Chapter 20

Inescapable Victory

The world swam back into view, though Eric wished it hadn't. There was not enough energy or emotion left in him to deal with what was happening; whether that was down to the magic, or just plain old fear, he didn't know.

He was upright, slumped forward slightly, his arms pulled up by the cuffs on his wrists, and he couldn't feel his feet or legs any more. Slick waves of nausea flooded through him, and he struggled to contain the feeling. The air was cool about him and he shivered, realising that he was still naked; but after everything that had happened, after he had nearly lost so much at the hands of those disgusting Orcs, that fact didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have.

There were only fragments of memory at what had happened in the dungeon. The were the laughter of the Orcs, and the pain in the side of his head, the taste of blood and his mouth, then more laughter.

And then he had seen Venger; it had been Venger, there was no doubt, the face, the clothes, the horn, the wings. But it was Venger as he had never seen him before. The fire of his anger, the raw power and hatred that had come from him was as terrifying as it was overwhelming. Eric shuddered at the memory, though it was not as traumatic as he had expected it to be.

In fact, Eric didn't feel like himself at all; inside he was broken and empty, as if a piece of himself was missing. He hadn't ever felt like this before.

Lifting his head slowly so as not to make himself ill, Eric looked up to see where he had been left this time.

He was in the Great Hall of the Castle, he recognised the room at first glance; he didn't need to see Venger himself sitting there on his throne to figure that out.

At the far end, behind Venger, he could see two Mirrors, both of them standing like monolithic tombstones. As he watched, he felt Evil flowing out of them, weighing down on everything close by. Pressure was building up in this Castle, it felt like it was going to explode with power and leaving nothing, except maybe Venger, standing in its wake. It was the very last place in the Realm any sane person would want to be. And he couldn't get away.

The Seer's Mirror was there, but Eric had not expected to see another one. Both of those objects, standing together filled Eric with more fear than he thought he was capable of feeling. It took almost all his willpower to look away.

In front of him, on a table near the Arch-Mage there was a golden goblet, in pride of place on a raised plate, four candles made of red wax burning behind. Around it were various odd-looking items; he knew enough about magic to recognise ingredients for a spell.

All the time, Venger had been watching every movement he'd made. It made Eric's skin crawl, it was as if Venger was gloating over him. He hadn't moved and Eric grew tired of waiting for something to happen. Somewhere between bravado and stupidity, he tensed his arms and pulled on the restraints. Nothing happened, not even Venger's expression changed.

How long had he been hanging like this? How long had Venger sat leering at him?

A thrill of cold, hard anger passed through Eric. That was all that seemed to happen to him these days, he was just a slave, a piece of meat to be traded and passed around, his worth only measure in what his presence could bring other people.

A slow-burning anger grew inside him. It was a hateful feeling, and his powerlessness at the moment only heightened the emotion. He wasn't the helpless pawn that could be pushed around at the whim of others.

A shudder passed through him. Somehow he was going to get some sort of payback eventually for all of this. He closed his eyes and promised himself.

Somehow, if it was the last goddamn thing he did, someone was gonna pay!

-x-

Venger watched the young man stir like a newly born dragon; slow and confused, the Cavalier looked around in awe at his surroundings, and had looked at Venger with fear.

Venger smiled inwardly.

The wait had been worth it. Within this Castle, even within these four walls, the power of true Darkness is growing strong on the young man's terror. Soon it would be enough to power the Ritual. Soon his plans would be complete.

Only a few more minutes, his wait would be over.

Behind him, Mirrors throbbed with life. Now they were together, they almost seemed eager to witness the coming change. And in front of him, the Goblet sat on the altar, its power growing also. The entire room seemed to shake in awe at the magic held within, and not least his own.

Venger sat, accustomed to waiting. He had waited ten centuries for this triumphant moment; he was not going to ruin it with needless haste. He was content to pass the last few moments thinking about his enemies, and the effect that his actions would have upon them. He had no doubt they would be broken, in spirit if not in body.

Soon, the Ranger would discover the army. Then the Thief would come to spy upon them. And soon after that, the Ranger would be forced to act if he wanted to survive, even though to act would be to destroy his own. And at last, the Magician would be forced into action as well, Venger would be sure to use his pawn to the maximum effect before he was broken.

Then, weak and dispirited, he would cast them off to the very place they would have no wish to go, and the Ranger would suffer for the rest of his life, carrying the responsibility on his shoulders until it became too much to bear.

Part of Venger wished to witness the final, decisive and destructive act the Ranger would perform. But knowing from the Mirrors that it was bound to happen was comfort enough.

A few moments later, the Drow entered, led by their Priestess, and as she walked past, she gave the Cavalier a contemptuous glare.

As Venger rose from is seat, and the Drow all bowed low before him, on their knees.

'Rise and take your place,' he commanded. The power of his voice shook the walls and he saw the Cavalier flinch as if in pain.

The Drow obeyed.

Venger had resisted the temptation to embellish the Ritual with excessive pain, to ensure that the Cavalier suffered as he deserved for once being a pupil of a different master. But Venger was not an Orc, unable to control himself if the need arose and, as much as the Arch-Mage wished to cause pain, this was different. This was a transformation, into something much, much more.

No coercion, and no force would be necessary. The Cavalier would simply be unable to refuse; such was the power present before him.

