Blood Immortal

The Ageless Emperor

Deciding to trust Varkagorsa, especially since he had nowhere else to go, Aarian followed him out of the glaciered cavern. Fortunately for them the blizzard had ended. Together they traveled southeast toward the misty fjords. The tundra of Niratredam stretched throughout the region for miles.

During their journey Aarian explained what had happened to him since being attacked by demons in Vlydyn. The only thing he left out was him being a prince—he wanted to be rid of his past and become something greater. Varkagorsa was speechless for a while, hardly believing what Aarian had experienced. Hearing this made him even more confident that Aarian was more than just an ordinary humyn. Yet he still kept this to himself, continuing to guide his new companion through the harsh icescape of Niratredam.

Soon they reached a partially frozen marsh. Once again the wind picked up. The mist embraced them, making it difficult for them to see ahead. Varkagorsa, however, knew exactly where to go. This made Aarian feel somewhat at ease.

“Are you all right, humyn?” asked Varkagorsa.

“I’ll be fine as long as we reach Warenyth within the next year,” replied Aarian, giving out a small chuckle.

“It’s not more than a day’s journey,” said Varkagorsa.

“Good to know,” said Aarian. “I was worried it would be much longer considering what I’ve been through.”

The orc laughed in a grunt-like tone while advancing. When passing through the expanse of the tundra littered with mosses, lichen, tiny shrubs, glaciers, distant fjords, and icy mountains, they spotted many animals. White-furred mammoths with thick tusks roamed around the eastern region eating hoarfrost grass while a unicorn drank from an unfrozen pond enchanted by a water nymph. Meanwhile, indigo-feathered hippogriffs flew across the glaciered region.

“Hippogriffs?” uttered Aarian, surprised.

“They’re probably migrating,” said Varkagorsa. “To the far north, beyond the glaciered cave where we were, lies Qamardon—the dwarven kingdom. They tend to be drawn there since those inane dwarves always feed them in order to tame and ride them; at least until they’re able to actually use those strange sky ships without crashing them.”

“The dwarves?” replied Aarian. “Are you on good terms with them?”

Varkagorsa snorted and said, “Their king, Thiegen Coragi, has sworn to one day invade our fortress on their flying boats. Thiegen doesn’t care about honor or peace. He thinks that if something looks monstrous then it must be evil. If I were you, I’d stay away from those foolish dwarves. That is, of course, unless you truly are the Dralekar.”

“Can you please tell me what this Dralekar is?” asked Aarian.

“Our esoteric ways have remained a secret for eons,” said the orc. “I intend for it to stay that way lest the dwarves slaughter my brethren.”

“Warlord,” began Aarian, sighing, “I am the last humyn in existence, and demons have infested my…they have infested Vlydyn. Even now as we speak, the Mor’vyi’dou are probably torturing or killing the Quel’de’nai, if they haven’t already.”

“Your point?” grumbled the orc.

“It’s only a matter of time before Saldovin and his clans, as well as the demons, invade Niratredam. When that occurs, the secrets of your people will be lost forever. There is no harm in telling me about Dralekar.”

“Patience, humyn,” said Varkagorsa. “Even if that is true, which it may very well be, we still have plenty of time to discuss this.”

Aarian grimaced under his breath, continuing to follow the orc. As time passed, the wind became more violent, pressing hard against their bodies. The bitter cold weather didn’t bother Varkagorsa; however, since Aarian wasn’t accustomed to such a climate, he was severely weighed down, especially since his breastplate had been damaged by the warlock’s spell. He tried his best to keep up with the orc, but by sundown he found himself in the same situation as the previous day—painfully freezing and feeling as though he’d be affected by frostbite at any given moment.

Snowflakes were starting to fall while the warriors approached ice shelves. At first the flakes fell lightly. When the duo reached a wide fjord with glacially-carved walls, however, it changed into a blizzard. Fortunately the orc had a boat moored to a partially frozen dock that protruded from the shoreline. The ship only had one mast with a banner depicting crisscrossed claws covered in blood.

“We’re traveling on this?” asked Aarian, looking at the flimsy vessel with a skeptical expression.

“Do you want to swim?”

