The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  Dominar’s mind cleared up and he nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right my boy.”

  “Yes, he is,” said Theros with a scowl. “Now we have a lot of ground to cover today, so let’s move.”

  The sound of his voice was drowned out though by a sickly hissing sound, followed by a warbled screech and the blast of the goraung.

  “Goblins!” roared Theros as he tossed as his torch aside and retrieved his maces.

  As Dominar and the others prepared for battle, a salvo of bolts tore through the dank and musky air of the underground city. It was followed by shrieks of pain as the first goblin body crashed from the shadows into the illuminated street.

  “How’d you—” started Nal’drin as he stood stunned.

  “I dunno,” was Kiriana’s terse reply as she loosed another barrage into the darkness.

  The cries of a second victim rang out, and goblins would take no more chances. The goblin swarm flew from the shadows. Eighteen grotesque figures dashed toward them, broken blades and other misshapen instruments of cruelty at the ready.

  Sharka sprang into action. Before she should have had time to draw her blades, she was already drawing blood. Her frenetic yet graceful moves were a dance of deadly precision. She slashed the first goblin across the wrist, slicing his tendons. He yelped as the cudgel fell to the floor. Her second dagger slashed the thigh of the second attacker. He lashed out at her with his own blade, but she spun just past his attack, then she ducked low and slashed the back of his ankle. As the blood sprayed from his wound, the goblin crumbled to the ground. She had disabled two of them, but two more charged at her.

  How could those spindly legs carry those fat little bodies so fast, wondered Nal’drin as he hefted the greatsword high above his right shoulder. Then he swung. His massive blade moved in a sweeping arc as he spun toward the attackers. It was not a blade for kings, it was a blade for battle, and it would serve him well. The worn steel tore through the first goblin’s abdomen and disarmed the second one, sending the goblin’s jagged blade clattering to the stone. The creature jumped on his back as he spun. The added weight sent the two crashing to the floor and the wrestling began.

  Kiriana continued her ranged assault, but some of the goblins wisely lifted one of the corpses as a shield, and then they charged. They quickly closed the gap in front of her, and she was forced to abandon her repeaters and reached for her blades, but before her short swords were drawn, the gray behemoth crashed into them. Three goblins were sent tumbling to the ground; their corpse shield was discarded. As Theros towered over them, he bellowed with rage and descended into a savage assault upon them.

  They had felled six quickly and disabled three others, but the swarm was still coming. Dominar rushed to Nal’drin’s aid as the goblin he was wrestling with began to choke him.

  “Not on my watch, ya filthy cretin,” he shouted before ramming his gauntleted fist into the side of the creature’s head.

  The sickening sound of flesh and bone breaking upon steel echoed, as the potbellied figured crumpled to the ground.

  “You alright, son?” asked Dom as pushed the corpse off Nal’drin.

  He gasped, and nodded as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Good,” said Dominar as he pulled his great hammer free and barreled after another foe.

  Sharka made sure to quickly finish off the two that she had disabled before she helped Nal’drin to his feet. Then she darted toward the remnants of the goblin swarm, joining Dominar and Kiriana.

  The cold iron head of Theros’ hammer slammed into the knee cap of the goblin before him. With its knee shattered, the goblin writhed in pain. Then his suffering ended. Theros pulled the stained iron weapon from the creature’s skull and sought out his next victim, but Kiriana had just run the last one through with her blade.

  “Do we have any live ones?” Sharka asked.

  “Not here,” answered Theros, a bit too proudly.

  “No, I think they’re all done for,” said Dominar with a disappointment.

  Then they heard a muffled noise that sounded like laughter.

  “I think it’s coming from over there,” said Kiriana as she pointed to a pile of three corpses. “Careful!”

  Sharka moved over and kicked the first corpse, rolling it off the others. There underneath was one of the creatures she thought she had killed. It squirmed as it clutched at the gash in its side. And yes, it was laughing.

