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August 28, 2008

Age of Conan – Fictional Story
Series – #10
by


Michael Lafferty

GameZone.com presents another in
a series of original fictional stories by Michael Lafferty stemming from the
massively multiplayer online world of Age of Conan – Hyborian Adventures. The
following story was written with the permission and cooperation of Funcom, the
developer of the game. This tale continues a series of stories that deal with the
world, the characters and the lore involved in Hyboria. Some of these stories
may contain spoilers for quests, so by Crom, be forewarned!

Retribution is a cold mistress

The
Eiglophian Mountains seemed to descend like the stabbing fingers of an Hyborean
god, thrusting violently into the northern lands, jagged and rough, capped with
the crisp clean snows of heaven bleeding into the browns and greens that
dominated the valleys.

But
despite the seeming harshness, this felt like home. The crispness of the high
mountain air, the way the breath crystallized inches in front of the face,
dancing in an evaporating lace of ice, the coolness on the face … it was a gift
from the mountains, a feeling for renewal, of being clean again. Ainya had not
felt that way for a long time. Her horse skittered nervously on the sharp stones
of mountain path. Her hand patted the long neck; her voice was low and soft. “I
know, boy, I can smell the worms as well. They are not what we seek, though.”
They had been skirting the main infestations of the dragon-esque snow worms,
looking for a cave and a piece of a riddle that had brought the Cimmerian ranger
to this place.

The
path had been a long one, a dream … no, a nightmare. Ainya had woken from a dark
sleep and found herself on a path that had tracked through dying civilizations.
Archeron had tainted her flesh and the only salvation seemed to be part of the
Atlantean artifact she carried with her.

After
leaving the Barachan isles, she had ventured back to her homeland and met a
kinsman named Rhiderch, who was more than a self-involved wayfarer. No, he was a
sage, gifted with knowledge arcane and with the ability to see from past to
future. He seemed elusive at times, enjoying the sound of his own voice, and
feigning superiority until the growl in Ainya’s voice hinted at a lack of
patience. It was then that he started to tell her that which was most important
to both her and the lands around her.

“In
your possession is the most powerful echo of ancient Atlantis – the Phoenix
Medallion, their final treasure, forged hours before their kingdom drowned.
Dread forces guard against anyone restoring the whole medallion,” Rhiderch said.
Yes, the medallion could help her but the obstacles were huge, including the
most powerful magic force the lands had ever known – the Stygian Thoth-Amon. But
Rhiderch rebuked Ainya’s presumption that Thoth-Amon coveted the medallion.

“Then
why does Thoth-Amon fear the medallion?”

“Looking into the possible futures reveals no answer to that question,” Rhiderch
replied. “I know not, yet. I seek the truth, just as you do. I’m not the seer my
father was and I curse the day I learned I had his ‘gift,’ but these are answers
I seek as fervently as you do.”

Ainya
had already met and defeated one guardian that Thoth-Amon had set in place to
secure another piece of the medallion. But this time the stakes were a little
higher and the one guarding the medallion was one that Ainya had met before …

“As I
said,” Rhiderch stated, a cruel smile beginning to twist his mouth, “Thoth-Amon
sent an old enemy of yours to make sure you never take the northern shard of the
Phoenix Medallion. The good news? It’s that bitch, Mithrelle. I know she crossed
you in the past. My guess is that it’ll be more than a little satisfying to run
a blade across her throat, eh?

“That
bitch and I have unfinished business,” Ainya said. Her mind vaulted back to
Tortage in the Barachan Isles, the first land she touched after the undead
Archeron soul was torn from controlling her body. Mithrelle, Thoth-Amon’s right
hand in creation of the army of undead souls, had been behind her enslavement.
Mithrelle, the serpent-worshipping sorceress, had been behind the evil that hung
over the streets like a blanket, smothering the people and starting Ainya on a
path marked by blood. While the ranger knew there were many to pay for what had
happened to her, she was working her way through the list, leaving a trail of
bodies behind. Mithrelle was on that shorter list, and – if what Rhiderch was
saying was true – then the time for retribution was at hand.

Rhiderch seemed to know what Ainya was thinking. “In my dreams I’ve seen
fragments of your feud with her,” he said, with the hint of a smile, then added,
“You’ll find her in the Eiglophian Mountains, no doubt spitting like a kicked
cat after being sent there as punishment for her many failures. You’ll have to
slay her to claim your prize, but I imagine that only sweetens the deal.”

