4:Visions

From Reydala

“Brother Aknier, go and assist them.”

Aaron’s face was clear, as though Aknier was back at the Well of Tears. He heard the cries of the Regial Knights, and his own friends, devils of Hald everywhere. Sanorak approached them, the ground shaking incredibly with each step. Everyone prepared for battle, Aknier himself doing the same, ready to stand by his friends. But something happened. Sanorak as did the first time, released a fireball. Instead of being shot straight at those in the front, it leaped over them instead, jumping high up into the air, and falling like a meteor straight for Aknier. Aknier threw his hands over his head to futilely protect what he could, knowing the attempt was in vain. The flame washed over, engulfing him. Yet oddly it did not cause pain. Aknier was puzzled for a moment, then soon felt a white hot piercing through his heart. He looked down to his horror and absolute confusion as he saw Tristen shoving his blade further into his body.

“In the name of Regial, die, profane user of magic. Let your destructive art rot in hell!”

“Tristen…what are you doing?! It’s me, Aknier! Sanorak is over there!”

But where Aknier looked for Sanorak, instead he saw those he had met recently…Evanthe, Locke, Mikhal, the others all staring with hardened looks on their faces, weapons in hand. And where Aknier should have stood in this formation, instead a faceless figure stood, bearing the symbol of Mulinel. His clothes were that of a standard Cleric, but showed no signs of Wizardry that Aknier had. Yet, all this was nothing compared the absolute terror that ran through Aknier when he examined his hand…a massive, demonic claw. He looked down at the rest of his body, the very torso of Sanorak himself! “What…what *is* this?” Hald’s lesser demons swarmed the area, their giggling ringing on Aknier’s ears.

Tristen’s blade twisted in Aknier once more, and Aknier felt himself falling. He heard a voice call out.

“Doth thou desire power?”

He felt himself again on the cold floor of Laviege’s inner chamber. Laviege sat on a throne of tentacles, leaning to one side, smiling wickedly at Aknier. His form was that again of his normal self.

“Have I not already told you, I will never accept your gift!”

Laviege laughed hideously. “Child…you already have.”

She pointed at the spellbook in Aknier’s hands, now containing her symbol. It glowed intensely, almost burning in Aknier’s hands. He dropped it immediately with disgust. The book took on life of its own, suddenly floating, glowing with bizarre colors, pages flipping rapidly. It stopped on a page where many eyes were now staring at him. Ghostly forms leapt out of this page, floating around him, spreading in all directions, and materializing. Figures cloaked in crimson red, Aknier suddenly remembered. The Lucion Wizards that attacked the bar…and then the faces became clear. He saw many…Master Drake, and Father Orison among them. Several hands began waving in the air, fire shooting out from all figures, headed straight for Aknier. It would be all over in a few minutes.

“Reach for my hand.”

A beautiful, clear voice sounded. Aknier didn’t understand, but looked up to see a hand outstreached towards him. He reached for it, not confident if he would grab it before the fires reached him…

Aknier awoke in his bed, dripping with sweat and tears. A nightmare. He gathered himself for a moment, realizing where he was, then looked out his window. This had not been the first time he had this dream, and it had been several days since he received a decent night’s worth of sleep. The cool air of the wee hours breezed past his face as he opened the window and gazed outside, looking up at the stars.