In Lost Dreams the Four Were Bound

26 - Davnian - Dreams of Ohran

"There has never been a prison built that could hold me, claw bearer." The words were like echoes in his mind as the image of a middle-aged man gripped his brain. "It's folly to think this will work."

"The purpose isn't the prison, mage. The purpose is giving us time to plan." Davnian felt his lips moving. "Do you think I'd come all the way here just to leave you? You thought wrong then, Lori-Arma."

As darkness faded to light, Davnian saw a vast expanse before him. All around, giant obsidian columns stood, engraved with the images of talvuo kings and queens. The fine-featured talvuo whose dark skin mimicked the hue of their stonework were driven from the ancient halls of Dal Rothein. From outside the grand hall, he heard the screams of talvuo men and women, the battle cries of Holan warriors and chieftains calling into the darkness of the great cavern fortress. Fresh bodies and blood lined the floor, the gemstones and gilded treasures of the Delvori race scattered within the warded vaults of their deep home.

"This bloodshed was unnecessary. There must have been a better way!" the old man croaked, coughing as he protested.

"There are only two other vaults of such caliber in the world, Madras Ohran: the gilded labyrinth of Ans-Ansuman and the magic font of Lorin. Neither are places I would bring one cursed such as you, and neither are open to us."

"But this, this is . . ."

"Killing two birds with one stone, mage." Davnian's voice was cold and detached. His thoughts were a mystery even to himself as the scene replayed, making his waking body grind and bite against the harsh reality. "This is a favor to you and another. The Delvori would have bent whether or not I brought down the hammer."

"But this is . . ."

As the light within the room flickered, the space around them warped. Davnian's sense of direction snapped around. Behind him the visage of the old man stood, gesturing in protest beneath crimson robes. His face was gaunt, and his frame hollow as the expanse between him and the mage closed in an instant. Behind the red figure, the giant gates of the great vaults lay cracked open, crystal light glittering on every surface around them. The old man's breath caught in his throat. Beneath the two of them, a pool of red resin formed as the blood of the dead talvuo merged with the spreading circle to create a brilliant crimson mirror. Within it, Davnian saw his own features—expressionless, cold, and empty.

Drawing back, he watched Ohran sway as he clutched his breast. Beneath his ribs was a gaping hole. His life spilled upon the floor like a great red fountain. Looking up, Ohran's face filled with pain, then a sullen joy. Within his blackened hand, Davnian felt the beating of Ohran's final moments, the mage's heart within his jet claws. As the mage fell to his knees, he crushed the throbbing organ, feeling his monstrous appendage feast upon the Lori-Arma's lifeblood.

"Let us see if death is what you truly crave, mage," Davnian whispered.

"I just . . . I want . . ." the old man sputtered as the light left his eyes before he fell prone against the stone floor.

Davnian thought he had done the impossible. He had killed the cursed Madras Ohran. The effort of appeasing his other compatriot seemed fruitless with how easily the end had come. Imagery of fires and smoldering remains flittered within his brain. All around him, the light of the grand vault was dimming, the crystal beacons extinguishing with the life of the gate magician.

Surrounded by the shifting dark, Davnian felt the floor move beneath him. In starts and stops, the black stone lurched as he made his way from the expanse. There was nothing more to be done.

Then a scream broke through the silence as the old man's haggard voice rang throughout the giant stone room.

The scene snapped back and forth. Imagery of the vault doors flickered between frames of walls and columns, blinding crystalline light, and a dead man clutching his head. A gale of fiendish mist slipped through the tall stone doors, wrapping the room in a miasma of shrieking horrors and bloody screams. Attaching to the warded obsidian walls, the airy stuff clung like molasses, dripping with slimy blobs. Faster and faster, the frames of time skipped back and forth before settling on the rising figure of the crimson-robed mage and his bloody body.