Asgoleth the Warrior - By Bill Kirkwood Page 0,4
his hand and he wanted no part of it.
He retrieved his dagger and wiped both it and his sword clean on the dead man’s robe. Then he strode over to where the girl lay. He knelt down beside her and gathered her up in his strong arms, brushing her foaming black hair away from her face.
He saw at once, from the torn remains of her fine gown of Kossian silk and from the costly jewels entwined in her hair and about her throat, that this girl he had saved was no ordinary wench. His brow wrinkled in thought as he looked down at her. She looked familiar to him and he wondered how that could be.
He was a common mercenary soldier while she was obviously a highborn lady; such as she did not mingle with the common soldiery. Then, like a thunderbolt, it struck him. He remembered where he had seen this beautiful young girl before. Six months ago, when he had been stationed at Fort Kronos at the mouth of the Agar pass, King Aractus of Torr had come to inspect his troops. With him had been his retinue of lords and ladies and generals and among their number had been the high priestess of Solus, the Goddess of Light and Life. This slim young girl was none other than that same high priestess.
He looked down upon her and grinned hugely. Perhaps, after all, there was profit to be made from good deeds. For this girl held other titles too. Lying within the protection of his arms was none other than the Princess Amira, future queen of mighty Torr.
CHAPTER TWO
The image of the man in the ancient mirror flickered and wavered but the tone of terror in his voice was clear enough.
‘My lord, forgive me I beg you. I tried to recapture the princess but whoever killed Alarr and Morius had taken her and vanished into the darkness like a ghost. I could find no trail to follow.’
Demos listened to his servant’s words with mounting fury.
‘You fool! You have failed me and you know I do not tolerate failure.’
‘My lord, be merciful. I will do better.’
But it was too late, Demos’ eyes glared at the image in the mirror and he slowly raised his hand. Upon his thin finger a ring, set with a strange red stone, began to glow and pulsate with increasing strength. Then a bright beam of energy sprang forth and was engulfed by the glass. Many miles away, in far off Torr, the hapless acolyte was suddenly enveloped in a glowing nimbus of red light. His flesh began to smoulder and blacken and he voiced a shrill, inhuman shriek of agony. Louder and louder his screams became until at last his image in the ancient mirror vanished in a grisly explosion of flesh and blood.
In the sudden silence of his chamber the only sound was the harsh breathing of Demos. The glow of the ring faded away until once again it appeared to be only a brilliant yet ordinary gemstone set in a circle of gold. Demos spat angrily at the glass then began to pace up and down the chamber. His eye fell upon the gleaming steel and crystal rods of his creation and he cursed viciously. There lay the result of long years of occult study and labour, a weapon of such destructive power that it would give him mastery of the entire world. Yet there it lay, useless for want of a source of power.
He knew that a fabulous gem called The Heart of Ra would complete his device giving him power to rival that of the ancient warlords who had lived before the Great Destruction but there was a problem. The Heart of Ra lay hidden and only the high priestess of the Torran sun god knew where it was.
He had sent his minions to kidnap her and bring her to him. He knew that once she was in his power he could use his dark magic to control her mind and force her to reveal the gem’s location but they had failed him and they had payed the price for their failure. Now it was time for more direct methods.
He turned away from his hellish creation and swept out of the chamber. He did not bother to secure the door behind him; he knew that none of the superstitious fools in the palace would dare to enter. They held him in too much fear. He grinned at the thought, they