by J D Dench
Olap was famous in both the Dwarven and Elven Kingdoms and had become known as the Peacekeeper between the races. He guided the training of the two races together and ended disputes before they could begin. However, he couldn’t spend all his time inside the walls of the Palace. He felt trapped inside and needed to be let out so he could bash some things and let out his own frustrations. Most of his day-to-day work was verbal these days, though, and Liz was impressed at how well Olap had learned to handle Dwarves and Elves together. He had grown as a remarkable leader.
That’s why he was outside the Palace this day. Behind him were his companions consisting of two Dwarves and three Elves. The Dwarves, Ulp and Gremlin, were known throughout the Dwarven Kingdom as the Dwarven Brothers, and for good reason. They were sons of the famous Ulverich the Slayer, a man that had claimed the lives of twenty Demons by his own blade. Word had it that he passed away in combat but was so despised by the Demons that they trapped him in his own blade, never to be able to rest in peace. Olap was one of the many that believed this rumor. That being said, Ulp and Gremlin were star pupils in Olap’s eyes. They were both very promising warriors and total opposites. Ulp preferred his crossbow to his axe, while Gremlin carried two hammers and one axe on his back and no other weapons on him, aside from a couple daggers that belonged to Ulverich.
The Elves were a totally different story. Olap hardly knew the three that had volunteered to go on this mission with him. Silvia was one of Liz’s women, though whether she was a warrior or housekeeper Olap couldn’t tell. She carried one sword on her hip and didn’t seem eager to use it at all. Beside her was Leif, a silent man that Olap doubted could speak a word at all. However, he looked around carefully, and Olap noticed Leif’s head shoot over in any direction a twig snapped in. Olap wasn’t sure of the kid’s ability to fight, but his scouting was welcome company. And then there was Jonn, who Olap really didn’t understand at all. The Elven man was years after his prime. His only weapon was a single dagger that hung in the middle of his chest. His eyes were halfway closed all the time, and he seemed to show no interest in anything or anyone around him. He was constantly drinking from his flask, and Olap didn’t smell water on his breath. How the man had an endless supply of alcohol, Olap didn’t know.
Before the six of them had departed from the Palace, Liz had called them into her conference room. The doors were shut and guards sent out. The situation was thus: BlueCrest had been carefully watched ever since Liz, Kayla, and Rizza had escaped over a year ago. It was watched for three reasons: Demonic activity (in case Demons ever appeared there again), war status (this being the ongoing war between Malkina and BlueCrest), and the status on BlueCrest’s possession of enchanted weapons and armory. Liz still had her sword from BlueCrest hanging from her hip, now known as Frostbite, and Rizza’s hung on the wall in her bedchambers, now known as the Eternal Flame. They were blades that contained the souls of deadly dragons in order to use their powers without unleashing the dragons’ fury upon the Realm.
Liz’s scouts that were placed at BlueCrest, however, had gone silent since the death of her parents. People assumed Dwarves killed her parents, but Liz had the suspicion that racism led to these thoughts due to the ongoing peace between the two races. Liz determined something dark had awoken and was spreading through the lands fast. She wanted to send out Olap and five others to simply check the status of BlueCrest. If there are any threats, they are not to engage in any battles. They are simply to take note of everything they saw and return to Liz for her to reflect on and see if they should take this more seriously than they had in the past.
Olap had never seen BlueCrest, but he knew the general lay of the land. The castle of the Kingdom was South-West of the Palace, hidden away by thick trees to the North of the castle. The trees wrapped around and covered most of the land to the East of the castle all the way to the lands that were neither owned by BlueCrest or Malkina. These lands were known as the Outlawed Lands, so called because punishment to serious crimes led to being outlawed from the Kingdom and sent there so the individual could try their luck North, where the Elves or Dwarves may kill them or imprison them, head South, where the outlaws could attempt to gain passage by ship and start their life anew (or die trying), or head to the other Kingdom and beg the opposition King for merciful entrance to their lands. Few small cities were found between BlueCrest and the Elven Kingdom, so Olap and his team should not meet any enemies along their journey. Or so they planned.
