The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  “So others practice magic, but they are not as powerful as her?”

  “Yes,” he nodded eagerly. “They tries hard, but no good.”

  Theros’ deep voice boomed, “Glemigk, if the king dies, will the goblins follow Groktai’s lead?”

  “We’s fear her,” replied Glemigk.

  “In goblin society, that means yes,” said Theros with a grim expression. “Glemigk, who is the next strongest after Groktai?”

  “Hmmm... me thinks Globlum. Very strong,” answered the goblin.

  “Will your people follow him?” asked Theros.

  “Nope! He dumb,” replied the goblin without a second thought.

  Sharka snorted and said, “Coming from him, that’s saying something.”

  Theros didn’t want to waste any more time; his mind had been made up, “Then I will assassinate the king and this witch.”

  Glemigk’s dark yellow eyes grew wide in excitement, his expression full of childlike joy. “Yes, this is good thing!”

  Theros raised an eyebrow as he studied their peculiar informant, and then he said, “Why are you so excited to betray your people?”

  The cheery expression lifted from Glemigk’s face leaving a flat, almost blank expression. He said, “Must survive, is goblin way.”

  Theros thought about that for a moment, and it seemed to fit in well with his experiences with the species. Then he asked one last question, “Glemigk, does the king use magic?”

  “No, he big dumb fat-face,” said Glemigk as he spat on the floor with disgust.

  “Very well then,” said Theros with a dismissive wave, “go get something to eat, while we discuss our plans.”

  The goblin bent low into a half-squatting bow and nodded his head. It was a strange gesture that was common only among goblins, and perhaps some of its meaning was lost in translation, but from what Theros had gathered it meant both submission and gratitude. It seemed very strange to the orc that anyone would be grateful for being forced into servitude, but that was just the goblin way—strange.

  Theros eyeballed the green potbellied pig of a creature as he backed away before waddling over to the pot of stew that cooked over the fire. Once Theros was satisfied that Glemigk was out of earshot, he turned his attention back to his companions.

  Theros said, “So if we can pull off this assassination—”

  “Double assassination,” corrected Nal’drin.

  “Double assassination,” said Theros, “then the goblins will be thrown into chaos. They will revolt and turn on each other. It will get bloody quicker than you can spit, and all we have to do is stay out of their way.”

  “That’s great, but you’re suggesting that we have to sneak into the middle of an army of unknown size, and assassinate its two most powerful figures,” said Nal’drin with a brash edge.

  “I didn’t say it would be easy, but it’s that or all-out war,” said Theros.

  “I can do it,” said Kiriana.

  Everyone looked at her with surprise, and it irritated her. “I’ve spent half my life training for this, why are you all looking at me like that?”

  “Uh, how many times have you snuck into the middle of an entire army?” asked Nal’drin. “And if you hadn’t noticed; they’re all goblins, it’s not like you’re actually going to blend in there, sweetness.”

  That remark drew her ire, and if the young king didn’t know it, the smoldering look in her eyes offered no doubt.

  “Listen, deary,” said Duroc, “I’m sure you’re all the rage back in your thieves guild—”

  “Religious order,” corrected the master slayer.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” said Duroc, “the point is, you’ll be needing some help to pull this one off.”

  “Just what kind of help is that?” snapped Kiriana.

  “Well,” said Duroc as he drew out the word, “If your bold and fearless leader would ever free me, I could offer you some assistance in the sneaking department. I have some experience with cloaking spells. It’s a fairly simple enchantment that would help you sneak about.”

  “How does it work?” asked Kiriana, genuinely intrigued.

  “Well, it’s just a matter of manipulating light, reflecting and refracting, you know, just simple stuff,” replied Duroc in an even more arrogant tone than usual.

  Theros butted in. “And let me guess, you need to be freed to place the enchantment?”

  Duroc huffed to show his offense at the remark, then he said, “No, of course not, but I thought you might want them to make it out alive, you know... being friends and whatnot.”

