Dark Labyrinth: The Nine Hells (Circle of Nine Book 1)

by Conny Conway

  A lonely soul which still remembered the meaning of hope.

  The worm yanked heartily at his shackles, hating Balor for every second he had been bound by the silver cuffs at all his claws, hated him for bewitching his wings to be paralyzed, disgusted by himself to be no better than an earthworm, him, the majestic lindworm Fafnir.

  He didn’t care what was going on out there, nor what it would mean for the ones in the reformatory, all he cared for his revenge and his freedom.

  Chapter 21

  With his very last strength Marcus lifted his weapon in the attend to end this absurd duel, though he missed his target, it had jumped to the side, also exhausted and tired.

  The gladiator’s sword sliced air only, the force of the empty blow pulled him down on his knees, where he lingered, leaning on his sword, breathing heavy. His opponent kicked him in the back, hard. Marcus fell into the dirt. He rolled on his back, he wanted to look into Lann’s eyes, when the warrior would strike. Lann knelt on his chest, his broad sword ready to swing and separate the head from the body under him.

  The coliseum was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

  Lann lifted his head, peering through sweat soaked hair at the audience, waiting if they would lift or sink their thumb.

  Balor growled viciously as he lowered his thumb to the ground. The onlookers saw their ruler sentencing their champion to death and a murmur grew from almost inaudible to loud complains, to outright rage.

  Every thumbs flicked up while every creature cursed the dark king.

  Lann didn’t care one way or the other. He lowered the heavy weapon next to Marcus’s head, tip into the sand, he propped himself on his sturdy steel, held out a hand to Marcus.

  “You fought well, Gladiator. I have no wish to take your life.”

  Marcus nodded, then took the offered hand.

  “So did you, golden warrior.” He answered as they helped each other back on their feet.

  The crowd roared in agreement as they walked towards the royal box, arms on each other’s shoulder. An invisible thread tying the two men together.

  “I will not kill this man.” Lann shouted up to Balor. “He fought well, honorable and he deserves much better than death. According the unwritten law, his life is mine to determine his fate. I’ll set him free, free from you and this life you gave him, a life worse than any dogs. He will walk in the sun once more after centuries. Set him free.” He demented.

  A deep growl escaped Balor’s mouth, the scales in his face shimmered and his reptile eye burned with hatred for Lann.

  “No!” He exclaimed. “Who are you to demand and order? I am the king, you’re just an insect at my shoes.”

  The audience had quieted at Lann’s demand, but all hell broke loose again. Every creature, elf, gnome, troll, giant, imp, all of them repeated Lann’s demand in angry shouts.

  The dark king’s gaze rolled over his pheasants.

  “No!” he barked.

  The enraged throng hurled curses at him.

  A tiny imp picked up a pebble the size of a pea and threw it at Balor, hitting him on his ugly nose. Others followed the imp’s example, picking up rocks and stones, aiming for the dark king.

  A bolt of red lightning was shot from his one eye into the mop, struck several of his objects, but others pitched more stones. Then a stiletto singed through the air, burying itself deep into Balor’s right lower arm, which he had held protectively over his single eye, from which more flashes were send aimlessly but always striking a few creatures.

  As black blood weld up on his arm, silence fell once more over the arena, but just for one single heartbeat, then all hell broke loose.

  Balor’s subjects jumped off their seats, over the wall, which encircled the sandy pit, crossing the same, pushing Lann and Marcus out of their way they climbed and clambered up the wall in the effort to reach the royal box.

  Balor stood in the shadow of the canvas and watched the wild pack grow closer, then turned with a nasty snarl and fled into the bowels of the structure. The horde still tried their best to reach the tyrant.

  “Come.” Marcus yelled into Lann’s ear. “I know where he is going.”

  He turned and fought his way towards one of the big gates allowing access to and fro.

  Lann followed him on his heels, joined by Shiloh and the magical creatures in their protection. Hurriedly The Roman led them through halls, corridors, doors and stairways only to end up in the dungeon.

