The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  “I asked what the plan was and I’m still waiting,” said the young king.

  “He’s got a point,” said Sharka. “If we are walking into a trap, we need to know what to do.”

  “It’s not a trap,” said Theros, as anger flared inside of him.

  “Theros, we trust you, but we need a backup plan,” said Dom.

  “You want a backup plan?” snapped Theros, a dangerous edge rising in his voice. “How about this? If he betrays us, I’ll drive this axe through his face and I’ll split him in two. How about that?”

  The orc’s muscled body tensed as if he were ready to carry out his words right then and there. His companions were growing uneasy with his outbursts and he offered no apology. The furious look on his face slowly began to fade, but it was clear that it would remain close at hand. The hulking orc took a few deep breaths and relaxed. His voice softened when he spoke again.

  “Let’s move.”

  The dwarf king’s voice came to him saying, “Don’t be angry with them, they don’t understand. They will, though.”

  If you betray us, sorcerer, I will honor my word, warned Theros.

  “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that... never been a fan of axes to the face,” said Duroc, his voice fading to laughter.

  Theros was not laughing. He tightened his vice-like grip around Vrasch en Drak’s haft and listened to the leather groan. In silence, he strode onward through the halls of the fallen king.

  Even though they explored the king’s palace in relative silence, the tension was palpable. Even Nal’drin had the wisdom to be seen and not heard. They didn’t know what to expect, but they realized whatever it was, it would be better to have Theros by their side.

  They all moved through the palace with a certain mixture of awe and trepidation. The group passed through more halls, all full of the finest trappings. Despite the dust that had settled over everything, it was easy to see the quality of the materials used to make everything from the structures to the rugs and the finely woven tapestries that lined every corridor. To some, it seemed like they had been traveling for hours, then again, some of them were not used to silence. In truth, it had only been about fifteen minutes before they had passed through the majority of Duroc’s palace and had reached the throne room.

  The room was like a large octagon that had been stretched from both sides. There on the other side of the long room, rose a pyramid-like series of steps. The over-sized blocks that made up the dais counted six across. The next layer up counted six across again, only using a slightly smaller size block. This pattern was repeated again and again until the blocks numbered six in height. What was left in the end was a massive stone altar that rose steeply several feet high, where it held the king’s hand-carved white marble throne—empty and dust covered.

  “Someone thought awful highly of themself,” said Nal’drin as his self-control to keep quiet had exceeded its capacity.

  “Your father didn’t have a throne?” asked Kiriana with a raised eyebrow.

  “Nothing that pretentious.”

  “It is common in many cultures for kings and queens to have such thrones,” said Kiriana. “Many times they were actually believed to be divinely appointed, if not deities themselves.”

  Nal’drin shot her a suspicious look and said, “I thought you said you didn’t pay attention to your studies.”

  The modest woman’s cheeks turned a shade that nearly matched her hair. She smiled. “I guess I learned a thing or two.”

  “Where to now?” asked Sharka as she eyed the various passages that were spread across the back wall of the room.

  Theros raised his arm and pointed to one of the doors to the left of the king’s dais. “That way,” he said.

  “Where does it take us?” asked Dominar.

  “To the king’s sanctum, his prison.”

  Nal’drin lead the way across the room. He grabbed the large iron ring that hung on the heavily lacquered door. The thick wooden door swung easy on its old hinges, revealing an unlit tunnel.

  “That’s odd,” remarked Dominar.

  “What’s that?” asked Kiriana.

  “The glowy crystals have been everywhere, now we finally find the way to the crazy king’s prison, and it just so happens to require us to wander through a dark tunnel the moment were out of torches... doesn’t this seem just a bit suspicious to anyone else?” said Nal’drin.

  Don’t you ever shut up, thought Theros.

  Duroc spoke up, “I kind of like the smart-ass.”

  Theros had suddenly grown uncomfortable. How long have you been here?