  The emotions, bitter as they were, stirred once again inside the orc. All of the losses that he had experienced rose to the surface as they raced through his mind. Those lives were not lost because of him, but the pain was all too real and the losses still stung. They always would.

  The words cut deep, and Duroc knew it. His methods were savage at times, but effective.

  “What are you suggesting?” said Theros with a voice that shook under the weight of oppressive emotions.

  Duroc nodded and proceeded to share his plan. “I can make an invisibility ward easily enough, the problem is that they only last for a certain amount of time, dependent upon the amount of energy used to create it. In my current state, I could probably make one that would last an hour or I could make two that could each last half that. Either way, it’s not going to give you enough time to sneak past an entire army, assassinate them, and slip away.”

  Kiriana’s stony gaze fell upon Theros and she said, “I can do it.”

  Duroc bristled at her remark. “Listen, deary, I’ve no reason to doubt your competence, but let’s not be foolish. Besides, it would be awful dull around here without your pretty face to look at.”

  Eww. She shuddered at the thought of Duroc’s eyes lingering upon her. Chills shot down her neck and back, forcing her to shake off the tingling sensation.

  “She’s not going alone, I’m going with her,” said Sharka.

  “Oh, that’s so sweet,” said Duroc in a mocking tone. “Solidarity is cute, but it doesn’t change the math. You get one ward for roughly sixty minutes or two for thirty, take your pick.”

  “Just release him,” said Nal’drin as he chimed in.

  Everyone turned and looked at the young king, who had been unusually quiet. The hard lines on his face and the look in his eyes revealed something, something stirring.

  The room fell quiet, and he continued, “Listen, I understand that there are trust issues here, but we are starting to run out of options, and I am not about to let Kiriana—or anyone go on a suicide mission. It’s madness! We let Duroc go free and we have all the ammunition we need to deal with the goblins. Besides, he’s done nothing but help us out so far.”

  Theros stood there with a stoic expression as he eyed the boy’s countenance. The young man that stood before him was changing. Where the youth’s emotions were once driven by selfishness, impatience, and general immaturity, something had changed. It was small, but something was different. Theros recognized the flicker in Nal’drin’s eye, it was a familiar one, and it spoke with a loud and clear voice.

  Theros nodded. “Very well.” He turned toward the ghost king and said, “Don’t make me regret this or—”

  “Axe to the face, yeah, yeah, I know, I know,” groused the scowling ghost. “So, what are we waiting for? Time’s running out!”

  Theros’ knuckles grew white as he squeezed the haft of his axe, then he simply grunted. The orc opened his satchel and pulled the Elder Stones free. Then he asked, “So how does this work?”

  “I will need to draw from multiple stones to break the bonds, one stone will not be enough,” said Duroc warily.

  “So you’ll need to bond yourself to that thing again,” guessed Theros as he pointed to the ivory arch.

  “Yes, unfortunately. It’s not the most pleasant experience,” muttered Duroc. “Going back will be harder too.”

  Theros gave him a look that said he didn’t un
derstand.

  “I performed the first ritual using two stones to perform the severing, this time I will only have the one gem in the axe. I’ll need a way to draw more power this time,” said Duroc. Then he saw the orc’s doubting glare and he said, “Oh, don’t worry, Hammerfist, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeves. I just hope it doesn’t take too much, because I will have to perform several other rituals to complete the unsevering.”

  Theros placed the three free gems into cradles upon the arch and said, “I hope you’re right...”

  Duroc nodded in understanding but said nothing. His eyes shifted back and forth between the dreadful battle axe that he had bonded himself to and the grand gateway that cradled the Elder Stones. He extended his right arm out toward the gem infused arch and began the bonding process, then as he reached his other hand toward Vrasch en Drak, the magic began to swell. Cords of energy sought out the four gems.

  Duroc grimaced and grunted in pain as he exchanged one bond for another. Soon the tethering process was completed, and he was now free from the axe. More importantly, the sorcerer king had access to the other three Elder Stones as well. The field of magical energy that swirled around Duroc surged with hair-raising potency, as he tapped into new stores of power. Duroc was locked in, entirely focused on this mission. Incomprehensible words flowed from his dwarven tongue as his incantation reached a fevered pitch.