  “Why are you laughing, grul,” demanded Sharka.

  “Because, you’re all going to die. They are coming for you, he will send them,” laughed the goblin, his dark beady eyes glancing at the entire group.

  “We’re not afraid of your king, grul,” barked Sharka.

  “Not my king, you fools. The one who walks in darkness and whispers in the night, he is coming for you,” he said.

  “Who?” demanded Sharka.

  But the goblin fell silent, his body still. There was nothing more he could say.

  “Worthless grul,” she muttered as she kicked his corpse.

  The five turned, exchanging glances. Concern showed on their faces.

  “What is he talking about?” asked Nal’drin.

  “More like who,” said Sharka.

  Dominar’s face darkened but he hesitated to speak.

  “What is it, Dom?” asked Theros as he eyed his friend.

  Dom was slow to speak, but he answered, “There is much we don’t know. Not about Duroc, not about what transpired down here, we don’t even know what it is that’s still down here.”

  “Are you okay, Dom?” asked Nal’drin, the concern in his voice apparent.

  “I’m fine,” Dom said with irritation. “But there is something wicked haunting this place, and it hates us.”

  “This is a strange place, but I don’t think—” started Nal’drin.

  “Dom’s right,” said Theros with confidence. “I have felt the—effects of it too, and I don’t think I am the only one.”

  After he spoke his eyes shifted to Dominar and then to Kiriana.

  “It’s true,” blurted out Kiriana. “Visions and nightmares have haunted my sleep.”

  “And you have never had these nightmares before?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Well, yes, I have, but not like these. It’s hard to explain, but it is like the nightmares themselves are—alive and—”

  “Full of hatred,” interjected Theros. It wasn’t a question; he knew exactly what she meant, because he felt it too.

  “Yes!” Kiriana said.

  Dominar scratched his scalp with his stubby fingers. “We might not know too much about King Duroc, but we do believe that he had dabbled in the dark arts. We have no idea what he may have unleashed upon this place before he died. He could have conjured up a malevolent spirit or even a dark titan for all we know.”

  “And if we find such a creature, what the hell are we supposed to do?” demanded Nal’drin.

  It was a general question, aimed at no one in particular, but in that moment everyone turned and allowed their gaze to fall upon their leader, the orc chieftain.

  Theros felt the weight of the question; it was the burden of expectation. He would never shy away from responsibility or a challenge, but this was something else. He was no messiah, he was no dragon-slayer, he was not Aneri’On.

  Theros let out a deep sigh and said, “I don’t know.”

  The group fell silent for a moment. Quiet contemplation had become commonplace for the team since arriving here. There were just so many questions and so few answers. Theros thought, it’s like piecing together a great puzzle, but all the corner and edge pieces have been hidden away, while all the colors faded to black and white and gray.

  Nal’drin broke the uncomfortable silence; it was something he was good at doing. “Okay, what does grul mean?”

  Theros chuckled as his thoughts shifted to Nal’drin’s question.

  “It is an...” said Sharka with a pause, “appropriate name for goblins. We should leave it at that.”r />
  “It means kluelle droppings,” interjected Theros.

  “Sharka, what a foul mouth,” remarked Nal’drin.

  The group laughed. Sharka cast her eyes downward and her pale green cheeks seemed to take on a reddish hue from the embarrassment.

  “Okay, it’s time to move. We still have a full day’s journey before we will reach the heart of the city, so let’s make as much progress as we can today. Oh, and while we move, keep an eye out for any scribe shops,” said Theros.

  “What would we need that for?” asked Sharka, with a puzzled look on her face.

  Theros turned to her. His hard and determined eyes softened when they met hers. The slightest trace of a smile traced his lips. “If strange things were happening down here, there would be have to be some records of it. Now correct me if I’m wrong Dom, but only a few dwarves outside of the royal families would even know how to read or write.”

