The Elder's Curse Andrew Walbrown (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📖

grabbed a small gold chair with crimson cushions. “You look like you are about to faint.”

Ulam fell into the seat, his eyes still fixed on Kuruk’s body. The dark mage’s entire left side was blackened, his skin like molten rock that had formed layers upon cooling. In a few places the flesh was missing, revealing shining white bones underneath. The right side of Kuruk’s body, however, was largely untouched. One corner of his mouth was bent into a frown, with a single tusk jutting out of his bottom jaw as one long braid of white hair rested upon his sage-colored cheekbone. Each side of his body was the antithesis of the other, as though they were alternate versions of the same person.

An Orc. Here. Dead, but still here. Ulam thought as he stared into Kuruk’s empty eye socket. Somehow that was more comforting to him than focusing on the one closed eyelid. How, though? The Matriarch said he should be a pile of ashes, though it is more likely his body rotted completely. But how is he still here? Is this hall enchanted with a spell that preserves everything? I do not know much about magic, but after being in this tower, does magic know no bounds?

“Hmm, strange.” Mazargo yanked on the staff, though he could not seem to take it from Kuruk’s one good hand. “It does not want to come with Mazargo. It is almost like Kuruk is still holding onto the staff.”

“Because I am,” Kuruk’s body said, growling through clenched teeth. Suddenly Kuruk’s one good eye opened and searched the room, while his one good leg and one arm flopped around helplessly as he tried to sit up. Mazargo yelped in fear while Amantius stepped in front of Kona, the latter also shrieking in fright at Kuruk’s sudden animation. Ulam remained still, frozen by what he was witnessing. With his back against his throne, Kuruk stopped moving, his focus settling on Ulam.

“Who are you?” Kuruk asked, his twisted face contorting to form the words. Though there was still hatred behind his one eye, he spoke with genuine curiosity.

“Ulam.”

“Ulam? Why?” Kuruk replied. “Surely that is not your name.”

Ulam grunted. “It is.”

“I doubt so, but very well. What business have you in my tower?”

“We came to find your…” Amantius started, but he could not finish his sentence. Suddenly, he started choking and clawing at his throat. Ulam looked at Kuruk, who was staring at Amantius with his one eye as inaudible words left his lips.

“Stop!” Ulam roared, his deep voice echoing off the walls. He raised his axe high, ready to strike.

Kuruk turned his attention away, surprise covering the good half of his face as he stared at the weapon in Ulam’s hand. Nearby Amantius stopped choking, erupting into a coughing fit as Kona held a canteen to his lips.

“An enchanted Orcish axe, how peculiar,” Kuruk said as he stared at the lettering on the weapon. “How did it come into your possession?”

Ulam grunted. “I found it.”

“Where?”

“To the East.”

Kuruk coughed, the flakes of blackened skin falling from the left side of his face as he did so, disappearing as soon as they hit the floor. “I can see you are not the speaking type. Pity. I have been trapped in this tower for centuries, healing my wounds, and after all this time the first person I speak with is only marginally better than a mute.”

“You have been healing this whole time?” Ulam asked, ignoring the insults. “How are you not dead?”

Kuruk’s expression turned sour, vicious even. “Those accursed dragons thought they could burn me alive, the fools! Right before that bitch-dragon flew here and tried to incinerate me, I cast a regenerative spell on myself. But I did not have much strength when I did so, the shell I used to protect the tower from other dragons drained most of my power. So I have healed slowly, biding my time, waiting for the day I can leave this place and get my revenge. Now, tell me, why are you here? Have you come to give aid to a fellow Orc?”

Ulam wanted to help; he wanted to befriend Kuruk and, from him, learn all he could about Orcish culture and history. But deep inside he knew he could not, because as he just witnessed, Kuruk was a dark wizard with a short temper. No matter how much his soul yearned to be with more of his brethren, there was no way Ulam could trust Kuruk, especially after he watched the wizard choke Amantius with such ease and indifference. He knew they had to somehow get the powerstone, even if it meant killing the only other Orc he had ever met.

“No? Then why are you here?” Kuruk asked, his deformed face shifting. Ulam saw the fingers on Kuruk’s right hand tighten around the staff, while his own slipped into the familiar grip on his axe’s handle.

“Ah, of course. You are here for my powerstone.” Kuruk said before erupting into a maniacal laugh. “Well, you cannot have it!”

A sudden burst of dark energy flowed from the amber powerstone, enveloping the entire chamber in shadows. For a few moments, the entire room was covered in a veil, the shouts of his companions the only thing Ulam could hear. When the darkness faded he looked around and saw Mazargo, Kona, and Amantius surrounded by a black aura that pinned all three to the ceiling. Kuruk remained nearby with his one eye closed, his words giving the auras their mysterious power. After he finished he reopened his eye and was shocked to see Ulam still standing before him, only steps away, with his axe held high.

“How is that possible!?” Kuruk exclaimed, equal parts angry, disappointed, and confused. “That spell is strong enough to imprison dragons!”

Another blast of dark energy flowed from the powerstone, engulfing the chamber in shadow once again. The second attempt ended the same as the first, with Ulam standing defiantly in front of Kuruk while the darkness faded away. Although as the