  The sphere of energy that once only surrounded Duroc, now spanned more than half of the grand stage, and it continued to grow. The world seemed to groan as the storm of sorcery stretched the very fabric of reality around them as it expanded. Otherworldly sounds filled the king’s sanctum as if newborn stars cried for the first time, releasing the rage and fury of their all-consuming power.

  Unnatural winds buffeted Duroc as the Qarii railed against his will, but the mage king stood resolute, his eyes wild and determined. His arms flailed in reckless fashion as he hurled new curses at the fabric of the world. The warped smile on his face belied the frenzied state the ritual had sent him into. The magic was savage and furious, and he loved it. The unseen barrage of magic slammed into his incorporeal form once more, and then it broke. The dimensional fabric of the world, the barrier that separated this reality from the unseen dimensions was now torn.

  The hole that the dwarven king tore into the side of the world began to expand. The unlit void beyond offered nothing at first glance, but the winds of sorcery grew stronger and Duroc shook in the face of the maelstrom.

  “Trok mir tokerenon, vrak tuuson,” bellowed the wild-eye king as he chanted against the wind.

  Then, a figure began to emerge from the center of the shadowy void. Duroc’s lifeless form, hung limply in the air, and it drifted toward them. The others watched in awe as Duroc wrestled against nature with the supernatural forces of the Qarii. The king strained as he fought to keep the portal to the void open long enough to extract his body, but the fabric of the earthly dimension demanded reparation. As the unseen walls of reality constricted in a mending fashion, Duroc howled as he thrust his arms forward. He threw every ounce of power that surged through him at the portal. Everything went black.

  DUROC COULD SWEAR THAT he heard people talking, or at least a person, but the ringing in his ears was overwhelming. And if that high-pitched squeal of inaudible frequencies wasn’t enough, the stabbing pain that dug from the back of his skull to right behind his eye socket was far worse, leagues and leagues worse. His eyelids held fast to the darkness, refusing to open, despite the prodding of those he assumed were trying to speak to him. Not gonna happen. Dammit this hurts! In the dark, his hands sought out his aching head. Go away! He screamed at the pain, but it didn’t listen. The pain bit every nerve ending as it stabbed deep into his skull again and again. Kill me, just kill me, this is too much, his thoughts cried.

  The wave of nausea slammed into him with tidal force. That was one thing he was not prepared for. By the time he tasted the bile, it was too late. His body heaved violently as it discarded a pool of rancid fluid. The stabbing pain in his skull didn’t stop and neither did the heaving. Sweat poured from the king’s pale skin and bile spewed from his mouth.

  Finally, when the contents of his stomach were fully displaced, the king gasped for air. The wave of nausea had passed. His body trembled uncontrollably as cold chills racked his sweaty body. The dagger-shaped migraine lost its edge, and pain relief slowly trickled in. The miserable hum in his ears faded and gave way to the voices that were once on the other side of the noise.

  “Remind me to never do that,” quipped Nal’drin.

  Kiriana gave him a humorless look and asked the king, “How do you feel?”

  His first thought was, I feel like s—, but that thought was interrupted with a new revelation. I...feel again! It worked! The revelation gave him a joy that surpassed the misery of his affliction. He was alive again!

  The king’s eyes lost their grip on darkness as he snapped his lids wide open. Color flooded in, colors that seemed vibrant despite the strange lighting of the cavern. He hadn’t seen such rich color in ages! The faded milky blue veneer that he had grown so accustomed to was gone. His mind processed the caverns green lighting, the cavern’s earthen hues, Kiriana’s red hair, and Theros’s gray skin. Wait, what?

  Duroc spit and wiped the traces of bile from his lips and beard and said, “You’re not green.”

  Theros fired back with a quick response, “And you’re not much to look at. I mean, you’re not handsome... or muscular... or skinny... or young, or clean, or—”

  “Okay, okay, we get it,” groaned Duroc. “You’re not funny.”

