The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series)

by Wyckoff, Brae

  “Knock it off you two! I guess I’m stuck with the whetstone.”

  The others chuckled. None of them had made out with anything great. “You can always take the feather, Ghent,” they laughed as Bosh waved it in his face.

  “Real nice, guys, but I will stick with the whetstone.”

  “Whoa, what do we have here,” Rudd discovered a small leather pouch hidden inside Bridazak’s pack. He untied the wrapped string around the top and then poured the contents into his open palm. The beautiful diamond ring, formerly belonging to Lady Birmham, was revealed. Their bedazzled eyes were held captive by the sparkling bauble.

  “Now we’re talking,” Ghent whispered. He took it from Rudd’s hand and inspected it closely.

  “Yeah, I hope the boss-man brings us more Ordakians now.”

  “We will have to sell it when we are off duty and then split it,” Ghent suggested. “I will hold on to it for the time being.”

  “What about the coin bag he had?” Bosh asked.

  “We will put the coin up at our next card session as the prize money, but right now we all need to do our rounds.”

  “Yes sir,” they said in unison.

  “I’ll check on the Ordakian,” Rudd proposed, taking a step towards a barred door.

  “No, Rudd. Vevrin was very clear, no one goes inside,” Ghent responded.

  The humans in their black leather garb went through another door. The room was now empty. Crackling flames from torches hanging on the wall were the only sound remaining.

  “He didn’t abandon us after all, Lester!”

  “Our master needs our help, Ross.”

  “What can we do?”

  “You know.”

  “Know what? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “C’mon, search inside that thick pick-head of yours and figure it out.”

  There was a pause as it dawned on Ross what his brother was referring to, “No, Lester. You know that I hate doing it.”

  “It’s important, Ross—and it’s only a short distance to the door. Our master is right behind it and once he is freed, he will take us out of here.”

  “You promise, Lester?”

  “I promise.”

  The magical thieves’ tools began to vibrate on the stone floor. The tinkle of metal on rock intensified, and within seconds they morphed into a pair of vibrant green worms. Inch by inch, they made their way to the barred portal.

  “Just a little further, my brother.”

  “I’m tired, Lester. I don’t think I can make it. Go on without me.”

  “Oh stop it, Ross! The lock is just a foot away, now suck it up, soldier.”

  “Why do you continue to torture me?” He began to cry again.

  “Ross.”

  “What?”

  “Look!”

  Looking up, he saw that they had arrived. “We made it, Lester! We didn’t die!”

  “I know. Now let’s get to work and set our master free.”

  “Thank you for believing in me, Lester. You saved my life.”

  “I’ll remember you said that, for next time we have to do this.”

  “Oh god, I hope there isn’t a next time.”

  “Calm down, Ross. I’m sorry I said that. Let’s just focus on getting this door open.”

  The brothers morphed back and forth between worm form and pick form in order to unlock the multiple contraptions. The last obstacle was the door that was still barred; they were too small and weak to push something that heavy.

  “Well, it is all up to you now, Lester.”

  “Yep, our creator was so clever to think of everything. Now inch back, my brother.”

  Ross clung on the wall and watched Lester work. The bar began to rattle, then jerk an inch, as Lester mentally pushed, then another inch, then another, until finally it fell to the ground with a loud clank, and the door popped open slightly. They eagerly waited for their master to burst through the threshold and embrace them tightly. Seconds elapsed, and their joyful faces began to sag back to disappointment.

  “Where is he?” Ross asked.

  “Perhaps he is tied up and can’t get to us.”

  “You promised, Lester!”

  “I did, and that promise is still intact. We need to go in and help him.”

  “You go first. It’s dark in there.”

  They worked their way down, inching into the gloomy chamber. There were several stone steps and an open room beyond. A faint blue aura was the only light source; it emanated from a glass vial on top of a wooden table just to the right of the stairs. It was damp, cold, and moldy. A slight rustle of chains echoed from further back in the dark recesses.

