Famfrit's Jewel - Chapter 9
Dagnar Battles Marazoth
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The floor trembled. Leafless vines sprouted from the cracks between the azure stones tearing the stone up as if it were loamy earth, and with it came the dead. Marazoth’s eyes flashed as he drew essence from the Jewel and the light within the treasure dimmed.
Dagnar sprinted across the vast vaulted chamber, a sea of stars glittering through the tall arched windows behind the sorcerer. Vines coiled around his ankles, whipped at his torso, and twisted together to create traps. He deftly avoided it all. Rotting corpses, little more than skeletons in rags of skin and fur, rose from beneath the stone, gnashing their yellowed teeth and hissing with fury. Dagnar kicked the nearest skull, snapping the head from the spine the skeleton collapsed, half free from the earth. He then slammed the hilt of his dirk down on another, shattering the cranium and leaving the dead dead.
Marazoth gathered an ominous wind to his open palm, the black and purple mists swirling in his grip. ‘Now fall,’ the sorcerer hissed, tossing the evil at Dagnar. The mists spun and widened, howling as they came and enveloped Dagnar.
Dagnar was blinded by a cyclone of dark fog. Desiccated faces emerged from the winds, shrieking and howling, only to be rebuffed and fade back into the swirling dark. Dagnar knew not what to make of it. He stood at its epicentre, dirk in hand, unable to advance or retreat, to fight or to flee. The vines could not reach him, nor could the skeletons.
The winds tightened around him.
‘Did you think you were free?’ Marazoth’s voice pierced the howl of the wind. ‘I need your blood, your soul, your every essence. The Jewel is mine but its power resists me,’ he paused. ‘Because of you.’
‘Is that so?’ Dagnar said, hoping to buy himself time. He didn’t have the faintest idea whether Famfrit’s Jewel needed his blood or soul to unlock. The shimmering crystal had protected his home, given strength to the people of Kol, and been the manifestation of their god on the material plane. His death could easily mean Famfrit’s Jewel losing its power rather than releasing it for Marazoth to steal and corrupt. The sorcerer had already done something to it, that much was clear.
‘These crystals are all alike! I have gathered many a, so-called, god’s powers and drawn them from their vessels. Most were worthless, a few have helped, this one will grant me power over life and death. Your soul! Relinquish it now!’ Marazoth howled like the winds.
The swirling mists, dark and impenetrable, constricted more and more until Dagnar was unable to move. ‘I have never asked much of you Famfrit. I made my sacrifices, offered my prayers, and saw not to offend you. I ask assistance of you, whatever you are able, and I will honour you with all of my remaining days,’ Dagnar said. The air grew thin and his muscles cramped as the winds brushed along his arms and legs.
‘Your days will be short,’ Marazoth hissed.
There was a flash of brilliant white from beyond the dark purple cyclone.
Marazoth screamed. There was a crash of glass and stone. ‘NOOOOOO!’ Marazoth shrieked.
The dark winds subsided and Dagnar stood upon a ruined floor criss-crossed with withered vines and scattered with ancient bones. The sorcerer lay on his back, one hand to his side just below the ribs, holding the wound Alaea had given him. Between them lay Famfrit’s Jewel shattered into a thousand pieces, its light and power dispersed and forgotten. Dagnar rushed for Marazoth.
Marazoth screeched and flung a burst of fire from his fingers. Dagnar leapt out of reach of the blaze, his skin prickling as the heat wave passed over his head. Marazoth was on his feet, slumped to one side, blood seeping through the fingers on his side. He flung sorcery with one hand. Fire then ice followed by deadly plague winds, all in quick succession. Dagnar ran and leaped from each blast and dove behind a pillar, shards of stone crumbling as successive waves of thaumaturgy.
‘Fool of the forests you are no match for me, with or without the Jewel,’ Marazoth cackled. ‘Surrender! I always have use for good fighters.’
‘So you can destroy another village and steal their god’s gift?’
‘Not like anyone is doing anything with these powers, someone needs to put them to use. You would be rich, you’d never feel the cold again, or go without a woman in your bed. We would traverse the world, sample its delights, conquering along the way, and none could stop us,’ Marazoth had paused his onslaught.
‘I have a duty to my people, my family, my wife, and my god.’
‘They are dead! All dead! You owe nothing to them now, you are free!’
‘Free to what? Rot away with wine, women, and worldly splendour? No, my obligation to Kol, to Famfrit, to Krina, is more than enough for me.’
‘Then you waste your life!’ Marazoth threw a cascade of ice against the pillar. The stone cracked and crumbled like ice.
Dagnar crouched, covering his head from the falling debris. He sprinted for cover behind a sarcophagus. A wave of wretched strength crashed overhead, striking the wall with a sharp screech. The stones cracked, their surface falling to the floor as dust. Dagnar peered round the edge of the sarcophagus to see streams of flame singe the air and roast the outer side of the burial site. Sweat ran down his back, the stone against his back grew hot.
‘Surrender, simpleton, and I will spare you,’ Marazoth’s voice had slowed. Dagnar stole a glance at the sorcerer to find his eyes had become dark, his cheeks sallow. The flames guttered out. Marazoth limped closer to Dagnar. ‘Surrender,’ the sorcerer croaked. ‘NOW!’ a pulse of darkness exploded from his palm followed by a second and a third. The first and second slammed into the stone, breaking more free. The third crossed over the fragments of Framfrit’s Jewel and vanished. A fourth attack split the sarcophagus in two, the stone raining over Dagnar along with dusty bones and a rusted arming sword.
Dagnar scrambled to his feet and sprinted for Famfrit’s Jewel. Marazoth flicked his hand time and time again but each of the spells missed. Dagnar crouched and scooped up a shard of crystal and dove behind a pillar.
‘You cannot hope to best me,’ Marazoth said. The sorcerer paced a dozen feet away, attempting to round the pillar.
Dagnar waited until he spotted the sorcerer and dashed out. A spear of flame roared from Marazoth’s hand. Dagnar threw the shard of Famfrit’s Jewel at the fire. The thaumaturgy vanished, filling the shard in a blur of light and sound. Dagnar flew through the remaining impotent flame and drove his dirk under Marazoth’s ribs, he twisted the weapon.
Marazoth sucked down one last breath with a strained expression, his mouth hanging open. The sorcerer stood on his tiptoes stumbling against Dagnar and then sliding down to die at his feet. Dagnar let him fall, the blade slipping free of the sorcerer’s heart, a great pool of blood spreading from Marazoth encircling them both.
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