  “Ah,” said Sharka as the revelation came. “So hopefully the scribe’s shops—”

  “Or more likely, their homes,” interjected Kiriana.

  “Exactly,” said Theros. “If we can find any shops, we might be able to find a clue.”

  “What about libraries?” suggested Nal’drin.

  “Well,” Dom said with a shrug, “I think it is less likely than the scribes, or even the homes of the royals themselves, but it might be worth a look.”

  “I think you’re right, Dominar. Even if the royal families were suspicious of their king or had concerns about their safety, they would likely use the scribes to communicate the messages. It would be safer for them, lest they rouse the king’s suspicion,” said Kiriana.

  “Agreed,” said Theros before walking over to pick up his previously discarded torch. He examined it for a moment, and then once he deemed it still functional, he carried it to the brazier that still burned bright. Once his torch was ablaze once more, he trudged onward, toward the darkness.

  10

  Dinner is Served

  There is a third aspect of the stones that is perhaps the most interesting, yet the most dependent of the three. This characteristic of the stone allows the wielder to dramatically enhance their ability to draw the magics into themselves. It doesn’t necessarily grant someone the ability to store more of the Father’s essence, but rather it gives them a much larger area within the world to draw his essence from. My siblings and I have differing opinions on how we believe this works, but that is not important. In the most simplistic sense, it is like having a much deeper well to draw from. Still, even deep wells must be replenished lest they run dry. It is worth noting that any of the magics that have not been drawn into something, are left to flow freely throughout the Eversphere. Some of the more clever Seraphim have used that knowledge and this aspect of their stones to manipulate the magics in seraph duels. Due to the combined natures of the stones and the magics, as well as the nature of their interactions, we came to name this aspect, the sphere of influence...

  War in the Heavens, Jazren of the Seraphim Order

  THEROS TOOK HIS TIME studying the storefront as the others spread out to scour the scribe’s shop. He lifted a dust-covered ledger from the counter top. He took a deep breath, and intended to blow the ledger clean. A small gust of wind swept into the store behind him. Dust scattered and papers in the shop fluttered into the air, and Theros thought he heard a whisper.

  “Keeper of the Storm.”

  “What... Duroc is that you?”

  There was no response.

  “Wait, where did that gust of wind come from...”

  Still no response. Then Theros realized he was talking to himself. He looked around to see if the others had heard him, but they were too busy in the back room of the inscription parlor to notice. Once he realized they were not paying attention to him, he waited and listened. But he heard nothing, apart from the goings-ons in the next room. There was no more whispering, the voice and the wind were gone—for now. Theros flashed a weary smile, then he joined his companions in the next room.

  “Did you find anything?” he asked.

  It was the third such parlor that they had ransacked and none of them had offered up so much as a clue. He hoped that this one would be different, because he couldn’t imagine there being many more shops in the city. He expected that Duroc had his own scribes that served him and the royal families.

  How many more scribes would the general populace need? We have to find something soon, he wondered.

  “Oh, oh I think I found something,” said Dominar with excitement as he held the small book a little closer to the light.

  “What is it?” said Nal’drin impatiently.

  “It appears to be a missive. or a communication log, rather,” said Dominar, and then he began to read aloud.

  14th day of Fall, 7377

  We can’t trust him. His fascination with the magics has grown into obsession. This must be stopped; it puts us all in danger.

  -JR

  21st day of Fall, 7377

  It is harmless. There are no rogue magic users anymore. They are just performers with parlor tricks.

  -RT

  22nd day of Fall, 7377

  You don’t see what I see. This is not sleight of hand. There is something powerful, something dangerous at work here.

  -JR

  45th day of Fall, 7377

  What exactly have you seen?

  -RT

  46th day of Fall, 7377

  Many things. I have seen the things of legend—the ability to hurl fire and dark cords of energy. But it is the more subtle and discreet arts that he practices that frighten me. It is as if his sphere of influence is literally a dark cloud that surrounds him and all that come close, warping and twisting their minds. His closest servants seem—spellbound.

