The Glauerdoom Moor

by David J. West

  Now it was the specter’s turn to try and flee. As she cut its vaporous cloak to pieces, it seemed to shrink before her very eyes. It became smaller and smaller until it was a ball of coiling black strips of fabric. She pincushioned these to the floor, still shouting at it, until it completely vanished.

  Sai was breathing hard. She looked, and realized she was still in the basement chamber, surrounded by both her friends and enemies. They had all paused and were looking at her.

  Hatch, Von Wilding, and the others cheered. “You did it!”

  Sai was unsure of what they had seen but took heart at their words and turned to face Von Drakk and the rest of his boneheads.

  “You have only defeated but one of my champions,” said Von Drakk. “Behold, another!” He threw his cloak over his own shoulders and dropped and spun about like a cyclone. His form twisted and grew and then, unbelievably, they were facing a giant, monstrous vampire bat.

  “Nocturne!” snarled Von Wilding. “He is mine!”

  Nocturne did not wait for the werewolf’s attack. He stepped forward and batted away both Hatch and Citrine’s sword strokes. Sai ported above him and tried to drive her daggers into his back, but he was hyperaware of her presence. Unfolding his wings like a switchblade, he sent her flying away, bruised and bloody.

  Von Wilding, his hair standing on end, howled and charged. Clawed hands met and gripped one another while sharp teeth snapped from each muzzle. The red glaring eyes of Nocturne burned into his hated enemy. They pushed and pulled, until Nocturne lifted him up and slashed Von Wilding with his clawed feet.

  Blood flowed freely from the werewolf, but just as suddenly, it stopped. The wound had sealed up. This was a contest of monstrous champions and there could be only one victor.

  Breaking their death grip on one another, Nocturne lifted himself up in the air and a purple blast from Esmerelda caught his attention. He screeched and swooped down at her, his icy black claws open like an eagle’s to catch her.

  Chev pushed her aside and took that hit.

  “Chev!” screamed Esmerelda.

  Nocturne held Chev like rag doll. He toyed with him, tossing him back and forth from hand to hand.

  “Surrender to me,” boomed Nocturne.

  “Never!” answered Citrine.

  “Very well,” replied the monster. The ferryman cried out as Nocturne drained him of his lifeblood in an instant, the bat’s bloodlust not even close to being sated.

  Citrine screamed, “No!” She charged at Nocturne, striking him with her sword, but he backhanded her away.

  “You have no idea of my power,” he boomed.

  “I do,” came a new voice.

  Sai whirled in shock and saw Marie, looking pale yet otherwise whole and healthy, getting to her feet behind them. That is, until Sai noticed that Marie now had long fangs protruding from the top of her mouth.

  “Marie? You’re alive?” asked Von Wilding. Tears of joy ran down his hairy face.

  “I don’t know,” Marie said, “but I’m here to help rid the world of this monster.”

  Nocturne ran a long tongue over his muzzle. “I’ll have you for the main course and save the wolf for dessert.” He dove toward Marie. She faced him, unafraid, but Von Wilding intercepted the massive bat, slamming into him into the wall. The wood paneling crunched beneath them and Nocturne threw Von Wilding away, but just as suddenly the werewolf was back.

  They tumbled one over the other like a pair of twisted cyclones, destroying many of the boneheads that got in their way. The beasts tore at each other and roared like the breaking of the world. Esmerelda held her hands over her ears as she knelt beside poor old Chev.

  Biting and snapping, the two fiends clawed and scraped as they painted the room with each other’s crimson. Both healed exceptionally fast from the wounds they sustained, but Sai knew that eventually their energies would wear down and only one could be victorious.

  “We have to help him,” Sai shouted.

  Citrine nodded and charged in with her longsword. She shouted her war cry and was batted aside almost as quickly. Sai ported in behind Nocturne and made ready to plunge her daggers into his back, but just as suddenly, the pair of monsters wheeled about, and she had to port away before she accidentally stabbed Von Wilding. The two monsters slammed against the far wall.