  There, not too far from the dragon Balor stood, promising the dragon anything if he would fight on his side, setting his residents on fire.

  Lann didn’t know what the dark king had promised, but his heart thrashed in a wild rhythm as he shouted from afar, “ No!”

  The lindworm lifted his big head, sucked in air and blew it toward the group approaching, but it was just that, air, no flame. Then the dragon looked at Balor, blame clearly in his eyes.

  “Jo ascensor pot maleir, infringeixo la cadena, pot volar i alè foc nou.”

  The tyrant spoke quickly, the chains fell from the dragon and the huge wings spread, a moan of Fafnir accompanied the groaning of the joints. He tested his limbs, flapping the leathery membranes lifting the huge body under the ceiling.

  A roar echoed through the cavern and deafened the friends, the prisoners. Balor laughed in triumph.

  The lindworm flew over the heads of the small group, there he swung around returning to the spot where he had been chained decades ago. Surveying his prison from above, he roared wildly.

  A white hot flame shot out of his mouth, aimed for Balor, it hit its mark bull’s-eye. The fire enclosed Balor’s gigantic body, ate away at his clothes and flesh. Howls of agony filled the dungeon, now. But this time not from the captives, but from the dark king, while the dragon’s fire devoured him alive. The stench of burning flesh wavered through the prison.

  And the creatures held by chains and cages, strapped to torture instruments hollered triumphantly.

  The dragon flew one more time over the immense cavern, then turned away and disappeared into the darkness of a corridor.

  Balor was still screaming when his former subjects entered the dungeon, starring at the living torch, then the hooting erupted. In the distance the lindworm roared.

  Chapter 21

  The dark lord Balor was dead, nothing but ashes had remained, even his jewelry had burned away in the heat of the dragon fire.

  While everyone started singing, dancing and celebrating their liberation of the tyrant, the three humans stood in wonder. Of cause they understood the need for celebration, but had one of the demonic creatures thought about what would come next, who would take the throne?

  And what about Shiloh? Was she free now? Could she go back to her own life? What will happen to Marcus? He was a roman Gladiator, not adjusted to the world above after centuries in the nine hells.

  Whiplash was used to his mistress, she could not take him to the surface, he was an oddity there same for Willie.

  And then Lann, what would become of him without her?

  Did the old laws still apply after a human had defeated all hells?

  The three humans fought their way to the edge of the moving mass, found some rocks to sit on and started to debate about the near future, above them the Matagot and the Willow Wisp drew their dancing circles.

  “You were the closest to Balor, what do you think, may Shiloh leave this hell hole?” Lann asked.

  Marcus shrugged his shoulder. Shiloh brooded then shook her head unbelieving.

  “I would say that depends on the new king.” Marcus thought out loud.

  “Who will it be?” Lann inquired.

  “I have no clue, winged warrior. The king killed his entire family throughout the millenniums, there is no one left of his blood line.”

  “But the nine hells need a ruler, otherwise chaos will overtake.”

  “Naturally.” Marcus answered. “And if Chaos reigns here, the upper world will be suffering also.”

  “Why?” Shil
oh interrupted.

  “If the underworld is demented, demons, vampires and more will venture into the realm of humans and do their dirty deed.”

  “Why don’t you take the crown?

  You are a hero and a brave man,

  You’re loved in every town,

  And it sounds good, My Liege Lann.”

  Whiplash flittered by.

  Shocked Lann shoed the cat away.

  “Not a bad suggestion.” Marcus stated.

  “A very bad idea. I’m not cut out to be king.” Lann denied the thought. “I’m a warrior, I’m born to fight, bred to stand in the background not sitting on a throne and fiddle my thumbs.” He rumbled.

  “But you would be a good King.” The gladiator insisted.

  “Not more than you, buddy.” Lann made clear he would not waste another breath on that subject.

  ” Wait, that’s it! You should take the throne, Marcus. You were with Balor for centuries, you know the laws, the court and the subjects. You saw his cruelty and I know you would make it better. You have your heart on the right spot.”