  Theros glanced at his laughing companions, smiled, and said, “They seem to disagree with you.”

  “Alright, go ahead and laugh at an old man, an old king mind you, enjoy yourselves at my expense,” groused Duroc as he furrowed his big bushy eyebrows.

  “Thanks,” said Theros as he let a rare dose of sarcasm slip through. “Oh, and if you’d like to rinse your mouth out, there is an extra water skin over by the fire.”

  “Thanks,” said Duroc as he evaluated his current disheveled and unsanitary state, “but I think I’ll be needing a bath.”

  “We couldn’t agree more,” said Sharka, while the others added nods of agreement.

  “You’re an insufferable lot,” said the king with a sour expression that seemed like it might become a permanent fixture. “Go get your body and spirit torn apart and then see how you feel when you finally rejoin them! Bah! You won’t even survive the transition!”

  Nal’drin halted his laughter as he looked at the king. Compassion filled his eyes and he said, “Don’t worry, King Duroc, we understand. Besides, we’ve never seen you look better.”

  The young king couldn’t keep a straight face and he started laughing before he finished. The others couldn’t help but laugh, but Duroc’s face grew red and he was preparing a nasty retort when they were all interrupted by a new voice.

  “What in Baffingbald’s beard is going on here?” asked a tired, but friendly voice.

  Everyone turned to see Dominar standing there with his arms crossed. The otherwise affable dwarf looked perturbed, and more importantly, he was confused. His anxious eyes sought out the one face he recognized in the group.

  “Theros, who are these people... and... and where in blazes are we?” asked Dominar.

  Theros tried to hide the worry from his face, but his voice betrayed him. “These are our friends, Dom.”

  The dwarf eyed them warily and he said, “I don’t know them.”

  “I know that things are confusing right now, but when your head gets better, you will remember them,” said Theros.

  “No, I don’t know them,” said the dwarf in a voice tinged with fear.

  “Dom, trust me, you are surrounded by friends,” said Theros.

  “I don’t know them,” repeated Dominar as he backed away cautiously.

  “Okay. There’s no need to panic, it’s all going to be alright,” insisted the orc. />
  Dominar didn’t speak, but his body language said everything. His breathing quickened and his eyes darted from the people before him to his surroundings and back. His movements became twitchy and frantic as he backpedaled away from the group.

  “Dom stay, you are safe here,” pleaded Theros.

  “No... this isn’t right,” said Dom as he turned to flee.

  “That’s enough,” said Duroc in a harsh, biting voice as he flung his hand toward Dominar. A flash of pale purple light radiated from Dom’s head. The frantic dwarf began to stagger and within a few short steps, he dropped to his knees and then to the floor.

  Theros wheeled about, turning on Duroc, his massive axe prepared to bathe in royal blood.

  Panic flashed in the king’s eyes, and he threw up his hands and shouted, “He’s just sleeping! It’s a sleeping spell, he’s just sleeping, to keep him from running off.”

  Without looking, Theros barked the order for someone to go and confirm it. Kiriana was already at Dom’s side though, and she bent her ear down low.

  “He’s breathing. He’s just asleep!” she said with excitement and relief.

  Theros relaxed his stance and lowered the cleaver, but his eyes never fell away from the dwarven king.

  Once the axe was lowered, the king’s bold defiance returned. Duroc twisted his face up as he scowled and pointed a menacing finger at the orc and snapped, “What’s the matter with you? Why are you in such a damned hurry to chop people up? You keep that crap up and I’ll begin to question our friendship!”

  The big orc straightened his posture, allowing himself to rise to his full height of roughly six-and-a-half feet. His hulking figured dwarfed the old king who was tiny by comparison. The murderous look on his face still lingered, but the faintest traces of a smile hid at the corner of his mouth.

  Duroc shook his head and began muttering under his breath as he turned and walked away. Duroc gave a demonstrative wave of his hands to suggest that he wanted to leave them all behind.

  Theros’ voice boomed, “You are freed; it’s time to uphold your end of the bargain, sorcerer.”