The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  “They kill as if they feel nothing,” she said with a voice ripe with emotion.

  Duroc responded, “Yes, they are quite effective.”

  “What have you done to them?” she demanded.

  “Does it matter?” he asked.

  She answered with a fierce glare.

  He returned her glare with one of his own. “Oh, that bothers you? Would you feel better if I told you that I told them that the goblins were the bad guys? Then would it be okay? I mean, war and violence are always an acceptable recourse, as long as it’s only done to the bad guys, right? I mean, that’s the approach you guys are taking with me right now, right? The five of you have been trying to convince yourselves that I am the bad guy, so the moment that it even seems like my plans don’t align with yours, you can drive those boney daggers of yours into my back. Right? It’s like the old saying, you’re the judge, jury, and executioner.”

  Sharka’s insides churned with nerves and anger. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then she looked him in the eye with a stone-cold stare. “That’s right, Stonebrow, and so far your trial isn’t faring too well. You’d better hope you can convince me otherwise, because I’ll be deliberating soon.”

  Duroc gulped as he tried to swallow the implications. Her bluff was working.

  Duroc tried to act un-affected. “And what am I supposed to be convincing you of?”

  “That’s half your problem,” said Sharka.

  “What the hell are you raving about, orc?”

  She snapped, and got right in his face. “You don’t get it! You’re not the victim here. You don’t get to cry injustice. You’ve had a lifetime to reflect on the terrible things you’ve done—things that currently put not only all of us, but this entire world, in danger—and yet you always seem to think that you are the one being wronged, and that what you’ve done is somehow justifiable.”

  She shifted her stance and drew her arms across her chest. “You’re right, you have been on trial by all of us. Each and every one of us cares about each other too damn much to be reckless in trusting you, and still we’ve tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. But the problem is that you’ve already come to a conclusion.”

  “What conclusion is that?” grumbled the dwarf.

  Sharka’s eyes no longer held fury, but only sorrow. “That you will never earn our trust.”

  Sharka looked away from him as she turned her eyes back to the waning moments of the battle below. The massacre was nearly complete. Somehow the goblins put down the entire mahlzur force, but it came at a great cost. Thousands of goblin corpses filled the streets.

  No one else said anything. Her words landed like a claymore, splitting through all the pretense and striking to the core. Her double-edged comments offered hope and a warning. She forced herself to stand tall and confident with her chin up and her shoulders back, as sweat lapped at her palms. Dammit! I hope this works. I’m not trying to die down in this hellhole.

  Duroc turned to the carnage in the street outside. “At least one problem is taken care of.”

  Nal’drin smiled and said, “And they helped thin out that crowd out there too.”

  Duroc replied, “Yeah, but we still need to get out of here or we are dead.”

  Theros nodded in agreement, then gestured for the dwarven king to lead the way.

  The old king said, “Follow me.”

  Up ahead of them, the dwarf king led the way as he hurried through the tavern’s open parlor, past the service desk, where he disappeared down an almost hidden hallway. His companions chased after him, afraid to lose his trail. And they were glad they did. It was amazing that such a small building had such a winding maze of hallways, and it would have been easy to take a wrong turn.

  Duroc took one final turn and found himself entering a small room that was nothing more than the establishment’s lodging quarters—or so it seemed. Duroc crossed the room with a few short strides and grabbed ahold of the ugly, rustic bed and slid it away from the wall, revealing a trap door in the floor.

  “Luck shines upon us!” said the grinning dwarf with cheer.

  “What is this place?” asked Sharka.

  “Some would call it a house of ill-repute...,” muttered Duroc as his voice trailed off.

  “You’re taking us to a brothel?” asked Sharka, the disgust dripping from her words.

  “The brothel is unimportant, but there is a minor network of caves down here if I remember correctly,” said Duroc.

  “If you remember correctly? Just how often have you visited this establishment?” she said, not hiding her disdain at all.