  “I have no heart, Balor took all my emotions with his torture.” The Italian spoke softly.

  “No emotion my ass. I saw them in your eyes. They might be buried but you do have feelings.”

  Was this those nagging aches in his chest, the butterflies that had taken over his stomach when the dragon lid up the tyrant?

  The crowd around them had gotten louder and louder and drowned out Marcus’s denial.

  A horn blew ear deafening, seemingly endless.

  The horde quieted down to see what was happening.

  A gigantic green face floated through the air, accompanied by Poseidon, a green druid, a black stallion and a majestic white unicorn. The mass parted as the 5 made their way through them, again the horn blew as the group neared Lann, Marcus and Shiloh.

  Derwa broke off of the majestic group, throwing herself around Shiloh’s neck hugging the small human hardily, which returned the embrace with the same enthusiasms, happy to see that Poseidon had kept his promise.

  The druid looked better than ever, except her stony eyes. The Gods had grant her a whole new outfit, a velvety green skirt in the color of fresh moss, the bodice was in satin also green, but as dark as the forest, her cloak was heavy damask with an immense hood, all surrounded by green dyed fur. Her shoes were new boots, also stained in her color. Her face though had lost the sickish hint of green and was all rosy, except her rune tattoo over her eye. Her lips seemed fuller and her skin smoother. The natural beauty of her shone and stunt a lot of under-world dwellers, beasts as much as Gods and Demigods.

  Lann nodded contently as he laid his hand on her shoulder.

  “Welcome back, my favorite druid.”

  She lifted her head and turned it towards the warrior, but not leaving Shiloh’s arms. Never had Lann been this close to her empty gaze and sorrow encircled his heart, but he kept quiet.

  “Why, thank you, my Lord.” She countered.

  “My lord? Since when am I not Lann no more?”

  She giggled. “You’ll see.”

  With that she turned her face to Marcus.

  “And who are you? I Know you are here, I can hear your heartbeat.”

  Marcus almost laughed, heartbeat? Him? But courteously he answered.

  “My name is Marcus Valentus.” He cleared his throat.

  ” Before you hear it from others, I used to be the first in command for Balor. I fought Lann, he won, but he spared me. And somehow the crowd turned against Balor because of his action. I’m not proud of whom I was, but trust me, Mage, it was not by choice.”

  Derwa heard the pain in his words, more than anyone could have seen on his face. She left Shiloh’s envelopment and neared the Roman, laid a hand against his chest.

  Her touch burned him, in a good way, more of the ice encircling his heart melted away.

  He stuttered, “What… I mean, should you,….how come…”

  She interrupted him.

  “I would love to touch your face to see you, may I?”

  He threw a helpless gaze to Lann, which nodded.

  “Uhm, sure.” Marcus bit between teeth. He had forgotten how touch could feel this good, when her fingers searched his face, he grabbed her small hand and led it to his head. She fingered his long hair, then slit her index and middle finger down his fore head to his brow, where she joined her other hand in exploration. Both hand glided over his eyes then around his cheekbones, back to his nose, his mouth, chin and cheeks were examined excruciated. At last her hands rested at his jaw line, then wandered down his throat, felt the armored shoulders, full of strength and muscular.

  At this point Derwa bit her lip slightly and a tiny moan escaped her rose colored lips.

  Marcus had stared at her the whole time, she was so close to his face and he could see that she had three freckles on her nose. By the setting of her face and by her touch, he knew she was thoroughly good. As he searched her face for any menace he wondered what the color of her eyes would have been. When her hand touched his fore head, the shell around his heart broke and charts of it fell away, as if he woke from a century lasting fever, his heart skipped a beat. Her fingers wandered over his eye lids and lashes, as more charts broke away and warm blood took the space of the icy panoply.

  Her thumb lingered over his lips, he groaned, imagining how her lips would feel on his own, the last ice fell away when the moan seeped of his lips. Humanity floated his veins. He took a deep breath, shut his eyes and felt his breath filling his lungs for real after such long captivity. Derwa’s hands were about to leave his body as to his own surprise he held on to her right hand. He squeezed it gently.

