Dealings in the Council of Avalhein - Chapter 4

Dealings in the Council of Avalhein…

Chapter 4

Mal’haran banged his fists on the table. The legs gave way with a sickening crack and sent splinters flying at Mal’Haran’s legs. The sound of breaking china filled the room. His breeches protected him but he quivered with rage. His lower lip quivered with indignation as he remembered last night’s events.

“Well, Algaisia, what do you have to say for yourself?” said the voice in the darkness.

“I am the Dark One, someone who strikes fear into the hearts of any who even hear of my name. Mal’haran is my name, n-not Algaisia!” he had raised his voice. The voice knew his weakness, and he was showing it, willingly or not.

“Very well then, Algaisia, believe what you wish. Now, I wanted to commend you on the great job of forming a massive army on this pitiful spit of land that you call a continent.” The area around Mal’haran had changed into the land that he had claimed over a painful hundred years. The last time he was sealed away brought about so many changes. “Do you like what you see, Algaisia? I thought not. I could make that land larger for a price. I want you to take me into your service.”

Mal’haran had been stunned at that, all this hullabaloo over serving him. He decided against asking questions, the voice knew too much. “Very well, if you wish… But I require that you call me Great Lord.”

“Foolish one, are you? I will do as I wish under your name.” said the voice sternly. “Do not look at me like that, boy. I will draft my minions under your cause.” Mal’haran had looked at her disbelievingly at that. The voice seemed to shift and he felt as though a stern gaze had been latched on to him. “So you doubt what I can do?”

All of a sudden, pain racked his body. He felt as though he was being ripped in two. Suddenly, in front of him, a reflection hung, outlined by a strange light. The voice seemed to take on a corporeal expression and Mal’haran knew that it was pointing straight at the reflection.

Mal’haran’s face contorted in agony as the reflection did the same. A reddish goo started to spread over the skin of the reflection and where it left, the skin turned black and pebbled. Mal’haran screamed as his reflection’s face was distorted and its back started to sprout spikes of bone as it started to look like an undead serpent.

“Now you see what I can do?” said the voice. All of a sudden, an archway of light appeared behind him and he was sucked through. What was strange was how the light did not seem to touch the one that held the voice.

Mal’haran hit the obsidian wall and relished the feeling of the warm liquid that streamed down his knuckles. Syurin entered the room and hurriedly took Mal’haran’s hands and wrapped it in strips torn from the hems of the flowing black robes that were draped over his shoulders.

“What bothers my lord? My lord must not injure himself, not when his enemies are plotting against him.” Syurin said with meek concern. He dabbed at the blood tenderly and applied a tincture that he drew from somewhere in those voluminous robes of his. It made Mal’haran wince.

He ushered the servant outside, muttering thanks and compliments for jobs oh so well done. He exclaimed that he was profoundly better, all just to be alone.

He was racked with sobs, his evil regime was broken. He was now but a puppet to a voice he did not even know the bearer of. The fortress shook with his grief and rage. He exited the room and stormed onto the balcony. He gave an audible gasp when he saw that the small island had grown exponentially and the seas were foaming over the newly formed cliffs.

That was when he sat down on the cold hard floor, staring in disbelief. Whatever the voice was, it had power that was unnatural.