  Duroc shot the orc woman a sharp look and bitterly said, “I’m not patron of this place woman. A king has many... options available to him; there’s no need to be fighting for scraps in a hovel like this. Besides, I’ve no interest in dwarven women. I’ve other tastes...” he turned his gaze to the redhead as his voice trailed off.

  Kiriana felt dirty every time he looked at her.

  “Oh, goodness,” said Sharka with a gag, “I think I just threw up.”

  Creases formed across the dwarf’s frowning face then he said, “Say what you will, but power and wealth are quite the aphrodisiac, and one that I’ve always held in high supply.”

  “Seriously, just stop,” begged Sharka.

  Nal’drin and Theros laughed at her remark, making it all the worse. Duroc’s face grew red from a combination of embarrassment and the anger that accompanied it. He huffed, then replied with, “Just get in!”

  Sharka led the way down the old iron ladder, and the others followed after her. Duroc was the last one. He pulled the trap door closed behind him, and climbed down the ladder.

  “So which way is out?” asked Theros.

  “There isn’t,” said Duroc.

  “What the hell do you mean there’s no way out?” snapped the big orc.

  “Listen here!” barked Duroc with fiery indignation in his eyes, “You idiots asked for a solution, and that’s what I’m giving you. Can you just trust me for once, dammit? This maze down here doesn’t actually lead anywhere, but it is large enough that it would take a tremendous amount of time for anyone to find us down here. That gives me enough time to get us out of here.”

  Kiriana folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to one hip. “And just how do you plan on doing that?”

  “I am going to create a riftwalk,” said Duroc.

  “What’s that?” asked Dominar.

  “It’s a magical construct that will allow us to move directly from point A to point B,” said Duroc.

  “So it’s a portal?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Technically speaking, no, but it serves a similar purpose. Now everyone shut up for a few minutes, while I think this through,” said Duroc.

  Everyone heeded his request and gave him silence. They just stood around and watched the old sorcerer do his thing. Even Nal’drin held his tongue, but he hovered close by watching every one of his new mentor’s moves.

  Duroc fished the sapphire Elder Stone out of his satchel and he lowered himself down onto his knees. There he sat as he began mumbling an incomprehensible series of utterances as he seemed to stare off into nothing. But it wasn’t nothing, Duroc was seeing far beyond his natural sight. He was seeing through the eyes of the Qarii. He was searching through his cavernous under-mountain keep. He saw images of the amassed goblin forces and he saw past them, as he predicted, just outside the merchant quarter to the great stairs. Duroc locked his sights on that location, and turned his body so he was facing directly south toward it.

  Duroc broke the silence, “I’ll need two more stones to pull this off.”

  Sharka and Kiriana handed theirs over to him and backed away. Duroc nodded appreciatively, then took a moment to maneuver the stones in such a way that he was able to hold all three at one time. Then he began his spell.

  As the words flowed from his mouth, the magic flowed through the room and into the stones and back out again. The surge of powe
r could be felt in the air as the vibrations of magic intensified. A warm swirl of air tingled their senses as the Qarii worked their magic. Then the swirl of air turned violent as gusts ripped at the sorcerer’s hair and robes and then the pathway opened before them. It was just like what they witnessed before with the opening of the alcoves, but as the fabric of the world dissolved, it gave them a clear view to the other side as if a window had just been drawn in the side of the world. As the now-gaping rift hung open, they saw the great stair that loomed before them.

  “Everyone in!” shouted Duroc as he made his way into the tunnel-like passage.

  The others would have balked at the directive had he not taken the lead himself, so reluctantly they followed him. As they stepped into the bluish-purple passage, they marveled at Duroc’s creation. The pebbled liquid walls of the tunnel looked like it was formed with millions of tiny droplets of dew. The walls seemed to pulse and move with the undulating rhythm of a living organism. It was fantastic and unsettling at the same time. Though they might wish to study it, their desire to depart it was greater. The six companions hurried through the short passage and found themselves safely on the other side, standing outside the entrance to the Merchant Quarter.