“I’ll
be back.”

“Good
hunting – and don’t come back without that artifact! A wall of ice conceals a
cave, and at nights the villagers below can hear a woman sobbing or screaming
with rage.”

And now
she sat on her horse, staring at what certainly must be the cave, Ainya felt the
rage building within her. She tried to settle her spirit, in much the same
manner as she had tried to gentle the horse’s nerves. But it was not working.
This was a target. That Mithrelle was suffering for failing Thoth-Amon was not
enough. One of them would die, and in that regard, the suffering would certainly
end for one while the other would still be chased by the demons of the past.

The
cave’s dark entry was replaced by the lure of light deep within. There was
almost a tangible barrier of warmth that repulsed the cold of the Cimmerian
mountains – no doubt the handiwork of the Stygian witch.

The
cave itself was crawling with life. There were Archeron slaves patrolling the
outer chambers and at the heart of the floor, in front of the pedestal upon
which the Medallion shard rested, there were a handful of ice worms. A figure
sat above the main chamber, on some sort of ledge.

‘That
would be Mithrelle,’ Ainya thought. Her mind then began to work in other ways,
plotting a course that would lead through the guards and then, first to
Mithrelle, and lastly to the Medallion piece. She knew she would not be able to
pilfer the piece of the Phoenix Medallion from under Mithrelle’s nose, and
besides, this time she would make certain the witch died. She had had an
opportunity to do just that in Tortage, but the Resistance forces did not wish
for her to do so – and she was much weaker then. This time, though, there were
no voices telling her not to kill the witch; this time the path would lead
either through Mithrelle’s body or end with her own death.

She
worked through the outer fringes, letting her bow do most of the work. She
cleared the lone guards with almost-silent sniping. For the guards in pairs, she
hit them with crippling shots, then driving arrows deep into their chests. Only
twice did a guard manage to reach her. The first was stabbed in the throat by an
arrow. The second found out that Ainya was carrying steel as well as the bow.

Mithrelle seemed oblivious to the commotion, seated on the stones on a precipice
that overlooked the floor of the main chamber. Ainya finished with the minions
of the desert witch and then cautiously approached the mage, keeping near the
wall and the natural shadows.

She was
well within bow range when Mithrelle’s eyes suddenly opened wide.

“I can
feel you,” she said, her eyes starting to look about as she stood.

“Then
feel this,” Ainya whispered, her bow coming up, leveling, an arrow notched and
then released. It was a chest shot – or supposed to be, designed to penetrate
the breast near the heart. But a ward was in place and the arrow was deflected
away. Mithrelle’s dark eyes narrowed and she hissed, then began mouthing a spell
of destruction.

Ainya
quickly fitted another arrow and let it fly, this time straight for Mithrelle’s
head. She knew that it would also be deflected but hoped that it would break the
building rhythm of the spell. Then another thought occurred to her. She fitted
another arrow and let it fly, but this time at the rocky surface inches in front
of Mithrelle’s feet.

The
arrow aimed at the head did nothing. The witch did not even blink. But the arrow
shot downward had unexpected rewards. It hit the stone floor, the metallic
arrowhead absorbing the impact and then deflecting the arrow upward. It went
under the ward and scraped through flesh above the ankle. That did get
Mithrelle’s attention. She stopped the incantation and instead stared down, her
face a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Ainya
fired off another, this time on the run, closing the distance to the Stygian as
quickly as possible. The arrow grazed Mithrelle’s left upper arm. The witch’s
eyes narrowed in anger, and her left hand came up, fire forming on the
fingertips. Ainya was closer now. Wielding her bow like a stave, she swung it
from the inside out, pummeling Mithrelle’s wrist and knocking the hand wide. She
barely saw the trail of fire arching outward, hitting the wall and blasting a
black hole in it.

The bow
was released and Ainya pulled a sword and dagger from their guards on her belt.
She spun a tight circle, blades leading, their cutting edges inches apart.
Mithrelle saw the blow coming and smiled, even as her head fell from her neck,
hit the rough stone and then tumbled over the edge of the ledge upon which she
had stood. The body sagged and hit the ground. For a moment, there was silence …
and then there was laughter – Mithrelle’s laughter. Soft, eerie and echoing in
the rocky chamber.

“Another debt settled,” Ainya murmured, then retrieved her bow and headed to
collect the northern shard.

Other stories in the Age of Conan
fictional series can be found
here:
Tales of Conan – Fictional Stories index.