  “Based off the looks, I believe it smells in here.”

  “Ross, we can’t smell. We don’t have that sensory ability.”

  “That is what I said; based off the looks, get it?”

  “Oh, yeah, I get it now and I agree. It looks like it smells bad in here.”

  “I think I am going to cry, Lester.”

  “Why, what happened now?”

  “You finally agreed with me for once.”

  “Oh, brother. Just keep your eyes open for our master.”

  They crawled further inside. Ross stayed right behind Lester for fear of being separated. Drips of moisture falling onto the stone floor could be heard echoing inside the area.

  “I see something, Ross.”

  “What is it?”

  “Looks like someone hanging from chains, but I can’t make anything out accept that it looks bald.”

  “Our master isn’t bald.”

  “I know, Ross. I need to get closer.”

  “Closer? Are you sure that’s safe?”

  “I don’t see how we have a choice. You can stay here if you like.”

  “I like.”

  “Okay, I will be right back. You stay here and keep a look out.”

  Lester made his way up the mildew covered wall, and then to the anchored chain. He traversed the metal links and was soon hanging above Ross.

  “Psst. Hey, I’m up here.”

  “Oh, there you are. I’m glad I didn’t go. That looks frightening.”

  “It’s fun, Ross. It’s like we are on our own adventure.”

  “Oooo, don’t say that word. That is a scary word.”

  “Adventure, adventure, adventure.”

  “Stop it, Lester!”

  “You are so boring, Ross!”

  “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

  Just then, Lester spotted something moving in the darkness, and coming closer to Ross. He squinted with his tiny worm eyes until he finally realized what it was.

  “Ross, look out! Giant rat!”

  Ross instantly looked up at Lester in shock and horror but then he turned away without a word, thinking his brother was teasing him once again and trying to frighten him. He was scared, but he wasn’t going to show Lester.

  The ferocious rodent came in for the kill. Its fur was wet and slimy and its glowing red eyes were locked on its next meal. Ross was instantly scooped up into its dirty claws and then swallowed whole by the ugly beast.

  “No!” Lester shouted.

  The rat began to move away, but suddenly stopped. It’s stomach convulsed, and it began to heave repeatedly until finally it spat out the metal object, which lightly clinked on the stone floor. The rat gave a shrill shriek as it scurried back into the darkness.

  “Damn you, Lester! Why didn’t you tell me I was going to be eaten?”

  Lester let out a sigh of relief after hearing his brother’s voice.

  “I did. Remember, ‘look out, giant rat’, does that ring a bell at all?”

  “I’m still not talking to you, Lester.”

  “Oh, just hold on. I’m going to see if this is our master so we can get out of here.”

  Lester inched his way until finally reaching the shackle, which held a bloody wrist. He moved along the arm and was now on top of the shoulder of the unknown individual. He decided to
take a risk. There was no way to see the face as the head hung downward.

  “Can you hear me?”

  The body shifted slightly, and a low moan of pain escaped out from its mouth.

  “Use your mind to talk,” the magical pick said.

  “Lester?” A shaky voice asked.

  “Yes, that’s my name. How do you know it?”

  “It’s… Spilf.” He finally was able to get it out.

  “Spilf? You are alive!”

  “Help… me.”

  “Yes, of course. I will release the manacles right away.”

  Lester went to work on the locks and within minutes Spilf fell to the ground, semi-conscious. Ross crawled over to investigate the individual his brother had released. He wormed his way up to the face.

  “Spilf? Is that you?”

  “Yes,” came the groggy response.

  “I thought you were dead! Oh no, does that mean we are dead? Lester! Lester! Where are you? You abandoned me,” he squawked.

  “I’m right here, you worm-brain!”

  “Oh thank goodness! Look, it’s Spilf.”

  “I know. I’m the one who released him.”

  “Why isn’t he getting up, Lester?”

  “I think he is too injured. Spilf, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I need to get to the healing potion on the table. Just give me a minute. I’m trying to gather myself,” he said, gaining more strength in his mind.