  Nal’drin turned back to examine the wonders of the mage’s construct one last time, only to see the portal snap shut behind him. The startled young king let out a less than masculine yelp as he jumped back in surprise. Dom and Kiriana were leery of the portal as much as the others, but they couldn’t help but laugh at their jumpy friend.

  “What now?” asked Sharka.

  Duroc didn’t wait for anyone else to respond, he said, “I’m going to find a safe place to rest.”

  “Where to now?” asked Theros as he rubbed tired eyes.

  “This’ll be fine, we are a few blocks behind them and they are moving the other direction,” said Duroc as he sought out a suitable landing spot for his royal behind.

  “So, the plan is the same still right?” said Kiriana with a searching glance.

  “Aye,” said Duroc.

  “When will you be ready with new wards?” asked Theros.

  Duroc turned, shrugged, and said, “If I exhaust the stones, we might be good to go a few hours after supper.”

  “Part of me thinks this is more about hunger and less about magic,” guessed Kiriana.

  “Perhaps,” said Duroc with a disinterested shrug. “Let’s eat!”

  Unfortunately the brazier that they had lit on their original pass through had long since burned out, so it was up to Dom and Nal’drin to build a fire. There was one problem; their wood and oil were gone. The brazier was barren and there was no surplus in sight.

  “Looks like we are eating dried rations tonight, boys and girls,” said Dominar, the disappointment apparent in his voice.

  “No, I can make fire,” offered Nal’drin.

  Dom gave him a fatherly look that suggested he didn’t approve of the idea. “Son, I’ve told you before, I don’t like you messing around with that magic. Somethin’s not right with it. It’s unnatural and it’s dangerous.”

  “Playing with swords is both unnatural and dangerous, but we use them all the same. Hell, even using fire the old way is unnatural and dangerous, but we use it. For heaven’s sake, you’re a smith. You use fire to make swords! Dom, the magic—the Qarii is just a tool, it is up to us to choose to use it for good or for evil,” said Nal’drin as his voice shifted from thoughtful to almost pleading.

  “I see where you’re coming from, and it all makes good sense, my boy, but that stuff you’re messing with is alive. It has a will of its own, and despite what he might have you believe, its will is not your own,” said Dom as his caring eyes rested upon the king’s young face.

  “I hope you’re wrong, Dom,” said Nal’drin, “I guess we’ll see.”

  With that, Nal’drin gave the command for fire and extended his hand toward the empty brazier. Searing pain lashed itself down his arm and into his palm and fingers until they exploded with power. Raw, consuming fire sprang forth into the earthen vessel as Nal’drin tried to stifle his cry of pain.

  Dom’s frown deepened, he shook his head, turned, and walked away. He left Nal’drin to prepare dinner with his new mentor, Duroc. Then he felt someone lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Kiriana’s green eyes sparkling in the firelight.

  “He’s just trying to help.”

  “He’s doing it the wrong way,” said Dominar, with concern in his voice.

  “I know you’re not comfortable with sorcery, none of us are, but this could be a powerful weapon for us.”

  “That weapon wasn’t meant to be in our hands,” said Dominar in a stern tone and a matching expression.

  “Dom, you say that, but look at how many times Duroc’s magic has saved us. Having another mage is a good thing,” she insisted with a soft voice that was ripe with optimism.

  Dom’s face reddened and the creases on his forehead deepened as his frustration mounted, and then he snapped, “No, Aneri’On saved us, and he’ll do it again if we’d stop trying to become him.”

  “Become him? What are you talking about Dom?” Genuine confusion masked her face.

  Theros interjected, “The magics, the Qarii—these are things beyond the natural grasp of mortals. To delve into sorcery is to delve into the things of gods.”

  “Exactly!” remarked Dominar excitedly.

  Kiriana’s face grew even more contorted. “Wait, what? Gods? I thought Aneri’On was the only—“

  Theros responded before she even finished. “He is.”

  Dominar said, “He was quoting a famous line from the Gorn Tor Elbath.”

  “And from War in the Heavens and many other places...” said Theros.

  “What does it mean then, if it’s not literal?” asked Kiriana.