  Hatch made good on finishing the rest of the boneheads near him when he suddenly exclaimed, “I thought there would be more? Where are they?”

  “I’ve taken care of that,” said Ikalos as he strode through the doorway. “Oh, dear me,” he clicked as he noticed Nocturne and Von Wilding. “Anyway, I’ve cast a powerful turn spell that is holding the rest of the skeletal warriors Von Drakk mustered at bay. For at least a time, it is left to only that which remains inside the manor.”

  “Who’s this?” huffed Citrine.

  Nocturne then threw Von Wilding away with a yelp from the werewolf. “I am done with you all!” the monster cried.

  “We’ll see about that! Where is my sister?!” Citrine demanded as she again charged at him with her sword. Sai took the opportunity to port behind to attack as Hatch and Marie too charged ahead.

  Like a thunderclap, all of them slammed their weapons at the horrible vampire and even Von Wilding picked himself up to attack.

  Swords, daggers, arrows, and claws all sliced into the vampire lord. With a great wail, he threw them all back, but the injuries were too much. He slumped to his knees and the horrific vampire bat form of Nocturne withered. Von Drakk in his human form lay broken on the floor.

  “Help me, oh Midnight Queen of darkness, help me,” he cried out. “Open the way for me.”

  Dazed and confused, Sai picked herself up from the floor and saw Von Drakk crawling toward a huge mirror against the wall. He was speaking to it as if it housed a doorway. A strange greenish light came from the mirror, despite the gloom.

  Citrine was the first to make it to her feet and chase after the vampire. She was also the first and only one to see into the mirror.

  She stopped cold and lowered her sword. She whispered a question Sai couldn’t quite make out, but there was a look of joy and relief upon her face. Ignoring the stricken vampire at her feet, Citrine stepped into the mirror.

  Hatch shouted for her to stop, but Citrine passed through the mirror and vanished.

  Hatch dashed to follow his princess, only to have the mirror shatter into a million pieces as he neared.

  Von Drakk cried out again, as if the broken mirror had pained him. He stumbled backward, grasping onto the wall as he tried to flee back up the stairs past Ikalos. The curious wizard let him go past without so much as a look.

  “Stop him!” shouted Hatch.

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Ikalos with a shrug. “He’s a vampire lord, let him go where he wants. Outside. He’ll get his. Trust me.”

  Hatch cast him a dirty look and raced up the stairs.

  “I’m on it,” Sai answered, porting up the stairs into the chamber above.

  Von Drakk fled toward the open doorway. Hatch was up the stairs in a heartbeat, Von Wilding and Marie close behind.

  Sai was the first to reach the vampire and buried her daggers into his torso.

  He cried out again and transformed into a bat, but this time not the hulking huge form of Nocturne; this time it was the form of a small vampire bat. Its wings flapped rapidly as it made to escape out the door.

  “It’s all right, he can’t go far now,” said Ikalos, slowly walking toward them.

  “Cast a spell! Do something! We can’t let his evil escape!” yelled Von Wilding. “I’ll not be denied my justice!”

  “Its fine,” said Ikalos leisurely. “It’s dawn, after all.”

  And sure enough, just as Von Drakk’s tiny bat form flew out the door and across the porch, the first rays of dawn came from across the horizon. The rosy pink light touched the dark vampire bat skin and he shrieked loud enough to hurt Sai’s eardrums. The foul
reek of sulphur and smoke filled their nostrils and a loud pop sounded and the bat was gone.

  “Is that it? Is it over?” asked Esmerelda.

  “I think so,” said Hatch. “I don’t see any more boneheads or ghouls or zombies.”

  “Without their master, all the foul things under Von Drakk’s dominion should melt away,” said Ikalos.

  Sai suddenly realized their little group was missing several members. Chev was gone, Sai remembered with an ache, but Marie was also missing. She looked around, searching for the blonde. She spotted her back inside the manor, hiding from the rising sun.

  “I can’t go out there,” she said. “It’s far too bright. Like a million suns are shining.”

