The Elder's Curse by Andrew Walbrown (ereader for textbooks TXT) 📕

“Mazargo…does…not…know,” the mage moaned. The corner of his mouth drooped, letting a few drops of saliva escape. “It…must…be…some…slow…poison.”

Ulam grunted, though with little force. Even his customary grunt had become an arduous task.

“Must…go…on…” Mazargo continued. “Too…far…now…cannot…go…back.”

Ulam tried standing again, but his knees buckled, sending him crashing to the floor. He then crawled across the white marble tiles, using the strength he still possessed to retrieve two vials of the poison from the hand-carved box on the table. Emerald liquid splashed inside the vial as Ulam rolled one across the floor to Mazargo, the shrill clinking of glass echoing off the narrow walls. After they finished their vials they watched as another door appeared, although this time the room beyond was different. Unlike those before it, the next chamber was much larger, with an open door at the far end leading towards a stairwell. Beside the doorway was yet another mahogany table with a hand-carved box resting on top, though this time a golden light radiated from within.

“Lllllllook,” Ulam slurred as his tongue went numb. “Llllllllight.”

When he heard no reply he bent his neck to see Mazargo, motionless on the floor, the rising and falling of his chest the only indication he still lived. Suddenly the aches and pains in Ulam’s feet and hands disappeared, replaced with numbness that slowly crept through his body. Knowing he was out of time and options, in one last effort Ulam used what little strength he still had in his forearms and upper legs to crawl towards the box. I do not know what is in there, but it may be our only hope.

With each passing second, he felt the torpor grow, the poison an invisible shackle on each of his muscles. After a few feet, his elbows and knees started getting sore, the constant bashing against the white marble floor ripping the skin from them. Eventually, they began bleeding, creating a macabre trail of crimson on the floor behind him. Fortunately, the pain did not last too long, as the poison quickly subdued the muscles past his elbows and knees. By the time he reached the far end of the room, Ulam only had feeling in his chest and above, everything else was frozen in a state of complete paralysis.

After struggling to cross the room, Ulam found himself lying on the floor at the base of the mahogany table. From his position, he could see the golden light glowing, the last beacon of salvation in an otherwise dark place. Unfortunately, though, the last obstacle was retrieving the vial from the box, and he no longer had the benefit of using his arms and legs. If I survive this, I will never take my body for granted again.

There was only one way Ulam was going to get one of the golden vials, and that was by ramming his head into a leg of the table in hopes of dislodging the box on top. Fearing he would soon lose feeling in his entire body, Ulam began using every muscle in his neck to bash his big Orcish head into the nearest leg, hitting it so hard he moved the table a few inches further away. He strained his neck muscles to move his body closer, repeating the same maneuver time and again, though no vials fell from the top. As he desperately continued he realized he no longer could feel his chest, although he was thankful his lungs were still operating, albeit at minimal capacity. Ulam knew his time was nearing an end, that he only had one last attempt remaining before he was doomed to lie in that spot until either he asphyxiated or died of thirst. He already entertained the advantages and disadvantages of both, deciding the quickness of asphyxiation was the more preferable option. Although, if I cannot feel anything, will I even feel thirst?

With a final great heave, Ulam crashed the top of his head into the same mahogany leg, pushing the table back a few more inches. The impact forced his left eye closed as his head drooped to the side, the last of his energy expended. Drool began dripping from his mouth as he stared into the blackness underneath the table, forming a little pool on the marble beneath him. His last exertion had failed; no vials fell to the floor.

Forgive me, Brother, Ulam thought as he felt his life slipping away from him. Though he could not feel the effects of fear throughout his body, his mind was filled with dread. The idea of Amantius dying from the same poison while looking for him overwhelmed Ulam so much that if he could have cried he would have. Please, just leave this place. Go back to Yawan, go back to the Empire, go back to Accaria, just go anywhere but here.

As Ulam remained motionless on the ground, he heard the sound of something rolling, though from where he could not tell. Suddenly a bright flash came from above and struck him in the head, as though the light itself somehow punched him in the skull with a luminescent fist. The blow was joined by the sound of glass shattering, followed by an immediate surge of sharp pain, an unusually welcome sensation at that moment. The feeling of a slow, warm liquid then oozed down the side of his face, accompanied by the glow of golden light. At first, Ulam did not realize what had happened, but as golden nectar dripped into his mouth, he realized his battering of the mahogany table leg had not been in vain, that somehow he had managed to dislodge vials of golden fluid from the box up above. But he was unsure if this was a good development, arguing that this glowing liquid could have just been another poison instead of the antidote. Ultimately it did not matter to him, because he was at the mercy of the liquid’s effects either way. And even if it was the antidote, there was still no guarantee it