  “You had me at pretentious...” quipped the dwarf king.

  Theros pulled the Elder Stone from his satchel. The glowing amethyst emerged, spilling its radiant light into the throne room. The purple light that now poured from the stone seemed even brighter than when he first found it.

  “It’s so beautiful,” said Sharka, her mouth agape.

  Theros said nothing. He held the large stone in front of him and he moved past Nal’drin toward the darkness that awaited. Theros ducked down as he stepped into the low tunnel. Purple light illuminated the cramped corridor, and he moved forward.

  “Theros, stay on alert. You are not the only ones in the palace,” warned Duroc.

  Care to provide any details? asked Theros, but the link was gone.

  Sharka and Dominar followed Theros into the passageway. Kiriana went to follow them, but she was halted by Nal’drin.

  “Here, take this first,” he said as he reached into his own satchel.

  “What is it? Ohh,” she said as her eyes fixated on the small but brilliant crystal. Its pale blue light illuminated their faces. “Where’d you get that?”

  “Back in the merchant quarter.”

  “Theros said not—“

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he interrupted. “But I’d rather we get out of here alive. Besides, this isn’t really treasure per se, more of a tool than anything. I didn’t take any gems or gold. Take it.” He handed her the tiny crystal, and gestured for her to enter the tunnel ahead of him.

  She reached for the sliver of light. She found the crystal’s smooth surface nestled between her fingers, yet her hand remained cradled in his. She offered him a smile, one that he gladly took. It was a smile of innocence, perhaps naivety, of friendship, perhaps more. Nal’drin gave her hand a gentle squeeze and then let go. Kiriana turned back toward the tunnel, and moved to catch her friends.

  Memories ran through his mind as he followed her into the tunnel. A familiar voice, his father’s, spoke. Son, you will find that your wealth and station will afford you the companionship of many. But it is the ones that cannot be bought that are worth everything. The content of your character weighs more upon your soul than gold and silver. With these, make your offer. You’d be wise to remember this.

  Father was right, he thought. You can’t impress a woman like Kiriana with trinkets, baubles, and grand gestures. What am I doing?

  Nal’drin continued to wrestle with his thoughts as he observed the lights in the tunnel grow smaller. He snapped back to the moment and forced himself to scurry after his friends, lest he be forced to fumble about in the dark. Then within moments her perfumed scent was upon him again. He breathed deeply and smiled.

  After moving through the dimly lit tunnel for several minutes, it appeared to be coming to an end. Faint blue light illuminated the room beyond, revealing a cluttered table and some wooden chairs. As Theros drew closer to the tunnel’s exit he was able to make out the objects that lay piled atop the table. They were books, stacks and stacks of books of all different shapes and sizes, all covered with a layer of fine dust.

  Theros stepped out of the tunnel into the room. Something covered his face and his mouth. His hands and his arms felt it too as it hugged him. The orc instinctively closed his eyes and moved frantically to swat it away with the hand that held the glowing gem. It persisted, clinging to his face and chest and arms. The orc’s hands were a f
lurry of rapid, desperate movement as he hurried to separate himself from that which set upon him. He broke the grip it had over his face, but the unrelenting force held fast to his clothes and his arms.

  “Are you okay?” shouted Sharka as she hurried up the tunnel to reach him. Dom was on her heels.

  Theros snapped his eyes open, his axe hand instinctively rising for battle. Then he spotted his assailant, and he sighed. The cobwebs that still ensnared much of his great bulk had been defeated. Theros chuckled and shook his head.

  Dominar and Sharka spilled out of the tunnel ready for battle only to find their friend laughing at himself. Then, once they saw the cobwebs, they shared in the laughter and gave a sigh of relief.

  “Phew, that was close, it almost had ya,” remarked Dominar.

  A silly grin spread across the orc’s face. Just keep smiling buddy, it’s all going to be okay, thought Dominar. Dominar chuckled again and patted his friend on the back.

