They made one last survey of the area with their eyes, checking each dark area and shadow carefully. They could not be caught in the open. Then they closed their eyes. They cast first one spell, then another, then a third, each one more powerful than the one before it, each carefully designed to check the area thoroughly for any sign of magic, making sure the surrounding area was not under watch of any kind. When each spell came back with nothing, indicating there was no magic of any kind present, they still hesitated. To be caught out here, now, was certain death.
At a sign, they moved. There were four of them, each standing about four feet high and dressed in brown hooded robes. They ran quickly, beyond physical ability, to the body that had lain in the open for two days now. When alive the man had stood almost twice their height. He was a bit shorter now -- without his head. Even with their spells the weight of the death on him made him heavy and they moved much slower with the body back into the wood. They traveled without saying a word for several hours. At last they laid the body next to a large tree and began digging next to the purple trunk that was almost black in the moonless sky. By the time the body was buried the light of the twinkling stars was beginning to dim in the light of the small twin suns. The four moved quickly and silently deeper into the forest. At a rocky hill they paused, looked around them, then vanished into the rock.
The Skellians were of the lower races of Andar. They lived underground in the forests, hills, and mountains of the world of Andar, rarely venturing out during the day and almost never interacting with any of the world's other inhabitants. They lived simply, wearing only what they needed, taking no more than necessary so that their presence and location remained as hidden as possible. They continued practicing their sorcery away from the eyes of any and all, believing and hoping that even as they sat on the edge of extinction a day would come when they would find a way to reclaim their place as the leading race on Andar.
It had not always been so. What few books they still had told of different days in the world of Andar. In the time long ago, the Skellians ruled Andar. They had been a tall, proud race, and not entirely benevolent. Their atrocities were few, and even in the light of these, they were mostly given deference by the other races because of their powers.
Then had come the first war. The leader of the rebellion was of the race of the dar-Skellians, a lower order of the Skellians. He had called himself Kor-Etath, Bringer of Light, and preached an end to the rule of Skellians. He promised a new world, more fair to all the races of Andar. He fought with mace, spear, sword, arrows, and a raging internal fire. Tired of the rule of the Skellians, the other races had joined him and after several years of continual and bloody fighting had at last overthrown the Skellians.
Kor-Etath sat on the throne at the palace in Jankor for only four years before the Skellians rose up once more. They had brought to their world and been led by another, an outworlder. His sword was no less keen than that of Kor-Etath's, and backed by the sorcery of the Skellians the second war was a brief one. In less than a year's time Kor-Etath had been overthrown and went into hiding. No amount of searching or sorcery had divulged his whereabouts. Many were the Skellians who believed, had hoped, he was dead.
While the outworlder sat with the Skellians, Kor-Etath had remained hidden. The Skellians ruled for over a hundred years again. Yet this time they were cruel rulers. A race imbued with magic full of individuals that could live for over a thousand years, the Skellians refused to forget that it was the other races of Andar that had helped end their first rule. Their power and thirst for revenge created a world where no race was safe from their wrath.
When the outworlder at last died, his life having been unnaturally extended through magic, Kor-Etath reappeared. The races of Andar, who were now afraid and angry at the Skellians, were led once more by their charismatic leader, who fought even harsher than before. The Skellians had been driven out. The races of Andar did not stop there this time. This time the Skellians were pursued, the lessons of the past not forgotten in the century that had passed. The Skellians were hunted and killed wherever they could be found. For generations they were sought and massacred until the once proud, ruling race of Andar looked little like their former selves and took to living underground or in other inaccessible places. The third war had ended over a thousand years ago.
Now, the four eldest of the forest Skellians, who still waged their small battle against Kor-Etath, gathered in their cave.
"It is no use," Dar-Ven said as he looked somberly into the dark liquid in the clay cup before him. "Kor-Etath grows stronger with each passing turn of our world. There is none that can stand against him."
"I must agree," said Sur-Lal, Dar-Ven's mate. "This last one was the strongest of all we have sought, yet he could not stand against Kor-Etath when the sorcery was used. Our time on this world will soon end. It will not be long before Kor-Etath begins his last battle against us."
There was silence around the table. The four figures sat looking at each other with their large eyes, almost all of which was pupil. They fingered their cups and bowls, each one contemplating the fate of their race. It was Ger-Koth, youngest of the four, who finally spoke.
"We must try again," he said.
"I will not!" Dar-Ven said loudly. "It is murder!"
"Nor will I," Sur-Lal echoed. "Come what may, we cannot bring another outworlder here to die against Kor-Etath."
"We must try," Ger-Koth insisted. "It is the only way our race will survive. If we do not continue to fight and seek a way to overcome him, we will all find ourselves buried in time."
"That I understand," Dar-Ven said firmly. "And I do not doubt the truth of what you say. Yet this is the ninth outworlder we have buried there. That is nine lives that I have taken. I have read our books and I know that in times past our race was at times as cruel and heartless as Kor-Etath has become. But I am not made of the same material. I cannot-"
"Puntuk!" spat out Mer-Vetang. "You are not made of the same material," she scoffed. "Your words hurt my ears."