The six of them traveled South-West out of the Elven Kingdom before changing course to the South into the Outlawed Lands. The trees would provide them with coverage, but it would also hinder their sight, and their job was to see everything they could as scouts. Olap told them they would follow the Outlawed Lands and then turn West by the Old-Gold River, which the Elven maps showed led to a small town called LivenOak. There, they should be able to take a path North-East to reach WillowCreek, which Liz explained was more of a large market than a town.
“We’re close,” Olap told the others. Their trip had been quiet and uneventful, which was exactly what Olap had hoped for. However, he couldn’t shake the cold shiver down his spine. He felt like something was watching them. He told Leif earlier, asking him to keep an eye out for anybody around them, but so far Leif didn’t show any signs that he felt anybody around him.
If he doesn’t notice it, what am I noticing?
They had just stepped into BlueCrest territory and were following Old-Gold River. Olap had wondered about the name until he looked at the waters and saw the reflection of the sun in the waves. The water was as crystal clear as the freshest of waters, and yet when the sun struck the water it gleamed a brilliant gold, bright enough to illuminate the night sky or clear up any storm.
“It’s amazing,” Silvia had said when she saw it, reaching out to touch the water. “It’s so warm. It’s like a warm spring.”
“Don’t touch it,” grumbled Jonn, taking another deep swig from his flask. “Those waters must be cursed. Anything pretty is.”
“That’s not true!” Silvia ran her fingers gingerly through the waters and sighed, closing her eyes at the feeling. “It’s warmer than the warmest Elven spring! It must be a good sign, surely.”
“How nice is it, Ulp?” Gremlin asked before shoving his brother into the water.
Ulp cried out and hit the water hard, swimming back to the surface and shooting his brother a curse. Then Ulp reached up to pull Gremlin into the water. Gremlin pulled away, leading to a tug of war between the brothers loud enough to wake a Demon from the ground.
“Enough!” Olap finally barked. Usually, he was the fun-loving teacher, but that feeling was making him irritable. He grumbled and rubbed his back with a groan. “We need to hurry up and get this done with.”
Olap went to take a step along the path toward LivenOak. “Stop.” The voice was different. One Olap had never heard. And it took him a second to realize Leif had spoke, his voice so quiet but yet so audible. It was a voice that wasn’t too loud, but when it spoke you stopped and heard what it said. “Don’t move.”
Olap froze in place as Leif came close to him. The Elf bent down and picked something out of the grass right under where Olap was about to step. “You almost damaged this feather,” Leif said.
“And?” It was the drunken Jonn that asked the question. He took a deep sip and shot Leif a look. “Who cares about a feather? Are you a bird expert or something?”
Leif stood up and held the feather out so everybody could see it. The feather pointed toward Olap. It measured two and a half feet in length, one foot in width, and while the end was thick and black, the tip of the feather where Leif held it from was so thin, Olap could swear it was bone.
“This is no ordinary feather, is it Olap?” Leif’s eyebrows were raised, his eyes not meeting the Dwarf’s. He waved the feather in the breeze and slid his finger along it. “This didn’t come from just any bird.”
Olap swallowed hard. “Something is very wrong here. We need to go.
Now.”
BlueCrest’s castle had a very unique look to it. While most kings would keep their thrones inside where they would be safe, this throne sat outdoors on a high wall to overlook the courtyard. A higher wall was behind the throne with a large painting of the BlueCrest family crest: a giant, blue hawk carrying a red snake in its talons. The throne was five times the size of any mortal man. It was made this way to look more intimidating for any who dare approach it. In the seat of the giant throne, made of the most exotic furs on thick slabs of stone, sat not a King with a crown upon his head, but a stranger figure. A larger figure.
A Demon.