  “Take as long as you need, former master,” Lester responded.

  “How long is that?” Ross asked.

  “Not sure.”

  Another minute went by until some movement from Spilf alerted the magical picks.

  “He’s moving,” Lester stated.

  “Where is Bridazak?” Spilf asked, lifting his cheek up off of the wet, cold stone.

  “We don’t know. He’s been captured. We thought we were rescuing him when it turned out to be you,” Lester responded.

  “We will find him shortly, my friends. I just need to get that potion.”

  In pure determination, Spilf fought through the agonizing pain as he slid his broken body over the rough cobblestone. Streaks of blood smeared the floor as he crawled toward his prize. With each forward movement, Spilf gritted his teeth. His sweat mingled with the dried blood on his grimaced face. All of the beatings, all of the torture he endured, all of the feelings of despair and hopelessness fueled him to push forward. He held his breath for long periods of time to help endure the pain. The wooden legs of the desk were now at his raw fingertips. It was impossible for him to stand, since Manasseh’s torturer, called the Hammer, had broken his ankles.

  He turned gingerly over onto his bloody, open-gashed back, and then grabbed the two wooden legs. There was no choice—he knew that he would have to catch the vial when it tumbled off the edge. He drew a deep breath to steady himself and pulled the legs forward to tilt the table. He heard the glass tip over and began to roll and slide his way. The blue hue brightened, and then there it was. He pushed the table back up quickly and reacted with his free hand to catch the fragile, falling object.

  “Wow! Well I’ll be an animated pick! You’d think after a thousand years I would have seen everything, but I’ve never seen anything like that!” Lester exclaimed in awe of Spilf’s superb agility.

  Spilf pulled the stopper and then drank the potion. He could feel the healing instantly take place inside his body—bones mending, cuts closing, and his energy returning. He finally stood on his own two hairless feet. He was still bruised and battered, but functional enough to move about. Lester and Ross were scooped up.

  “Thank you! You saved my life,” Spilf mentally conveyed, strength back in his voice.

  “You’re welcome,” Lester said with pride as he inched higher into the air.

  “Good, now save ours. Get us out of here! This place is really scary. They have rats, giant rats!” Ross cried.

  Spilf chuckled and then went up the stairs to the ajar door. Light spilled out from the cracked opening. He saw a table with items strewn about, among them an extravagant bow and two quivers of arrows, one set which matched the caliber of the curved wood. A weapon he desperately needed. Spilf peeked out to an empty guard room and freely went for the items. He recognized Bridazak’s backpack and clothing. Spilf put on the clean shirt, and as he pulled it over his head, his eyes caught the sight of a peculiar item: a single feather. He slowly grabbed it and lifted it closer, twirling it during his inspection. “This is real,” he whispered.

  “What did he say, Lester?”

  “I don’t know. I think he said the feather is real.”

  “Well, of course it is real. We can all see it is real. Oh no, the brutes hurt his brain function, Lester. He is ruined!”

  Spilf smiled, “No, not ruined boys: set free. It’s time to find your master!”

  .

  18

  In the Dark

  “Move into the courtyard. I will protect you from the arrows coming from the castle. We need to funnel them, so we are not surrounded,” Raina spat out instructions to her army.

  A wave of the dead rose before their eyes. Manasseh’s wickedness had somehow brought his fallen army back to fight once again on his behalf. Ten thousand men versus Raina’s eight hundred had been surmountable, but ten thousand undead, with no sense of pain or preservation, against her tiring dwarves, changed things. The army of felled men and giants was one obstacle, but the dragons with their riders, along with the freshly killed mystics, were the greatest threat, as they retained their magical prowess.

  “Geetock, have your team keep the undead back as long as possible. I will handle the dragons and the mystics. Use the others to support your efforts.”

  “We will do as commanded. Should we try to get inside the castle?”

  “No, we don’t have the resources. Our hope lies with El’Korr and his team. Just hold them off.”