Aarian sulked and boarded the ship, at which point the orc warrior removed the rope that kept the boat at bay and used two oars to scull through the fjord. Either side of the mountainous valley was forged with glaciered coastlines. The bitter-cold water was filled with icebergs that had, over time, fallen off the frozen shelves.

“Are there any sea creatures here?”

“None,” replied Varkagorsa.

“Good,” said Aarian, sighing. “I’ve seen enough monsters to last me a lifetime. Problem is, I’m sure I haven’t seen the last of them.”

“No, you haven’t,” said Varkagorsa confidently.

Thrown off by the orc’s tone, Aarian gazed at him suspiciously. However, he wasn’t too concerned since Varkagorsa felt he was of some great importance. In due time, he turned to the fore and observed the dazzling panorama of Niratredam’s easternmost fjord. The coastal shelves of ice on each side stood at least a thousand feet high.

Between the frozen walls, high above the duo, hung an aurora with greenish-blue glows shimmering like heavenly fissures. Among the wavy aurora floated iridescent clouds spread far apart, myriad white stars flickering, and the four colorful moons of Yunedar. At last Aarian could make out the fourth moon, an amber- and red-tinted celestial body of majesty. To him, he’d never seen anything more beautiful than the firmament overhead Niratredam.

The farther they traveled east, the more the inlet zigzagged, eventually bringing them to a wider expanse. Here they could see the fjords’ watercourses from all corners of the icy continent, which met together in a vast lake. Directly ahead, Aarian saw an enormous fortress of black steel on an island that lay in the center of the water. Aarian stared at Warenyth in awe. Its crenellated battlements, parapets, and corner towers astonished him the most. The city was twice the size of Jerelaith.

“Your homeland is deathly cold,” began Aarian, “but I must admit it is quite stunning, Varka.”

“Varka?”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” said Aarian abruptly, a bit panicky. Seeing the expression on the orc’s face made him hesitate as he created a lie in his mind and went on, “I have a strange tendency to occasionally give foreigners nicknames. ”

“In this case, you are the foreigner,” said the orc. “But perhaps I shall let your impudence slid this one time.”

“Impudence?” said Aarian, baffled. “It’s still your name.”

“Varkagorsa is my name,” he said furiously, unsheathing his blade and swinging it over to Aarian’s face. “It is a sacred name that was given to me by the emperor. Only he may change my name. Not some mongrel humyn.”

“Hey!” snapped Aarian, pushing the blade aside with his gauntlet. “I am no mongrel.” He wanted to reveal his true heritage to the orc. Yet something held him back. “Listen, if I happen to be this Dralekar you spoke of, then shouldn’t I be given a little respect?”

Varkagorsa gave him a deadly gaze and then snorted, sheathing his enchanted katana. He then seated himself, grabbed the wooden oars, and continued to bring his ship toward Warenyth. Aarian, taking a deep breath, sat as well. The waves picked up, causing the single-masted boat to sporadically bob. This disturbed Aarian until he drew closer to Warenyth.

Observing the foreign design of the steel fortress made him calm down. Warenyth, at least to Aarian, looked as if it had been forged by the divine Nine: an immense kingdom where every building was connected as one ultimate lair fit for a titan. Colossal stone pillars rose from the permafrost ground as foundations for the steel bridges that were linked to various strongholds and watchtowers.

“Amazing,” said Aarian, his breath taken away by the empire that was built on an arctic island. In addition, he was stunned seeing that the structures were adorned with gargoyle-shaped sconces along the walls holding lit up torches. “Varkagorsa, how are you able to prevent the fire from blowing out in this weather?”

“I hurled a fireball at you and you’re asking me that?” replied the warlock, his ferocious expression changing to an amused one.

“Fire of Zartos,” said Aarian, impressed. “This kingdom must be enchanted with some of the most ancient and powerful magic. Warenyth is truly grandiose. How could you not believe in the Nine after witnessing such a sight?” he asked.

“You don’t need spirits to build or invent something,” replied the orc. “You only need to perfect your craftsmanship and believe in yourself.”

“Some may consider that blasphemy,” said Aarian.

“Do you think such thoughts?” asked Varkagorsa, glimpsing at the would-be Dralekar, wondering if he was wrong to bring him here.

