The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  The lead goblin squealed in rage, and jerked around toward them, but it was too late. One of the faintly glowing blue crystals that was lodged in the bedrock far above them flashed with a pulse of energy as the magic struck. The audible cracks of shifting earth resounded with a terrible echo as the crystal broke free from its resting place. The unnatural crystal plunged like a comet with frightening speed. Amidst the roar of the group’s terrified screams, the streaking blue crystal smashed into the wagon. It destroyed everything in its path. In an explosion of wood and bits of shattered chains, the wagon, and one of the goblins, was demolished.

  Dominar’s bench broke under the impact and it was thrown from the cart, screaming dwarf and all. Dominar flew over the edge of the wagon’s rail, or what was left of it, and right off the bridge.

  “Nooooooo!” screamed Theros as he was thrown back from the impact.

  Dominar was gone.

  The horrified screams of the falling dwarf and those of his companions roared through the cavern like a great and terrible beast. The horror-stricken orc furiously strained against his chains, but it was all for naught, as he remained trapped in the wagon’s wreckage. The landslide of shock crushed him.

  “No, this isn’t happening, not Dom, no, no, no, no!”

  Tears clouded his bright blue eyes.

  Theros turned on the wizard with bared fangs, like a viper poised to strike. “You slimy coward.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Duroc.

  “Why?” growled Theros, as he strained against the iron chains.

  “You won’t understand, just trust me,” begged Duroc as his eyes nervously shifted back and forth between the enraged orc and the goblin who had started to climb over the wreckage.

  “You weaselly bastards, what’d you do to my wagon?” demanded the goblin.

  “We did nothing,” said Kiriana through tears.

  “I don’t trust it. The magics brought it down on us, tried to kill us it did. It’s this one’s fault.” He hissed and pointed at Nal’drin.

  “I didn’t do anything,” said Nal’drin as panic set in.

  The lead goblin wasn’t having it. He crawled over the shattered railing at the front of the wagon, and he was closing in on the young king. Murder was in his eyes and his dagger was already freed from its sheath.

  “He didn’t do anything,” screamed Kiriana.

  “It wasn’t him, it was me!” shouted Duroc.

  The goblin snapped, “Tricks and lies!”

  Nal’drin struggled against his restraints, but could go nowhere. The hunched-over goblin stood over him as he lay in the heap of cracked planks. His companions began to shout in his defense, but the goblin was not swayed, and he raised his dagger hand. Theros roared as the blade came down upon his friend.

  Without thought, the words sprang forth from the young king’s lips. “Krava min tok!”

  What started out as a small spark flared into a bright flash right before his attacker’s eyes. The goblin yelped in pain. Reflexively he dropped his weapon as he reached for his eyes. He squalled as he groped about blindly. Sharka stuck her leg out just in time to catch his right foot. The goblin tripped and toppled over what was left of the cart’s railing. The squalid little pig tumbled, and rolled right off the side of the bridge.

  “Ooohyaah!” were the last words that were ever heard from him as he plummeted out of sight into the chasm below.

  Nal’drin panted and his heart pounded in his chest as pain surged through his arms, but he was alive. They only had a few minutes before a goblin patrol would find them stranded here, so the group took a moment and breathed a collective sigh of relief. Duroc even laughed.

  “Thank God, you’re alright. Well done, my boy,” shouted Duroc with joy.

  The others turned toward him. Surprised looks on were on their faces, and none more so than Theros.

  “What?” said Duroc innocently.

  “Thank God?” asked Theros.

  “Just an expression, that’s all.”

  Theros raised an eye brow. “Uh huh.”

  “I’m just glad the boy’s alive,” he said.

  The comment, as innocuous as it was, brought Theros crashing back to reality. The reality where his best friend had just been thrown into a bottomless pit. Dominar was gone, and it was all because of the reckless use of magic by this wizard. The fury that had once vanished returned in full throat.

  Theros was all spit and fangs. “What the hell were you trying to accomplish?”

  “Listen,” said Duroc, trying to keep his voice low in case goblins were coming near, “I didn’t have the power to free us and fight our way out. Our best hope was to create a large enough diversion to allow one person to escape.”

  “So that was your plan? To throw Dom to his death, to create a diversion?”

  “You’re not listening, Hammerfist,” snapped Duroc.

  Theros cursed. “Why’d you have to use Dom, when you could have used me?”

  “He’s the only one with any faith,” Duroc said flatly.

  Theros lunged at the king, but the chains held him. “You spineless dreg. You’d kill a man for his faith?”