  Von Wilding went to her and walked inside. “I’ll stay with you until you can leave, and we can all go home again.”

  Marie wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know where my home could ever be now. I’m changed forever. I’m one of those awful things now too.”

  Von Wilding took her in his all-too-human arms. “Look at me. I have been cursed, but I choose to use it for good. You can too.”

  She looked at him with tears in her eyes and smiled. “Thank you.”

  Sai found herself smiling too and looked to Hatch. He was frowning. “I’ve lost them,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I have to go back to King Jasper and tell him I failed.”

  “You didn’t fail. We won here today,” Sai said.

  Hatch shook his head. “We had Citrine and lost her. I can’t understand why she would run into that portal. She must’ve seen whoever took Amethyst and rushed in to confront them without waiting for the rest of us.” He ran his hand over his face. “I should have stopped her.”

  “There was nothing any of us could do.”

  Hatch didn’t hear her. “It had to be someone powerful or Von Drakk wouldn’t have called to the Midnight Queen.”

  “Who knows,” lamented Sai. “But still, we have ended the evil of Von Drakk, and that must count for something.”

  He nodded and put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re right, it does count for something. Soon as they’re able to travel, we need to get back to the king and quick.”

  “I’m sure I can help with that,” said Ikalos, rubbing his chin. “I just need to remember that traveling spell.”

  Sai laughed, suddenly giddy that it was all over. She and her comrades had accomplished so much, and it all felt unreal somehow.

  She watched as the sky was stained with pinks and purples more beautiful than any sunrise she could remember.

  They had lost much, even a few comrades along the way, but Sai found herself oddly grateful that it all had happened. She turned away from the sunlit Moor and went to join her friends. Huh. Friends. She smiled to herself. Didn’t see that coming.

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  The Dungeons of Arcadia

  Chapter 1

  Gork, crown prince of Dwarfholm Bastion, peered out of the surveillance slot from the cavern high on the cliff face. A thousand glints of sunlight sparkled from the snowy valley below. The stark beauty of the towering cliffs and frozen waterfalls was broken by a host of dark objects moving up the canyon.

  Gork furrowed his brow as he tracked the hundreds of Ravager orcs stomping their way through the snow, heading for the ice barrier at the summit of Barrel Roll Pass.

  From behind him, Gamfir, a dwarf three times Gork’s age, gave a grunt of concern. “They aren’t stopping?”

  Gork shook his head.

  Something wasn’t right. Certainly by now the orcs knew that Dwarfholm Bastion was defended by traps. The Dark Consul’s warlords would never commit that many orcs to battle unless . . . Gork turned at the sight of motion off to his right. Farther up the perilously steep slope and scarcely visible in the white haze of wind-driven snow that curled over the mountain ridge, a patrol of orc scouts had reached a wind cornice. Already their axes were swinging as they cut into the icy barrier that held back the weight of several weeks’ snow.

  No, Gork thought. No! He motioned quickly for Gamfir.

  “Look.” Gork pointed to the ridge. “That vanguard unit is going to trigger an avalanche to bury our traps in the valley. The main force will be able to approach the ice wall undeterred. In numbers like that, the orcs will crush the ice wall and have unfettered access to the terraces and towers in Barrel Roll Pass.”

  “They must have climbed the ridge in the storm,” Gamfir stammered. “We couldn’t have seen them.”

  Gork looked into Gamfir’s eyes, where for the first time he saw the grey uncertainty of fear. Gamfir tugged anxiously at his beard. “Can we stop them?”

  Gork surveyed the perilous glacial slope. It would take even experienced climbers an hour to summit the ridge. “It’s too late.” His head spun. All the careful plans, the traps, the patrols—everything was failing. “Gamfir, we have to do something—now.”

  “The attack on Foruk’s Falls has drawn most of our men,” Gamfir warned. “We have only the palace guard to hold off those orcs in the canyon.”