“Not anymore,” said Aarian in a tone of defeat.

Once again, the orc gazed at his companion curiously due to the response. “I am intrigued by your answers regarding these nine spirits of yours. You seem to believe in them and yet shun them away as though you don’t need to rely on them.”

“I have lost everything,” said Aarian dejectedly. “My home; my loved ones; my dignity; my hope; everything. Even my faith in the Nine has shaken. I want to believe in them. In fact, I need to believe in order to have meaning in my life. Yet there is something deep within me that is telling me it is useless.”

“Perhaps you need a new belief, humyn,” said the warlock pensively. “One that is more reasonable.”

“Let me guess,” replied Aarian, raising his eyebrows. “Yours?”

“Do not dare mock me, youngling,” said Varkagorsa. “The emperor has lived longer than your petty belief and has outlived those spirits you claim to believe in. You should, at the very least, respect the prophecy.”

“Your emperor can’t possibly be more than ten thousand years old,” responded Aarian, a frown forming on his face.

“Humph,” snorted Varkagorsa. “You’ll see.”

They stopped speaking to each other for a while. An awkward silence descended upon them. It was only punctured when the wind grew in strength, allowing Varkagorsa to sail using his single mast instead of sculling. This, however, was short lived because when he drew closer to Warenyth the wind started to die out.

His boat eventually reached an icy water cave where a massive steel portcullis lifted, thick chain links of titanium pulling it up. As the orc propelled his vessel into the cavernous tunnel, Aarian stared at the walls that contained malachite and iridium vein deposits. Narrow artificial walkways lay along the ledges where other orcs stood, many of which fixed their eyes on Aarian with either hatred or shock.

“Mar’gon ka vak jar lee’gis elf heba’el ke-pel humyn pok,” said Varkagorsa, cackling while rotating his oars.

Aarian heard the other orcs respond in their native tongue, not understanding a single word. But when they growled and grunted at him, he had a terrible feeling that Varkagorsa didn’t tell them about him possibly being Dralekar—whatever that was supposed to mean, he thought. Several guards in the same suit of armor as Varkagorsa gnashed their teeth at him, making him concerned while the vessel propelled through the dim tunnel.

“What did you tell them?” asked Aarian, apprehensive.

“I told them that I’ve captured a crazy elf pretending to be humyn,” said Varkagorsa. He tried to contain himself from laughing as he added, “Oh, and that you will become the emperor’s new pet.”

“What?”

“Calm down,” grunted Varkagorsa. “If you make a scene they’ll gut you in the blink of an eye.”

Aarian sighed heavily, sweat forming along his brow. He wasn’t sure if he could trust the orc who led him here; however, it was too late to change his mind. Now he dwelled in the broods of darkness, a hell made of steel where beastly brutes with the hearts of demons resided. Did the warlock trick him? Or did he trick the guards? What was this prophecy Varkagorsa had spoken of before? And what did the “Challenge of Titans” entail? Whether it was a hoax to lure him here as his eternal prisoner, he decided to play along and take a leap of faith in the orc. After all, he did save his life from the banshee.

Not more than another minute passing, they reached a titanium wharf built in the cavern. This reminded Aarian of the cove and dungeon that was a part of Fal’shar, giving him a chill that ran up his spine. As soon as Varkagorsa moored his vessel, guards aggressively clutched Aarian and put manacles on his wrists. From that point on, they stepped aside, allowing Varkagorsa to shove him forward.

Though still cold in the cavern, Aarian felt it wasn’t as bitter as being outside. He had a dreary look on his face as Varkagorsa lugged and kicked him out of the cave into a natural path with a jagged, rocky ground that slowly shifted into a titanium tunnel. Upon reaching the metal passage, they went up a flight of stairs and stepped outside, crossing an elongated bridge of steel lit with torches. Aarian couldn’t hide his expression; he found the view and structural design of Warenyth to be even more fascinating than elven architecture.

He’d never stepped foot onto an outdoor bridge that had a ceiling, nor had he seen statues with fire blazing from their eyes and mouths. Many of the brutal sculptures stood at the bridges’ corners, including the one he was passing through. Upon midway across the overpass, he halted for a moment, staring at the aurora he’d seen earlier. It was like gazing at a portal leading to the realm of the Nine that had been sealed up, leaving a heavenly scar in the firmament. Regardless of what was to come, friend or foe, he would never forget this sight.