  The wild dwarves had returned back from their morphed giant state into individuals once again. Nineteen of them engaged the enemy as their troops moved into the open courtyard. Arrows sailed in from the many openings from the interior castle wall but harmlessly deflected away due to the magical shielding cast by Raina.

  Several black dragons were now soaring in. Raina pulled forth a small statuette from inside her robes, “I need you my friend,” she whispered.

  An ancient, deep bronze colored dragon appeared in front of her. The behemoth unfurled its wings to full extension.

  “Where have you been, Raina?” it questioned within her mind.

  “Long story, but good to see you again, old friend.”

  The jade-eyed beast looked around at the battlefield. “Undead? What vile evil caused this?”

  “A human king. No time to discuss now. Will you help me?”

  “It will be my pleasure. I have not been in such a battle for many centuries.”

  “Thank you, Zeffeera.”

  The red-tipped horns on top of her head and the deep bronze color of her body were highlighted by the sun’s setting rays; she was a bright beacon of hope for Raina’s army. She propelled away to engage the smaller black dragons. Zeffeera soared into range and then lifted her wings to stop her speedy advance, holding her position in mid-air. A blast of lightning burst forth from her gaping mouth. It forked and struck two of the dragons rapidly approaching. They plummeted to the ground, their lifeless bodies smoking from having connected with the electrically charged breath weapon.

  A renewed strength returned to Raina’s army after seeing the powerful bronze dragon take down the first two of the flying, animated carcasses. Cheers erupted. Geetock’s troops were chopping down the endless ranks of the walking dead as they came in; the hundreds of dwarves behind them supported the effort by launching crossbow bolts and killing any undead that got through. Bodies fell one atop the other, but the greatest mass was still moving in like a tidal wave. The mutilated corpses slowly made their way to the open entrance of the castle. Some still had weapons lodged in
their bodies, others smoldered from previous fire damage, but all pressed in to devour the living.

  The fallen red-robed wizards were now up and flying toward Raina. She twirled her staff and teleported to the top of Manasseh’s tower behind her, releasing a flash of light as she blinked back to alert the undead mages of her new location. Three flew to intercept.

  “What took you so long, Vevrin?” Manasseh harshly questioned. He had been anxiously waiting for his victory, after teleporting back from the Tree’s cavern below.

  “I’m sorry, my Lord. I couldn’t find any bludgeoning weapons in the dungeon so I brought the Hammer,” he moved aside as a large mutant creature stepped through the doorway.

  His right hand had been replaced by a hammer plated with steel. The head of the creature bulged out in several spots, like cysts ready to burst open. Dark brown eyes protruded beyond the sockets; neither could focus on the same thing at once. He was seven feet tall and wearing a blood spattered, leather apron over his dirty clothes.

  “You are getting more handsome every time I see you,” Manasseh half-smiled.

  “Shank shoo me Lorg,” he spoke in a raspy voice with spit dribbling down his chin.

  “Right, I need you to use your hammer, or hand, or whatever you call it, to destroy this,” the King pointed at the Orb.

  It slurped saliva inside its mouth to try and speak again, but Manasseh cut him off, “No need to speak, just follow the order.”

  Vevrin closed the door to the circular sacrificial chamber. The Hammer moved his fat, stocky body over to stand beside the stone bed. He looked at his King, and then to Vevrin. The nonchalant movement of the beastly man warranted Manasseh’s outburst, “Well, go on! Do it!” The torturer hefted his meaty arm, and with a sudden strike the Orb was destroyed. The sound of a glass popping under pressure resonated in the room, louder than expected. A shimmering, glitter-like material shot out in all directions and then slowly dissipated. He lifted his hammer arm and a red substance remained underneath.

  “What is that?” Vevrin asked.

  “Looks like blood,” Manasseh investigated, moving closer.

  The red liquid pooled together like mercury, then all in a moment, the stone tablet cracked as the rumble of an earthquake shook the room, knocking each of them slightly off balance. They watched the blood move to the split in the center, and then descend out of sight.