. I remember it all,” the warrior pointed one gauntleted finger toward his head. “Every form I have ever taken, including the last three which you,” He pointed the same finger now at Merca, “took advantage of.”
Mareth waited for that to sink in as the sorcerer’s face contorted through a range of emotions. Though Merca hid it well, a small trace of fear slipped through before he recovered.
“Yes,” Mareth continued his circuit around the coven until he once again stood before Merca. The servants escaped silently out of the building fearing an impending confrontation. Good, that allowed Mareth to speak plainly. “I remember my previous three deaths as well, but do not worry I am not here to settle those debts.”
“How?” the sorcerer demanded. “The only thing that could awaking your memories…”
“Is a paladin,” Mareth finished. “I did not realize what was happening at first, but after a chance encounter at Galnath my powers have grown immensely. Since then your warlock and his friends could not harm me, though the Northman that traveled with them did manage to bring a cavern down on top of me allowing them to escape. Even that experience left me unscathed.”
“Impossible! All of the paladin orders were eradicated in the Delrian uprising.”
“I was there, after all I was created as their counter centuries ago drawn to any battle where their kind led the opposition. I have even started wars to bring them to me. In the case of Del the remaining paladin orders had thrown themselves into a desperate losing cause in defense of the poor oppressed Delrians. Their type really do like there hopeless causes. With greatly dwindled numbers it was foolish of them. My mere presence when fully empowered nullifies their abilities. It was a slaughter that lasted less than a day.”
“Obviously your victory was not complete,” Merca stated calmly having regained his composure.
“A legend grew years after the battle of how a man and woman child from two different orders had been sent away to distant lands. Until now I have dismissed them seeing as it has been nearly two centuries since I have encountered one. The one I encountered at Galnath bore the emblem of the Order of the Griffin.”
“There is no Order of the Griffin.
“Which brings us back to the legend, one was eagle born, the other lion, guardian and avenger.”
“So that’s why you have put your revenge upon me on hold,” Merca began to pace. “You want me to find a way to deal with this paladin.”
“No paladin has ever defeated me in combat,” Mareth sneered. “You still live because it suits my nature to cause chaos and shed blood. For that I need you and the Lord General. This paladin will be no more than a foot note in my long history. If we succeed in conquering this land I will help you obtain that which you have been seeking all these years.”
“You know where the Alminthium Stone is?” Merca’s interest now peaked.
“I do, it was sent to the one place where nothing existed that could make use of it. You were right to track the legends to these lands, but it’s not man that has the stone.”
“Dwarves.” Merca said.
“And I have always wanted to test my mettle against the mountain folk.”
Merca leaned against the desecrated pulpit. “I doubt your motives are that simple.”
“Perhaps, but what does it matter as long as you get what you desire?”
Merca simply nodded.
“Me and my men leave with the advanced force tomorrow morning. I am leaving the assassin woman with the main force. Any harm comes to her there will be a reckoning between you and me. Make sure she makes the journey.” With that Mareth marched from the temple.
Merca watched the warrior leave, new plans forming in his mind. If there was one thing he could be sure of it was that Mareth was lying. Not about the locations of
the Alminthium stone, but about helping him obtain it. With the stone he would be ten times more powerful than now with his coven in tow. There was no way Mareth was going to let him possess such strength. The warrior would simply have to be dealt with, and he knew how. From the short exchange with Mareth it was easy to tell that he did not remember everything.