  Kiriana and Nal’drin emerged from the tunnel only a moment later to find that their friends had already begun examining the various contents of the king’s study. Theros carefully searched the books that were piled upon the table. Dominar perused the many hand-drawn works that covered the walls. Some were anatomical diagrams while others were things far more nebulous. Each drawing had a smattering of notes drawn in what must have been Duroc’s own hand.

  While they studied such things, Sharka simply marveled at the chandelier that hung at the room’s center. It of course did not have candles as one would normally expect, instead, it held twelve small crystals, each giving off pale blue light. Sharka reached up and one by one, she began to pull four of them free.

  “Dominar, do you have any cord or strapping?” asked Sharka.

  “I should have some.” He reached back and lowered his pack to the floor. He rummaged through his supplies for a moment then he pulled a bundle of thin leather straps free. “Here you go.”

  Sharka caught the bundle and began to unravel the straps. Her fingers moved deftly as she fastened the straps around a crystal, then fashioned a necklace out of it. She tugged on the straps first to make sure that the necklace would hold, then she did the same with the crystal. The combination of knots held. Satisfied, Sharka set it down and worked on the next one. Within a matter of minutes she held four glowing crystal pendants. Sharka turned and handed one to Nal’drin, Dominar, and Theros. The fourth she kept for herself.

  “I don’t need one,” said Theros, as he held up the purple Elder Stone.

  “You’d rather carry that around?” she replied with a frown.

  “Good point,” he admitted as he examined the glowing crystal before struggling to fit the necklace strap around his big head. “Probably should have tied it after,” muttered the orc.

  “Can you make one for me, too?” asked Kiriana as she held out the crystal that Nal’drin had given her.

  “Of course,” said Sharka.

  “You know, these lights make us sitting ducks,” said Nal’drin.

  “I know, but they will help us find our way through these passages. Once we find this king, we can remove them,” said Sharka.

  Nal’drin and the others nodded in agreement. It was sensible enough. So the five companions continued their search for the king, with their radiant pendants lighting the way.

  They rummaged through the rest of the room’s contents for a few minutes, then they resumed their journey. They departed through another tunnel. This one was about the same size as the previous one, but its corkscrewing descent made the path difficult to traverse. It made each of them thankful for Sharka’s ingenuity.

  They spiraled down into the scantly lit darkness for what seemed an age, but the descent finally ended. The tunnel released them into a large and surprisingly non-descript chamber. The room was somewhat rectangular and bore no defining attributes beyond the surprising number of tunnels that seemed to go in, or perhaps out of it. All in all, there were eight other passages of varying sizes.

  “Third one to the right,” whispered Duroc.

  Theros showed only the briefest sign of hesitation before taking the third passage on the right. The new tunnel that they found themselves in was considerably larger than the last two that they had traversed; this must have been a more heavily traveled route.

  The tunnel was short, surprisingly so. It only stretched about twenty yards before dumping them off in the next chamber. The room’s size was remarkable. Verdant light that radiated from countless crystals filled much of the cavern’s vast expanse. The vibrant green light revealed the contents of the king’s secret laboratory, his sanctum. Large but low reaching stone tables dotted the room’s landscape. Each table was affixed with crystal lampstands, whose vibrant light spilled over their coarse surfaces.

  In the distance beyond the field of tables, over some hundred yards away, rose a large dais, almost resembling some grand stage at a theater. There in the center of that large, yet unsophisticated stage stood a monument. From this distance it was hard to tell exactly what it was, but it seemed to be a large ivory arch, or series of arches, rather. Indeed, it was not just one, but five concentric arcs. At first glance it wasn’t readily apparent, but after a second look it appeared to be a very, very fancy doorway, adorned with markings and fixtures.

  Dom studied the well-crafted structure. “He’s a carpenter?”

  As he took his next step, a loud snap followed by a crunch echoed through the chamber, followed by the clatter of something sent tumbling across the stone floor.

