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

and Amantius. Thank you for answering my call, and for helping save my brother and my companions.

“Brother you say?” The wizard sounded both surprised and elated. “I, too, understand the importance of family; I am happy I was able to assist you. Now for the matter at hand, since time is of the essence for you, what do you wish of me?”

I have questions that I hope you can answer. Ulam was vaguely aware of blows to his shoulders, but he shrugged them off as easily as a bear would a wandering grasshopper.

“Very well, but you know my services come with a price; knowledge and information my preferred currency. For every answer I give, I will ask a question of you as well. Do you agree to my terms?”

Yes, of course.

“Excellent. Now, what is your first question?”

How are you communicating with me right now?

“The powerstone on your staff and the powerstone on my own were cut from the same gem. A rare occurrence, to be sure, but not the first of its kind. Because of this, they are connected, a phenomenon that we wizards cannot explain quite yet. Now for my question, have you ever seen an Orc?”

Ulam was shocked by the question so much he failed to immediately respond. There was something about the timing of the question which disturbed him, the coincidence seeming too on the nose for his tastes. Why?

“That is not how this works,” the wizard’s voice changed, his tone now stern, “you must answer my question first.”

Yes, I have.I am an Orc myself, and the dark mage who owned this staff was an Orc as well. He was the only other Orc I have ever seen. Ulam waited for a few seconds, hoping the wizard would say more, but no more words filled his head. He opened his eyes to see Kona, Amantius, Mazargo, and Nilawen pulling on his arms and hands, all working in tandem to pry the bloodwood staff from his fingers. But their effort was all for naught, Ulam’s muscular fists were far too strong for the quartet.

There is one question I need to know, and hope you can answer. Ulam felt the excitement grow in his gut because for the first time he thought there was even the smallest chance of learning the truth behind the disappearance of his race. Where have all the Orcs gone?

“Whatever do you mean? We are here,” the voice replied. His words were warm and energizing, bringing life to Ulam’s body and soul like a roaring hearth in the middle of the winter. “Will you come home someday like the rest of us?”

Home? The invocation of the word “home” brought a surprising image to his mind, one he had not seen in quite some time. He saw himself inside his childhood home, Pelecia, a teenage Amantius, and himself sitting at the table dining on smoked mussels. The image was bittersweet to Ulam because while it was a happy memory, it was one he realized could never be recreated. There was no way he would return to Accaria with Amantius and live how they once had, nor was that his desire. After years of research and exploration, he had finally found a link to his people, and possibly his past as well. There was no way he could say no.

Yes, I will. A fresh wave of euphoria swept over Ulam, the mere thought of being on the correct path, not only to finding his people but perhaps a piece of himself, was almost more than he could bear. Where are you? Tell me quickly, I am not sure how much longer I can keep the others at bay.

“I am in the highest tower in Wrothvar, the homeland of our people. If you head north towards…”

Silence. No more words filled Ulam’s mind.

“Good idea, Mazargo,” Amantius said, Ulam’s enchanted axe in his hands. Wrapped in Mazargo’s leather-gloved fingers was the amber powerstone; the bridge of Kuruk’s staff severed by a clean cut.

“What? No!” Ulam roared as he jumped to his feet, charging towards Mazargo. “Give that to me!”

Amantius stepped forward in an attempt to protect Mazargo, but the rage pumping in Ulam’s veins caused him to toss his foster-brother aside with minimal effort. Before Ulam realized it he was on top of Mazargo, trying to pry open the hands wrapped around the amber powerstone. The white-hot fury controlling him was so intense he could only concentrate on retrieving the powerstone, nothing else in the world existing. He did not see Amantius lying on the ground, nor did he see Kona and Nilawen scampering away into the fringes of the light. Most importantly, however, Ulam was completely oblivious to the massive yellow-scaled tail flying through the air, until he found himself suddenly pinned against the cave wall, his lungs empty of breath.

No matter how hard he punched and kicked, there was no way Ulam was going to break the Matriarch’s hold on him. Not only were her scales stronger than a hundred sets of armor, but the muscles in her tail were also as thick as boulders and as powerful as an avalanche. Slowly he felt the fury slip from him, restoring his vision and self-control. First, he saw Kona and Nilawen attending to Amantius and Mazargo, a great shame sweeping through him as he realized his uncontrollable rage was the culprit. Having always been a champion of rationality, Ulam could not believe he had such a monumental lapse of judgment. But he had only been seconds away from learning how to reach Wrothvar, where he could finally be with others of his kind. To have come so close only to have it snatched away at the last second had driven him mad. Though he thought of the whole ordeal as some cruel joke played by fate, Ulam took solace in knowing that the Orcs were out there, and he just had to find them.

“We cannot trust him.” The Matriarch stated as the fire in her belly slowly faded,