A deathly silence settled over the four and hung heavy in the cave for several minutes. Mer-Vetang was the oldest member and most powerful of the Skellians in this region of Andar and it was rare that she spoke. It was more rare for her to be harsh in her language, even to those she despised. For those reasons her words stung Dar-Ven.
"I am sorry, Revered Mother," Dar-Ven said quietly without meeting her eyes. "I did not mean to offend."
"Always it is this way with you, Dar-Ven. A single defeat and you cover yourself with high words to escape action. Did you not voice similar doubts before this last one? And did we not progress more than before? Did you not say that we could not even hope to harm Kor-Etath?"
"It has been many," Sur-Lal spoke up in a respectful tone in support of her mate. "We have lain nine to rest under the Tree of Life."
"Nine outworlders," Mer-Vetang said less harshly. "And how many of our own? My mate lies beneath that tree, as does my eldest and only son. Your father lies there as well. Would you see your own offspring there as well, Sur-Lal? Your friends? I will not give up and wait for the day when Kor-Etath's sword finds us shivering beneath the ground. Is it your wish to have your children watch as we are cut down one by one by Kor-Etath? Do you want one of your children to be the last Skellian on Andar long enough to know that Kor-Etath will slay the last as surely as he did the first? I do not. I am not made of that material." She cast a withering look at Dar-Ven. "For the first time Kor-Etath needed to use his skills beyond the sword to stay alive. We are close. No longer can he sit on the throne in Jankor with ease and drink from the well of our fear. It is his time, not ours, that is drawing to a close. Perhaps the next one, or the one after that, will see the end of his reign and the return of ours on Andar. Then, Dar-Ven, we will see of what material we are all made."
There was another long minute of silence. Yet Mer-Vetang's words were not empty. A new look was on the faces of Dar-Ven and Sur-Lal. A look of renewed hope. A chance at a life beyond fear and dark dwellings.
"Where shall we point the doorway?" asked Sur-Lal.
"The same world," Mer-Vetang answered.
"But we need strength," Ger-Koth interjected.
"The last one was strong," Mer-Vetang replied, "but strength is not all. Of greater strength than this last one were many of the others. Strength of the soul is what we must find. Open the doorway. Bring back one who will raise the Skellians back to our rightful place on Andar."
* * * * * * * * * *
The creature moved silently through the darkened room. His appearance suggested a slow, clumsy gait, yet he moved with a speed and surety that belied that. His spindly legs and feet with their three pointed toes in front and one in back, reminiscent of the birds from which his race had descended, seemed incapable of holding up the apparent weight they bore. Where the wings should have been, two shorts arms now hung, ending in hands that mirrored the feet. What had been feathers on the round body thousands of generations before were now short gray hairs. The head, like the feet, still retained almost all of the birdlike form, except for the long bill that had flattened and was several inches wide. At the stairway to the throne the creature, Ellrun by name, slowly sank to his knees with his head bowed and waited.
Above him on the throne sat Kor-Etath. He could have been mistaken for a tall, very handsome human. His black hair that hung low over his olive-skinned complexion had made him very desirable among his own kind for his whole life. Even Skellians had found his appearance attractive. The lone difference between Kor-Etath and the Skellians, indeed the lone difference between all Skellians and dar-Skellians, was his eyes. They were white, with no pupil nor iris. As had been true of all dar-Skellians since they had split from their mother race, physical sight had been traded for the sight brought about by sorcery embedded in the life force of all dar-Skellians. He could "see" equally well in the dark or blinding light, and could see both before and behind him at the same time for a distance of a hundred feet, even through solid objects. He had seen his advisor coming long before Ellrun had entered the great throne room.
"Rise, Ellrun," spoke Kor-Etath, and his voice echoed in the darkness, bouncing off the walls with tremendous power even though his speech had been barely above a whisper.
The birdman stood up. He spoke in a voice that was as much words as quiet squawking.
"Another doorway has been opened. The Skellians seek another champion to challenge your reign."
"Why do you tremble when you say this?" Kor-Etath asked, turning his eyes to look down on Ellrun. "Do you doubt what you have witnessed for a thousand years?"
"I do not doubt you, Bringer of Light, but I fear. For the first time in a thousand years the Skellians brought forth a challenger that wounded you," and he glanced at Kor-Etath's right arm where, under the sleeve, a long gash was healing.
"That wound was more my carelessness than the prowess of their champion. Even so, even if the last challenger had threatened me in some way, there was no danger once I summoned the Korisheray. Let them bring me another challenger." He leaned back in the throne and closed his eyes. "I must show them that this wound was but chance, and that the best and strongest that they can bring are no match for me. It will be my last enjoyment before I begin the last campaign and wipe the Skellians from the face of Andar."
Ellrun bowed low. And yet, beneath it all, he still trembled. Was not his fate now tied to that of Kor-Etath's?