The Archimage Wars: Wizard of Abal Read online

  The Archimage Wars:

  Diabolical Book 1

  Wizard of Abal

  by

  Philip Blood

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  Version 1.1

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  Philip Blood on Smashwords

  The Archimage Wars: Wizard of Abal

  Copyright © 2016 by Philip Blood

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any short quotes of other Authors, Movies, Writers or Composers works are within the bounds of the Fair Use Act.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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  Dedication:

  I’d like to dedicate this book to a special group who are my cousins and/or good friends. They have supported my writing habit, spent countless hours listening to me read parts of the books, or let me talk about my stories incessantly. I’m obsessed and they tolerate me. So this one is for Todd, Cathy, Luke, Melissa, Alicia, Lauren and Libby. I love you guys!

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  Wizard of Abal

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  Chapter One

  All the old paintings on the tombs

  They do the sand dance don't you know

  -The Bangles

  If there's one thing I hate it is being woken up early, particularly by a wrinkly skinned little bastard with a bad case of body odor. The rancid runt was rocking me back and forth by the upper arm for all he was worth. Now let me tell you, being shaken awake is not a good thing when your head is pounding so badly you already feel as if someone is driving a railroad spike into your forehead.

  “Stop it,” I croaked. I am fairly sure I am not a frog, but my voice sure sounded like one at this point, all dry, deep and raspy. I attempted to pull my arm away from the persistent pygmy but he had a firm grip and used it to shake me again.

  The growl which issued from my cracked lips was truly something out of legend, but the gamy gnome only increased his insistent tugging.

  Much to my stomach’s dismay, he leaned his loathsome face in close and spoke. “Master, awake! One of the others has sensed your hiding place! We have little time to escape!”

  Though his body odor was unbelievably foul, it was fine perfume compared to his breath. Where his shaking had not roused me fully, one whiff of that fetid odor caused me to roll away from the awful stench. Unfortunately, this maneuver took me off the four feet high, hard stone slab upon which I’d awoken, and onto the stone floor in an undignified tumble.

  I scrambled to my feet and faced him across the rough stone slab. “You hold on right there!” I called, holding up a warding hand like a cross against an approaching vampire. The gears of my brain were beginning to turn so I finally looked around at my surroundings. I was in some sort of beige stone chamber, with no obvious exits or furnishings besides the wide stone table.

  Now fully awake my eyes focused and I got a better look at the short sniveling sneak who had shaken me awake. He had a protruding nose which would have made Cyrano proud. His large proboscis stuck out like a pickle from smack dab in the middle of a face which had wrinkles crisscrossing wrinkles. He had somewhat yellowed and overly long teeth. He hunched over further reducing his height, but even standing upright I doubt he would top five feet, yet his arms and shoulders were thick with muscle.

  I held up three fingers to make my next points. “I want to know three things: Who are you? Who are these 'others' who have discovered me? And where did you get that horrid breath?”

  He simpered at me bowing his head a few times without taking his beady black eyes from mine, then spoke in a deep gravelly voice, “I am Pox, master. Don’t you remember your most esteemed servant, Pox? I’m not sure who has discovered you, a Hentan or a Bakemono perhaps, but I promise you I am not mistaken; they come for you even now.”

  Being upright did nothing to halt the man with the hammer and spike who was still working on my forehead, if anything he was getting more persistent; it was the headache of all headaches. I had a hell of a time trying to think around the pounding waves of pain. “They come for me, to do what?”

  “To end you, Master, don’t you remember?” Pox asked with an inquisitive tilt of his disgusting head.

  This is when I realized the truth was I did not know the truth. Now that I thought about it, I knew very little. I rubbed at my temples with the pads of my thumbs, perhaps trying to physically push some memory back into place. It didn't work. After taking a deep breath I answered him. “No, I don’t remember anything. For starters, do you know my name?”

  He grinned a toothy smile which I suppose he meant to be friendly, but it looked a little too feral for my tastes. “Of course Master, and soon the Worlds will know your name again! However, we dare not utter it now... not with the others so close! We wouldn’t want them to feel your shadow; already they are closing swiftly enough, and you do not have your protections back yet.”

  This newest puzzling statement coupled with my headache and confusion brought me to one conclusion; I really wanted to smack the little grinning bastard. Since the stone table was still between us I settled for yelling at him, “Listen, Pox, I had better start getting some answers quickly or...” I paused in my ranting since I really did not know what to threaten him with. “...or you’ll regret it!” I finished, rather lamely.

  He nodded, bobbing his long nose up and down as if the threat counted for something. “As you will, Master, but can we leave this place first before they come? I promise the answers will be forthcoming when you have reached a safer hideaway.”

  “Just tell me this, when you say they come to end me do you mean they are out to kill me?” Now you would think this was a fairly straightforward question answered with either yes, or no; it just goes to prove you should never think.