  “What was that?” asked Kiriana. She turned just in time to see the round object bouncing past her.

  “Uh, I don’t think he was a carpenter,” said Nal’drin as his eyes watched the bouncing skull finally come to rest. Nal’drin redirected the light of his crystal more directly toward his feet. Bones lay scattered about.

  The others followed suit and examined the immediate area and found more bones near their feet.

  “Look, here’s another one,” pointed Kiriana. “That’s three of them right here.”

  “What in the hells happened down here?” asked Nal’drin, his face showing that his courage was about to abandon him.

  “War,” answered Theros flatly.

  The others turned to look at him.

  He continued, “The Council came to steal his power. They found it not so easily taken.”

  “The Rhazesh,” said Kiriana, excitement rising in her voice.

  “Yes. Duroc had one final battle with them before they imprisoned him. This is where it happened,” said Theros as he pointed to the scorched and scarred surface of the stone table near them. They hadn’t even noticed it in this lighting.

  “What is that?” Dominar asked as he examined the soot stained table.

  “These are scars of battle, I believe. Great magic was used in this place,” said the orc.

  “Wait, if they imprisoned him, where is he?” asked Kiriana.

  Theros’ eyes shifted from the traces of sorcery to the white monument upon the dais and he pointed. “There.”

  The five moved through the massive sanctuary with a sense of hesitant urgency. They were on the precipice of something big, and they didn’t know what to expect. They had come too far to turn back now, but the concern that they were about to make a huge mistake was racing through each of their minds, even the big orc’s.

  They reached the far end of the sanctum and ascended the large set of stairs set off to the right side of the stage. Soon they were facing the grand archway that stood at center stage. Its expertly crafted arches were of the same pristine panarel stone that were seen throughout much of the palace. Its flawless white surface was adorned with finely etched engravings.

  As they drew within a few yards of the archway, they were finally able to see the wispy, yet luminescent cloud swirling in the opening between the arches. It was impossible to tell its hue in the strange green light that dominated the chamber, but it swirled like a tiny storm cloud. A voice called out to them, a voice the
y all heard.

  “Welcome, friends,” said Duroc, as his ghostly figure slowly took shape before their eyes.

  The dwarven king wasn’t much taller than Dominar, barely over five feet. His fairly slight build indicated that he had undoubtedly spent more time hunched over books in study than at a heated forge. He wore a simple crown with a single jewel at its center. His gray hair was long and it fell every which way. His face had the typical dwarven features, big brow, big nose, big beard. An over-sized robe, of a long since forgotten fashion, hung over his frame.

  He took another step out from the archway and the rest of his ghostly form came into view. There he shifted his weight and seemed to lean upon the tall, yet relatively non-descript staff in his right hand. He smiled at his visitors, and that is when they realized just how young he looked.

  “I wish we’d met under... different circumstance,” said the king as he self-consciously observed his incorporeal form.

  “You’re a ghost?” asked Theros.

  “Not quite, although I might as well be with my current predicament,” said the king with an easy voice.

  “What happened to you?” asked Kiriana, her expression puzzled like the rest.

  “When the council attacked, I did what I had to do to get my people through the portal. It left me open to the enemy’s attacks. Though I had the strength to defeat them, my power was spent before I could counteract their spells of severing and binding. And so here I sit, broken and bound to this infernal monument,” said the dwarf with a nod toward the white arches.

  “So you’re not dead?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Is he always this sharp?” asked the king with a grin. “No, I’m very much alive. The first spell severed my mind and my body, leaving my spirit behind. It essentially put me in a form of stasis, because my body isn’t here to deteriorate anymore. The binding spell was then used to keep my spirit from rejoining my body, by tethering me here,” explained Duroc.

  “That’s why you look so young still,” said Kiriana,

  “That’s right, my dear, I’ve not aged a bit,” admitted the king proudly.