  Sharka spoke up for the first time and said, “It is understood that people of many cultures have often thought angels and demons to actually be gods and goddesses. You don’t have to look any further than our own history to see that, with the orcs of the old world calling upon various spirit gods like the FrostFather and the SeaWitch.”

  “I see,” said Kiriana.

  “Listen,” said Theros, “I think we can all agree that this type of sorcery wasn’t something that Aneri’On gave us directly, otherwise he would have shared it with us before he died. But the Elder Stones were not given to us either, yet they were supposed to be kept by the Seraphim, and here they are. Perhaps the Qarii is the same way.”

  Dom’s scowl held as he folded his arms across his chest, “I don’t like it, not one bit. The pain that they experience when they use magic is not natural, it’s like it attacks them, like it hates them.”

  “Well, it doesn’t happen all the time,” pointed out Kiriana.

  “You’re right, or at least not to Duroc. It seems to hurt Nal’drin every time though,” said Sharka with a raised eyebrow.

  “Maybe you just have to get used to it, you know, like growing callouses,” suggested Kiriana.

  “No, it’s the stones,” said Theros. “Whenever he uses the stones to empower his spells, he seems to avoid the pain. Nal’drin hasn’t used the stones yet.”

  “You know, I think you’re right. Yeah, that’s got to be it,” said Sharka.

  “I think it’s natural for a teacher to let his pupil understand the rigors and dangers of a craft before teaching them the shortcuts,” said Kiriana and the two nodded in agreement.

  Dom’s frustration reached a new height. “You guys are missing the point! Why does it hurt them to begin with? That is not like Aneri’On. I know that none of us got to spend much time with him before he died, but that doesn’t line up with any of the teachings he shared in the short time we did have with him. And it doesn’t line up with the many teachings from the various texts that foretold his coming!”

  “I don’t understand, what does any of this have to do with his teachings?” asked Kiriana.

  “Grace, he taught about grace
,” said Dom.

  “I’m not sure we follow you,” said Theros.

  “Aneri’On did more for us than any of us could ever deserve, and he didn’t just do it for the few who believed he was who he said he was; he did it for all of us. He saved us not only from the dragon’s wrath, but the destruction of our souls, and there is nothing we did to purchase that,” said the impassioned dwarf.

  “Okay, I’m sorry and maybe I am dense, but I fail to see the connection here,” said Kiriana as she rubbed her forehead.

  “If he was willing to do that for us, then, why would he abandon us in our time of need?” asked Dom.

  “He wouldn’t,” whispered Sharka, her eyes dropping away to the floor in shame.

  “Maybe the magic is our help? And... and he sent the stones so that we could use the magic,” said Kiriana, but her voice lacked conviction and it faltered.

  Dom discarded her argument with a shake of the head and he replied, “No, my dear, I don’t believe that. His help was on display when Theros wielded the white flame and the power of the storm raged within him—not once, but twice. And his help was on display when you gave me a second chance at life—just like he did for you in Tempour.”

  Dominar waited for their response, but the group stood there silently. The weight of what he had said pressed down differently on each of them, but it would not go unnoticed. Tears were already streaming down Sharka’s sage cheeks, while Kiriana’s eyes swelled with silent tears.

  Theros didn’t cry. Instead, he closed his eyes and his mind played back the events that took place just a few months before. He saw the prophesied king who bore no crown lead them. He led them in prayer, he led them in deed, and he led them in battle. Theros remembered it well.

  The frozen battlefield was marred by the carnage of war. Bodies of both the black dragon’s army and those of the united forces of orcs, humans, dwarves, centaur, and elves littered the ground around them. Theros stood there in the midst of chaos, staring up at Slayvin.

  The earth shook as the blackened beast crashed down to the ground for the final slaughter. Roiling liquid flames splashed from the wyrm’s slavering maw. The dragon’s fiery eyes blazed with hatred. His wings battered the air. The gusts of wind buffeted those who dared to stand against him. His snaking tail whipped and cracked like thunder.