  -JR

  58th day of Fall, 7377

  This is concerning. If he truly is using the magics, then the council will need to intervene. We need to know more. What are his servants’ behaviors?

  -RT

  59th day of Fall, 7377

  They are his personal protectors. Not that he has any need for them, but he has become incredibly paranoid. It’s like he sees shadows moving in every corner. Still, they are armed guards, and they are always at his side. They have arrested handfuls of people that they believed to be assassins.

  -JR

  80th day of Fall, 7377

  Continue to find what you can. I am building a case, but I need more information in order to call the council to action. Be careful as to not be discovered, you are the only contact I have down there.

  -RT

  81st day of Fall, 7377

  He is creating an army. I wouldn’t believe it had I not seen it with my own eyes, but through some devilry he has given life to these—monsters. He calls them his children. The servants from inside the palace have also given many accounts of the abominations. His experiments are out of control. The council must act!

  -JR

  2nd day of Winter, 7377

  Have you learned anything of the “children” or the experiments? I have shared this information with the council. We must continue to build the case to move them to action.

  -RT

  3rd day of Winter, 7377

  He seems to find ways to give life to the dead. Not true life with vigor and freedom, but a restless and subdued existence. It started with beasts, but it has extended to others.

  It is scary how much has changed. He was always a reasonable man, but now even objections to mundane things such as policy are seen as treasonous dissension. Objectors are arrested and imprisoned. Rarely are they seen again. Claims of sickness, disease, and even accidents are common regarding the inmates, but the death toll is rising. We must do something.

  -JR

  23rd day of Winter, 7377

  Can you find an excuse to investigate the prison? The council refuses to budge without some form of proof.

  -RT

  56th day of Winter, 7378

  I don’t think I c
an. His paranoia has reached new heights, and it appears the mistrusting eyes of Lieutenant Noril have fallen upon me. I am being watched. I do know one thing though; he is planning something big.

  At first I believed his morbid curiosity about death and life was what drove his experimentation, but I fear that it may not be the case at all. It seems more likely that it was just a means to an end, a small part of a bigger plan. And his power, it has grown strong, so strong. It is palpable, like the vibrations of war drums. Even as he practices his art deep within his sanctum, I can feel the pulsing of his power. I fear we are doomed.

  -JR

  79th day of Winter, 7378

  I have finally convinced the council. We move at once.

  -RT

  The room fell silent as Dominar finished reading the log entries. It was the only eyewitness account that they had discovered so far, and it left more questions than answers, but it was harrowing.

  “Is there anymore?” asked Theros. He already knew the answer, but someone had to break the uncomfortable silence.

  “No,” said Dominar in a muted voice.

  “Any idea who the council is?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Well,” Kiriana said with a brief pause, “Grandmaster Duncan taught that Aurion has had many secret societies through the ages, including a few here in Darnisi. Aside from the Brotherhood, the known ones include the Jhamarls, the Wardens, and the Rhazesh—Council.”

  “That must be it, who are they?” asked Dominar.

  “Oh, that makes sense,” she said. “They were a rather dangerous sect for a time. They sought to control the magic in the world.”

  “How’d they reckon they’d do that?” asked Dom as he scratched his head.

  “By abolishing it. Duncan taught that if you caught the eye of the council, you were confronted, at which point you were given an ultimatum. You either joined their ranks, or you were killed.”

  “But the guy in this correspondence, this R.T. seemed more concerned about the people than he did about the sorcery. It was as if he was almost dismissive of the possibility,” pointed out Sharka.

  Kiriana straightened up, standing tall as she thought through the implications for a moment. “No, it’s a ruse. Many organizations that operate within various societies must appear to have benevolent purposes, charitable even. Based on my studies, I don’t think that the Rhazesh Council would be any different. They appear to be an altruistic organization working for the betterment of the world.”