  “Against that many—” Gork shook his head. “It’s suicide.” He checked his silver pocket watch and tucked it back into his well-tailored vest that did little to draw attention away from his comparatively short, neck-length beard—far shorter than a typical belt-length beard. “I give us less than five minutes before the orc scouts trigger the avalanche. Then there’s no stopping the entire horde from climbing right up the canyon.”

  Gamfir lowered his dark-tinted spectacles. “Not since we joined with the freyjans to defeat The Destroyer have we faced such a dangerous foe. But this level of cunning is beyond demons . . . my heart tells me we have a traitor.”

  That possibility did nothing to settle the anxiety worming in Gork’s gut. The dwarf prince was not as bulky as other Hearthsworn Dwarf warriors. Granted he was only fifty years old, and not even a full-grown adult. But his father was overseeing installation of defenses at the west buttress and his brutish younger brothers had gone to free Foruk’s Falls, leaving him to watch the booby-trapped pass. He was the officer of the watch.

  This battle was his responsibility.

  “If we could only keep the avalanche from burying the trigger for the rigging.” Gamfir pressed his fist into his palm. “We could take them by surprise from the skies.”

  Gork had only a second to consider the near-impossible task of saving the trap. It would mean reaching the base of the hill before the avalanche and somehow surviving the mountain of crushing snow.

  There was a slim chance, which meant a far greater chance his short life would come to an abrupt end.

  Gork considered the few notable accomplishments of the first half-century of his youth. The air seemed to hang around him, the moment frozen as he weighed his own fate. If he perished, would his family even miss him? Would his father simply be glad that one of his brutish younger brothers had become the next in line for the throne? Or was this his moment, his chance to finally prove himself?

  There is no one else.

  “Loyal to the light,” Gork whispered, his breath fogging on the chill air. “To the end.” He turned to Gamfir, his strong hands forming into fists. “Order the palace guard to the top of the winch. Have them suit up in the harnesses. Blow the war horns when the orcs reach the trigger point. I will release the trap manually.”

  “But the avalanche will certainly destroy the trigger point at the hunting cabin. The trap will be sprung before the orcs are in range—it’s hopeless.”

  “It’s never hopeless.” Gork lifted his ax. With the back end of the ax, the dwarf took three well-aimed swings, breaking large chunks of stone away from the surveillance slot as if he was paring
cuts of roast boar. He traded the ax for a flat-bladed snow shovel, climbed into the crack, and squeezed out into the breezy Frostbyte air.

  “Gork—no!”

  He leapt.

  The first thirty feet passed in one and a half seconds. Gork gripped the shovel handle, placed his feet in the scoop of the blade, and braced for impact. His momentum blasted him through the deep snow like a ball from a gnomish musket.

  Dusted from beard to boots in icy snow, Gork hurtled down the steep slope, his shovel throwing up tall rooster tails to either side as he plummeted at a speed that scarcely differed from free falling.

  Gork’s fingers, strong from years of work in the forges beneath Dwarfholm Bastion, held the shovel handle in a white-knuckled grip.

  Snow blasted his eyes. And over the roaring of wind in his ears came a sound that sent a chill to his very core.

  CRACK.

  Gork looked back to see the top of the ridge suddenly drop.

  A dull rumble commenced as the sheet of sliding snow gathered momentum while Gork slid directly into the fall line of the avalanche.

  “Come on!” Gork screamed, bellowing a challenge to the mountain over his home.

  Gork leaned back as he sailed off another drop-off and over a rocky chute between two tall pines. He landed with another blast of powder snow.

  In the corner of his vision, hundred-foot trees snapped like toothpicks, and boulders joined the frothing wave as the force of the avalanche plowed over everything in its path, closing the distance with frightening fury.

  Gork navigated through the sparse trees, leaning to one side and the other as his shovel cut a weaving path through the snow. He had to reach the trigger point at the cabin before the avalanche—for his country and for his own life.

  Gork spotted a thin trail of smoke rising through the trees.

  The cabin.

  He was almost there.

  Gork’s momentum ran out as he came to a gentle incline. He leapt from the shovel and ran forward, plowing through the chest-deep powder as the unstoppable tidal wave of snow rushed up behind him.