The Drow began to chant, magic filling their words with dark power. The young man swayed as if in his sleep as the words grew in strength. Even Venger himself could feel the authority and the power the magic wielded.

After a long, long time, the chanting grew softer, and a smile grew on the Cavalier's tired face as he was sucked deeper into the magic.

Venger watched, enjoying the sight of the corruption of a soul as it played out in front of him. His ecstasy was almost unbounded. It was finally going to happen. One of Dungeonmaster's pupils was going to become his! If it hade been the Ranger, how might not have been able to restrain himself from draining the purity from him with his own hand. But he would not deign to stoop so low for the Cavalier.

The chanting stopped.

The Drow Priestess approached the young man and carefully released him from the bonds that held him upright. Close by, two Drow stood, flanking him, and making sure he did not fall.

It was doubtful if the Cavalier even noticed the knife, or the cut it left on his chest; the weapon was extremely sharp, and cut was small and shallow and directly above his heart. Rich red blood pumped out.

The faithful Drow collected the blood as it flowed in a dark bowl, then placed it on the table beside the Goblet. The young man hadn't moved.

The Priestess then approached Venger himself, the knife still gleaming red, the Cavalier's blood still fresh. Slowly, Venger bared his chest, and the Priestess drew the knife across his skin, over an older scar that had long since healed.

The pain was almost nothing, but a sense of pride and victory filled Venger that made him feel light-headed. There was nothing now that could stop him.

He stood there and the Priestess collected the blood that flowed from his wound, the same as she had with the Cavalier only a few minutes before, taking care not to spill a single, precious drop.

Eventually, she stepped back, and placed the bowl beside its twin, next to the Goblet.

Drained though he was, he now needed to concentrate and summon all of his Dark Powers. The source of their lives, their very essence was in front of him within their containers.

All but one of the candles were snuffed out by the Drow as they departed, and in the darkness Venger worked calling upon every last wisp of his power to complete the spell.

There was no measure of time as he worked. Nothing else moved. He seemed in Limbo, cut off from the rest of the Realm as he poured all his vast power into the magic. At the very end, he poured the contents of each bowl into the Goblet, that accepted the blood with a greedy hiss.

Venger closed his eyes, dredging up his final reserves of energy. He had not believed such a thing could be so exhausting, even for one such as himself. But he summoned the red fire once again, and let it play along his fingertips and down round the edge of the Goblet.

Staring at the Goblet, he spoke the first words in what seemed like an age, words he had heard a thousand times in his head since he had first heard them spoken, those many, many years ago.

'Within this cup, I have the essence of life and death. And what is done cannot be undone, by any power in this, or any other, Realm, known or unknown. So it was for myself, so it was for my Father before me, so it shall be for those to come after.'

The liquid in front of him seemed to hiss and spit at the words. There we no longer any reflections on the surface and it seemed to absorb all the light in the room.

It was ready.

His hand shaking, the Arch-Mage carefully lifted the Goblet from its resting place on the altar.

Dipping his fingers in, he then smeared some of the elixir over the cut in his chest. It took all his self-discipline not to cry out in pain as the Magic infected his body, creeping through his veins like a fiery poison. The shake of his hand grew more pronounced and he feared that the Goblet might fall. It did not, and slowly the pain subsided to a dulling ache.

Then he put the cup to his lips and drank.

It tasted bitter at first, almost to unpleasant to swallow, but the taste of magic drove him to take more. The power grew within him, a wonderful, delicious power that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Venger forced himself to stop. He could have taken the entire Goblet and still desired more! How? Why…?

Then he understood the answer: It came from the Cavalier. Somehow, the magic from his short masquerade as the Dungeonmaster was still alive within him!

This was something Venger had not foreseen, and it was almost too perfect; the Ranger, for all his purity and goodness, would never have been able to provide such powerful magic.

Venger looked at the Cavalier with genuine appreciation for the first time, realising what a powerful warrior for Evil he had created.

The Cavalier stood swaying, his head tipped forward, the young man's eyes were closed, as if exhaustion had driven him to sleep. The small cut on his chest had stopped bleeding, and Venger covered his fingers once more in the magical liquid and smeared it over his chest, covering the cut. Roused by the touch, at first the Cavalier shuddered, then he fell to the floor, screaming and writhing in pain as the magic took over. As the agony and shock subsided, the young man was left curled up on the ground, gasping for breath.

When the screaming stopped, and Venger helped him to rise, the Cavalier took the proffered Goblet and drank the remains of the liquid as greedily as Venger had. The empty Goblet dropped to the floor with a crack as the young man swayed.

This was the moment. Venger took a step back, watching and waiting to see how he would react.

For a time, nothing happened, the young man stood still as a rock, his head tipped down, his eyes seemingly closed.

There was one final shudder, then the ex-Cavalier lifted his head. They looked at each other, and Venger could see the faintest glow of red within his creation's eyes, every last shred of his soul consumed by Venger's magic. They continued to stare at each other for long moments then, finally the Arch-Mage was rewarded with a smile.

The young man went down on one knee before his Master, his head bowed. A smile touched Venger's own lips at this spontaneous show of allegiance. He placed his hand on the young man's shoulder and said:

'Now you have returned to your rightful place at my side. You may rise, my son!'

-x-