Galruman stood twelve feet tall with the arms and legs as strong and furry as those of a werewolf. His torso was covered by a thin layer of tan hide, and in the center of his chest you could see the fire spinning around that formed Galruman’s life source. The same fire burned in his face, making his eyes glow the same shade of red as his hatred-filled soul. From the top of his head, two thick, black horns stuck up to the sky, and from his back grew wings that moved with the shadows, appearing more like a cloak than actual wings.
Most who saw Galruman thought he was the Devil himself. Maybe they were right.
The king of BlueCrest hung dead behind Galruman, the sword of his family sticking out from the center of his chest. The sword bit into the highest wall right where the head of the snake was. Galruman had it arranged this way for poetic justice: to eliminate humanity, it’s easiest to just cut the head off the snake.
Below where Galruman sat, he could see everything that was happening. The minions given to him by Demon God Azzaan, the Shadow Warrior, were guarding the humans closely, killing them at the slightest stray of obedience. The few that survived would be locked in the dungeons, which were guarded by two of his stronger Demon companions.
The Demon King had created Demons by attaching their souls to suits of armor with ancient runes. Azzaan was not content with such weak power, so he made his minions a faint demonstration of his absolute and advanced powers. His minions were wolves made of shadow, and every single tip of fur was as sharp as a blade. If the wolf touched you, you cried in agony. If they surrounded you and touched you over and over, running circles around you…it was pure agony, to say the least. Like being thrown into the middle of a darkness where one couldn’t see the blades slicing them apart.
“M’Lord,” croaked Liguin. Liguin was a large bird by day, a bird made of powerful skeleton bones by night. As the moon shined on his bones, he continued, “a gargoyle says he’s here to see you?”
“Look at it, Liguin,” Galruman said with a smile, turning his attention from the bird to the hole in the ground where the first Demon ever stepped foot in BlueCrest. “This is the place where Tortuine died to the Sword. I wish I had been there to face the girl myself. Her and that blasted man of the mask, or whatever they call him.”
“M’Lord?” Liguin crowed again. He knew Galruman had greatly respected Tortuine, but there was a reason only one of them was alive to tell the tale of BlueCrest’s defeat to the Demon Lords.
Galruman waved his hand to the side. “Send the gargoyle in, and see if we can’t get that portal back open so we can see Tortuine’s dead corpse ourselves.”
Liguin flew off, and seconds later a statue fell from the sky and landed beside the Devil. “I’ve returned from the Hammer’s world.”
“And?” Galruman’s gaze shifted to Umin’s, his burning eyes staring into the remains of Umin’s broken and dark one. “Where is your brother?”
“Sarozz was killed,” the gargoyle answered simply. “The Hammer killed him, and I returned to tell you before I was killed myself.”
Galruman climbed to his feet and shoved past Umin, dropping from the throne to the spot where the Demons were escorting humans to their cages. He reached down and snatched up a human, snapping their neck in a single motion and downing them in a single gulp.
“Incompetent fool. Must I do everything myself, Umin?” He looked down at the humans, deciding if he was still hungry. Then his gaze shifted to Umin again. “No. I want you to redeem yourself. And I will even grant you assistance.”
Galruman stopped one of the minions in its path. “Go fetch me Igrath’s spear,” he demanded. “And be fast or you’ll be my next meal.”
The wolf darted into the castle, then flew out of the door again with a spear in its mouth. “Thank you,” Galruman said simply as he grabbed the spear and snapped it in half over his knee.
“What are you－”
“Silence!” he barked. Red smoke appeared from the head of the spear. Galruman stabbed that piece into the ground before chanting a spell from an ancient tongue. “Fa Shu Roz-Da Maru Fara Quinto Zubra.”
The red smoke grew thicker and thicker as the Demon Lord chanted his spells. The smoke grew so thick that Umin lost sight of Galruman. And then, moments later, the smoke vanished, swept up as if a portal had opened and sucked all the smoke from the air. Galruman was on his knees, head bowed. And as he stood to his feet, he extended his left claw, filled with the red smoke. He held it as if the smoke took on a solid form.