  Pox shook his head vehemently, “Oh no, Master, they intend far worse than just your simple death, I’m sure.”

  My headache pounded with renewed effort.

  Pox pulled out a bundle of clothes and pushed them across the stone table to me; there was a set of dark sunglasses and a digital camera on top.

  “Quickly Master, put on this disguise and we will try to slip out of here before they find you.”

  I hesitated a moment, but then decided it wouldn't hurt to assume he was telling the truth, at least until such time as I did not have some unknown assailants about to... well, assail me. I pulled off my tan hooded robe and began to put on the clothes before me while shaking my head slightly in bewilderment. No matter how hard I searched the musty corners of my brain I had no memory of how I had gotten here, or who I was, or who was out to... what is worse than killing you? Well, whatever it was I had a feeling I didn’t want it happening to me.

  I buckled the thin black belt and realized I was dressed as the quintessential tourist. Anyone looking at me w
ould see a six foot one white male in decent looking shape, about 200 lb., black hair, wearing a flowery button up short sleeve shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts, white socks, Reebok athletic shoes, a pair of black sunglasses and a camera hanging down from my neck. All I needed was a droopy little hat to look completely ridiculous.

  “Here is your hat, Master,” the reeking runt added, pushing a hideous circular hat of the tourist persuasion my way. I couldn’t help but check for embedded fishing lures in the brim, surprisingly it was unadorned.

  “Oh joy,” I answered dryly, but reluctantly put on the dumpy hat. One of Pox's statements was still bothering me. OK, several actually, but one thing, in particular, had my attention, my continued health. I decided asking for clarification was important enough to risk another confusing answer from Pox.

  “What is worse than death?” I asked, speaking to his back.

  This is because he currently faced away from me. He had his big pointed ear pressed up against one of the beige stones which served as the walls of the chamber.

  “They will end your line, and bring your soul back as a puppet to do their will,” he answered, then pushed a small stone in the wall which moved in a fraction of an inch. Almost instantly I felt a vibration in the stone floor and saw light stream into the chamber as a large stone cranked upwards making an opening in one of the walls. Just outside another stone passage ran to the left and right.

  “End my line,” I muttered, and then added, “what line?”

  “No time, Master, we can discuss your line when you are safe.”

  Pox scampered over to the gas lantern which had been illuminating our chamber and shut it off. In the passage outside I could see glowing lights mounted along the walls.

  “Quickly, Master, you must go before someone comes and senses you!”

  I sighed, and thought, Didn’t he mean ‘see me’? But I went ahead and walked out of the chamber into the hall.

  “Your bus ticket and room reservation are in your pocket. Summon me when you reach the Novotel Luxor Hotel. Your room is under the name written on the reservation. Take the north passage.”

  I reached into my front pockets and found a piece of paper in the right one. I pulled it out and finally found my first name, Nick. It rang no bells in my head.

  Right, then I heard the heavy grating sound of the stone lowering back into place. I looked up and found myself alone in the hallway, and Pox was gone. I ducked under the slowly lowering stone back into the original chamber, but it was now empty and there was no sign of Pox anywhere. I ducked back out under the half closed stone into the hallway.

  I cannot say I was unhappy to be rid of the noxious midget, but then again now I was completely alone. Just my empty skull and me, and a fine pair we made. Well, there was only one thing to do... find out what should be up there and put it back! First order of business, where was I?

  My sense of direction told me the hallway ran north and south. Do not ask me how I knew, but I did. So I chose north, then immediately went south just to be unpredictable. Besides, I didn’t want to do everything the dinky dork had told me, how do I really know I could trust him? I mean, would you trust anyone with a nose that long? For all I know he was a really ugly version of Pinocchio, and if so, he was telling me some pretty big lies by the size of his schnoz.

  South seemed to be a good choice as I soon heard voices ahead. I eventually came to an outside courtyard, where there were many large pillars, and I found I was in some ruins. It was night time, though the area was well lit with lights to show off the various features. There were twenty or so people gathered around and listening to a thin brown-skinned man. He was gesturing around the large area here and there at various old markings on the pillars. I recognized the markings as Egyptian hieroglyphics.

  I immediately noticed my clothing would act as excellent camouflage in these surroundings; I was hip deep in tourists.

  The guide pointed to one row of markings and explained them to the surrounding tourists, speaking in heavily accented English. “And here, above the depictions of the Pharaohs and the god Amun-Ra, we see hieroglyphic writing which states, ‘To you I have given millions of Jubilees and years of eternity.’

  I scanned the ancient writing and wondered what the hell the Tour Guide was feeding these folks. The symbols clearly said, “By my blood you are given immortality.”

  More interesting than the guide's misinterpretation of the hieroglyphics was my ability to read them easily! I scanned the surrounding pillars quickly and found I could read everything in the chamber. Now, what did this mean?