“Let’s go, humyn,” said Varkagorsa, kicking him forward.

“Okay, okay,” said Aarian, walking on his own. “I just wanted to rest for a moment. I’ve been traveling nonstop since I found myself in Niratredam.”

“Tough luck,” replied the orc, jabbing Aarian’s back using the hilt of his katana.

Aarian yelped when hit, glimpsing at Varkagorsa with a look of death. This, however, wasn’t something the orc could take seriously from such a scrawny youngling. They continued traveling throughout the kingdom of steel and titanium, entering stronghold after stronghold and crossing several majestic bridges; the sights were almost unbelievable to Aarian: grandiose vistas of numerous fjords, snowy peaks that kissed the clouds, seemingly endless mists that covered the tundra and icescape of Niratredam, various moonbows opposite the glowing aurora, and sporadic sights of hippogriffs flying across the arctic island.

When the duo finally approached Warenyth’s central stronghold, which was a fortress about the size of a skyscraping mountain, Aarian hesitated, spotting immense trolls on each side of the entrance. Despite them being hunched, they were so tall that their heads nearly touched the bridge’s ceiling. They wielded double-bladed axes as big as Aarian’s body. He felt just looking at them could cut him in half. Also, their tusks were so thick he wondered if they’d impale him for the fun of it instead of using their axes.

“Get moving, prisoner,” snarled Varkagorsa, kicking him again.

Trying not to look frightened, Aarian walked pass the trolls that stood like statues. They oddly didn’t even glimpse at him. Aarian swallowed heavily, wiping the sweat off his forehead while he passed them and set foot in the central stronghold. Strangely, the interior design of this particular structure was vastly different than the others.

The fortress itself was simply one gargantuan dome-shaped chamber. Below lay the most incredible coliseum Aarian had ever seen before. Pillars as tall as giants held each floor in place where seats for an audience of thousands were located. Looking above, Aarian noticed the sky, realizing there wasn’t a roof. Instead it was wide open with a magical aura preventing snow, rain, hailstones, or wind from entering.

Most intriguing to him, however, was the level where he walked upon. Not only was it the top floor, but it also had magnificent statues of armored orcs, bulky loin-clothed trolls that were slightly hunched, elves in suits of moonstone armor similar in design to his, dwarves with mighty hammers, and, most surprising to the prince, a humynoid sculpture behind a nest fit for forty mammoths. The moment Aarian saw the twenty-foot-tall statue of Xen, immortal Spirit of light, he ran over to it.

“Humyn!” exclaimed Varkagorsa, running after Aarian who kissed the foot of the statue. Catching up to Aarian, he observed his odd worship-like behavior and grumbled. “Do not ever run off like that again.”

“You have a statue of Xen,” said Aarian in disbelief, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I am so sorry, Xen of limitless light. Please forgive me for my failure.”

“Get on your feet, imbecile,” reproached Varkagorsa. “The emperor will be arriving here any moment. If he see’s you doing this he’ll kill you in an instant for being so damn pitiful and then torture me for the rest of my life for bringing you here.”

“Have mercy!” cried out Aarian, clinging to the base of the statue.

“You are pathetic,” said Varkagorsa, rough palms over his mask. “I didn’t bring the Dralekar here. Instead I’ve brought a pitiful humyn vagabond who’s obsessed with idolizing statues instead of the true Spirit.”

“I wouldn’t judge so soon if I were you, Warlord,” boomed a voice from the sky that was louder than thunder.

Aarian rose to his feet in utter disarray when he heard the monstrous voice that shook the entire chamber. His shadow immediately vanished, replaced by a beastly one that was as huge as the nest in front of him. Then he dared gaze overhead, gaping into slit-shaped eyes that glistened akin to agate gemstones. He took a step back while slack-jawed, watching a brown-scaled titan with tattered wings descend onto its nest—a narll elemental dragon. At long last, Aarian met the ageless emperor of Warenyth, fainting before its gargantuan talons.