  “Thank you, my Lady.”

  Derwa understood without another word spoken. Her hand lingered in his big hand as she stepped aside of him. His thumb swiped hers.

  Once again the horn blew as Poseidon lifted his trident held by his right, strong hand. His white hair windblown, where no wind was.

  “Hear me, Underworld.” He thundered. “The Gods and responsible spirits held court, deciding over your fate.”

  A whisper wandered from mouth to mouth, but hushed immediately.

  “Fear not, you will not be destroyed, instead we named a new king for you.” He paused to let his words sink in, as he turned to Shiloh, Lann, Derwa and Marcus.

  “Your new king knows cruelty and what it does to souls, he fought a battle, so he thought.” His eyes wandered from one to another of the quartet, “Your king has more courage than any of you in your little finger.”

  Then he whispered to the four, “Attendees excluded.”

  His voice thundered through the dungeon cave ,” His strength comes straight from his heart, knowing very well the difference between right and wrong.” He turned back to the crowd.

  ” Your king will be a fair king, because he knows what it means to hide out of fear of unrighteousness. He will not make a difference between vampire and troll, “His eyes looked at one of each creatures, “Nor imp or giant.” Ruebezahl nodded in agreement.

  ” Nor will your king choose whose life is worth more of any of you, as long as you follow the laws, as long as you don’t venture into the realm of humans and prey in any way of them.” His stern look lingered a little too long on the night mares. “He will not judge you of your past because he believes in equality of all here present.”

  Poseidon swept over the fallen angels then to the devilish imps.

  ” Your king has our trust, we have watched for a while and know his character, know his loyalty. We are certain he will not enforce his will with fire and brimstone, because he knows too well how one reacts to these treatments. He will make sure all of you are fed, your needs tended and as much as the realm could be happy it will be, because we looked deep into his heart and saw the goodness there. Yes, your king is a child of the nine hells, but not by choice only by circumstances, besides the Night Stalker will assist him, while his parent will keep the city safe. Your
king just found what is most important even to us, love.” He snickered.” And if I can trust my daughters, the fates, at all there will be a wedding in the royal palace, soon.”

  The creatures chuckled and elbowed one another.

  Meanwhile Lann looked at Shiloh, his eyes filled to the rim with the very emotion Poseidon had just spoken about.

  The God cleared his throat and the mob hushed once again.

  “Subjects of the underworld, here is your new King …”

  Poseidon gestured with his trident to the four humanoids.

  “King Marcus Valentus.”

  His voice echoed of the walls, then the crowd broke out in cheers. They stormed the four, separated Lann and Shiloh from the gladiator and the druid, before Lann could even congratulate him, heaved Marcus and Derwa on the hands and claws and carried them away out of the dungeon, forgetting about Poseidon and the giant.

  The equines closed the gap between them and Lann, Shiloh and their magical companions, a willow wisp and a Matagot. Xylophia nudged Shiloh which embraced the neck of the white beast. Night Stalker did the same to Lann, which petted the black stallion and between the hand of the warrior and the fur of the stallion flew sparks.

  Whiplash flew to the unicorn and greeted her in rhymes, while Willie grumbled a “ He is so happy to see you again.” to the majestic creature. The two of them held distance of the guardian, he was too powerful, too intimidating, but smiled and waved at the dark horse.

  “I trust you will help him.” Poseidon stated as his hand slapped on the golden shoulder.

  “I would have rather seen you on the throne, but your heart is made from different fabric. Marcus will do fine, but it’ll be good to know you’ll stand by him. You will, won't you?”

  Lann nodded and smiled as he pulled Shiloh closer to him.

  Chapter 22

  The underworld celebrated their new king, laughter and contentment grew thicker by the minute.

  Lann and Shiloh had joined the celebration after Poseidon’s departure. They were accompanied by Ruebezahl and the two legendary equines.