  Let’s see; I am some 3,000-year-old Pharaoh risen from the dead? Fat chance, since I understand what the guide is saying to the group of tourists, it’s obvious I speak English fluently. OK, so I am some professor of ancient Egypt who was knocked on the head and lost his marbles while working in some newly discovered tomb? Of course, that does not explain Pox. Come to think of it Pox and I had not been speaking English together; we had been speaking in Yosin. Now where did that language come from? I have no clue.

  Now this is interesting... one of the tourists, a tall heavy set man in a cloak which is obviously too warm for this hot evening, has a strange tattoo on his left cheek in the shape of a dagger through a heart. Now tattoos are not all that strange, though one on the face is rare, but this one was remarkable because it seemed more vibrant than a tattoo, and it was slightly etched into the skin rather than inked; it was very striking. So not a tattoo; then I had a name for it, a Glyph. I noticed the man with the Glyph watching me as well.

  Visions of assassins out to get me came to mind. I could hear Pox’s raspy voice in my head, “They come for you.”

  I considered making a break for it, but I knew the Glyph marked man was watching me. If I left now I would be entering one of the empty areas where he could do whatever it was he meant to do to me. I decided to stay with the main group of tourists and wait for a better opportunity to lose the Glyph marked gorilla.

  The guide finished his misinformed spiel and moved the group off through an opening to the East; I followed, keeping my distance from my watcher. We passed down a hall as the guide pointed out things of interest to the camera snapping tourist pack. I tried to blend in, even taking my camera and snapping a few shots of various doodles on the walls.

  Eventually, he turned us into one of the open archways and we entered an enclosed area. Just before we went in, we passed a stoic-faced statue of the Egyptian god, Amun-Ra, somewhat worse for wear.

  My mind was off the cloaked man briefly as I entered the chamber, so I did not notice when he suddenly stepped behind the big statue and pushed.

  It was not aimed at me, mind you; I was well past it and into the chamber already when he started his vandalism.

  Now, given his size compared to the massive statue, it should never have moved, but he seemed to have little trouble pushing over the solid stone statue. I would have really been impressed with his strength if I had not been busy being shocked by the crash as the large statue smashed itself to pieces on the ground. One really big piece, the upper shoulders and head of old Amun-Ra, came tumbling in through the wide opening into the chamber, crushing one unlucky man, and knocking over three more. The rest of the fallen statue now effectively blocked easy exit from the chamber.

  The man who had done the vandalism vaulted up onto the fallen statue and then dropped down into the chamber.

  Women were screaming, and a few people were rushing to the scene of the crushed tourist. In utter shock, the little Egyptian guide was attempting to pop his eyes out of his face and nearly succeeding. Forgetting his English, he yelled in Egyptian, “You fool! What have you done! That was an irreplaceable artifact! I’ll ...”

  I will never know what the guide was about to do because the cloaked man acted first, his arm swept up holding a compact UZI machine gun.

  I did what any hero would do; I dove for cover behind the four-foot-high section of stone statue and covered my head.

  The gun wen
t off in a burst of noise which shattered nerves and bullets which shattered bodies. People started screaming.

  I risked a peek around the end of Amun’s big stone head, which was currently concealing me, and saw the cloaked man calmly mowing down the tourists.

  A woman in a bright sundress ran for the blocked door and he stitched a line of red holes up her back. Her dying body fell forward onto the broken rubble of the fallen statue.

  A brave man tried to dive at the killer, but the UZI wielding man grabbed him by the shirt front with his left hand, stopping the hero dead in his tracks. With a contemptuous sneer, he swiveled the gun around and shot the brave man in the head before dropping the now limp body.

  It was over in seconds.

  Two other people, a man and a woman, were hiding behind the big section of the statue with me. When the shooting stopped, I looked at the other survivors. The man was older; around sixty I would guess. His wife was sobbing and looking hysterical. He looked at me and signaled for me to go around one end while he took the other. I nodded, it was a plan and any plan is better than being shot down like trapped animals.

  We waited until we heard the sound of the killer’s footsteps. Depending on which way he came, either the man with gray hair or I would have to face him while the other tried to come around from behind using the statue as cover. I lost the bet and the bastard came my way. I nodded to the other man and prepared to be the diversion. When the crying woman’s husband slipped around his end I made my move standing and charging the gunman who was approaching.

  I tried to reach him in a dive which would take me under the lethal gun and tackle him around the knees. It would have been nice if it worked, but with a quick leap to the side, he managed to make me miss. I rolled to my feet in a crouch expecting to feel the pounding force of the bullets hitting my chest. Instead, the killer turned slightly and shot the older man before he could complete his attack from behind. The force of the bullets jerked his body, and he crumbled to the ground near the end of the statue and landed in a still heap.