Galruman released the smoke. It spilled toward the ground, almost like water, and when the last of the smoke had fallen it solidified to reveal a figure. “Igrath, I summon you to do the bidding of the Demon Kingdom once more and free you of your chains to the human imprisonment.”
The figure stood to its feet. Igrath had two thick legs that led to a thin, narrow body. His arms were even thinner, each hand wrapped around a wooden handle that led to a two-ended blade at each wrist. His neck stretched to the sky and bent back down. The head of a snake, with evil yellow eyes and fangs dripping with toxic.
“My brother, it has been far too long,” Igrath hissed with a smile. “Tell me what you wish for me to do.”
“You and the gargoyle, Umin, go and kill the owner of the Hammer. And then, kill the owner of the Sword. Umin will tell you all about it. Now go, and be quick about it!”
“There is one more thing,” Umin stuttered. He waited until Galruman shifted his gaze toward him before continuing. “There’s a small group of people that just entered BlueCrest. I saw them while flying. Elves and Dwarves, m’lord.”
“Elves and Dwarves you say?” He smiled wide, and the flames in his eyes sparked, as if renewed. “Go, Umin. Take Igrath, and do not disappoint me this time.” Galruman kicked over one of the minions again. “As for the trespassers, get me that damn bird. He will serve a purpose. Azzaan will be pleased.”
Chapter Four
Olap led his group along the Old-Gold River until they reached the outskirts of LivenOak. Or, at least, what was left of the small town. The town had once been surrounded and hidden by cluster after cluster of oak trees. The trees had stood so close, it was as if they were a wooden wall, granting the town a natural barrier from intruders. These oak trees were cut down and made into homes by the people who had originally come here. And, miraculously, the oak trees grew back only a few short weeks later. They grew as tall as skyscrapers and as thick as steel. The homes were eventually upgraded with patches of stone to help the wood withstand the unpredictable weather of BlueCrest.
The town had been one of the only towns where humans and Elves had lived together. Elves were not allowed anywhere else in BlueCrest, but the people of LivenOak tolerated them enough to give them shelter. The only human settlers of LivenOak were the original settlers who refused to leave a land they loved so much. LivenOak became the number one supplier of wooden material for the entire Kingdom of BlueCrest.
Olap’s group came up to flat land. All of the buildings that had stood for generations upon generations had fallen, leaving scattered piles of rubble and debris. Where flames had once consumed all of the wood in the town, including consuming the trees, ashes remained, swept away toward the river and scattered to the ends of the Realm. A gorgeous town that had stood and brought two races together had now fallen, leaving nothing behind apart from destruction and ruin. A gentle blanket of ash sat
atop the grass that attempted and failed to sway its way through.
“What…happened here?” Silvia asked, breaking the silence with her own silent voice. Even the gentleness of her voice was lost in the destruction, seeming to echo and radiate from the chaos around them. She bent down and ran her hand against a large chunk of stone. Olap couldn’t see her face, but he could feel the tears in her eyes as she imagined what could have caused such destruction. “There was a town here…right? Where are the homes? Where are all the people?”
“I don’t know.” Ulp was the one to answer. “But there’s something very wrong here.”
“Apart from the disappearance of the entire town?” Olap’s tone came off harsher than he had meant it to. He shot Ulp a look that was meant to serve as an apology, though the old Dwarf had no idea if his message came through. “We need to examine the town for ideas of what happened. And then, we need to get back to Liz and report what we’ve seen here.”
“Look for what?” Silvia asked.
Gremlin answered her. “For starters, where are all the bodies? Or why does that pile have wood while the rest were burned to ashes?”
Olap’s attention turned to the mountain of stones Gremlin referred to. And, sure enough, sticking out from the broken pieces of what had been a building, there were the remains of chunks of wood sticking out. Olap left the others and walked over to the pile, reaching for his hammer. He used the hammer to break away the thick stone, determined to see what the wood was protecting underneath.