  Duroc grew tired of the accusations and presumptions. His anger flared. “Your passion makes you a frightening warrior, but it makes you a damned fool at the same time Theros Hammerfirst. Shut up for one blasted minute and listen!”

  Duroc whipped the puddle of spit away from the corner of his mouth then he continued. “Contrary to what you all think, despite our differences, I don’t hate Dominar and I certainly didn’t aim to kill him. He is the only one that seems to have any faith that we’d make it through this thing. Now, I don’t know if it’s just from hitting his head too hard, or if he has a real reason to believe, but there is something different about him. Even I can’t deny that. Whatever you might want to call it, there is something, some type of purpose or calling, on that man’s life. In fact, in my short time with you all, I’ve come to believe that there’s one on each and every one of your lives—but he was the only one wise enough to see it or at least fearless enough not to run from it.”

  Duroc drew a deep breath and continued. “Yes, I did target him. It was planned for his shackles to be broken and for him to be thrown clear from the wreckage, and yes, I planned for it to happen here on this bridge, despite knowing damned well that people don’t come back up once they go down. But hell, if there is any hope of us getting out of here, it was going to be born on the wings of that man’s faith.”

  The group sat in stunned silence as the dwarf finished his explanation. Theros, for one, struggled to reconcile that this angry, self-seeking, power hungry, scoundrel of a king who had often thought of himself as a god, might actually put his own faith in a god that wasn’t his own. How peculiar.

  Sharka wiped tears from her eyes and turned, allowing her icy cold gaze to settle upon the old king’s already aging face. “You better hope those wings can fly, or I’ll tear your heart out.”

  Her words were a promise, and Theros knew it. They all knew it. He watched Duroc swallow hard, then shake as he shivered at the thought. For Dom’s sake, and your own, I hope those wings fly too.

  IT WASN’T LONG BEFORE a goblin patrol spotted the collapsed wagon and the prisoners that were somehow still tethered to it. In typical goblin fashion, they defaulted to violence, but one of them was smart enough to point out that the prisoners were probably not responsible for this mess, you know, being that they were still chained to the pile of splintered wood and whatnot—not to mention that one of their own had apparently gone missing along with the goblin whose remains were crushed beneath the crystal. All in all, the goblins were quite confused and didn’t know what to make of the prisoners’ story. After all it was rather hard to argue considering that the shattered remains of the crystal, and goblin, was sprinkled over the wreckage. Not to mention that an entire chunk of the wagon was gone.

  The goblins were still miserably rotten to them, manhandling at every opportunity, and
Theros wanted to throttle them. But at least they were alive—for the moment. The cadre of goblin soldiers prodded them forward with spear tips that seemed all too eager to bite. It wasn’t a pleasant march, but at least the journey was short. The cadre had only managed to get them a few blocks inside the city gates before they were discovered by one of their superiors, who of course forced them to hand over the prisoners. It didn’t make Theros feel any better. Goblins were goblins, regardless of rank, and they were all best suited for the business end of his axe. The axe that he longer possessed. Theros doubted this particular goblin, Greblar they called him, was any less savage.

  Greblar spit at them. “No spoilin’ the prisners, just re-chain ‘em together.”

  “Can’ts we jus have a litt’l taste, Cap’n?”

  “Ol’ Brig Galbuck din’t want ta listen to ol’ Greblar. I’s tolds ‘im that we needed to be personally delivrin’ the prisners to King Groknahl. An’ that weaselly pile of dreg din’t listen. So’s now I’s goin ta put it right in ‘is face,” said Greblar with triumphant nod.

  Theros shook his head. It appeared that Greblar had just enough sense to keep his troops from killing them before he could bring them before the king. Greblar’s squad seemed to be one of the tighter run swarms in the army, but the captain was intent on being there to personally deliver the prisoners. Theros realized that Greblar had an axe to grind with this Brigadier Galbuck, which explained why the captain had a stupid grin that stretched from ear to ear. Apparently, the thought of proving his superior wrong, delighted the goblin to no end. He was quite literally tickled pink, as evidenced by his rosy cheeks.

  The journey through the rest of the city was uneventful. Greblar and his troops marched their prisoners all the way into the courtyard in front of the palace, in silence.

  “Why the stupid smile, maggot breath?” asked an unusually tall goblin.

  Greblar looked around the busy courtyard, then he spit on the ground before looking up at his commander, Brigadier Galbuck. Galbuck stood over six feet tall, which was rare among goblins. His pointed nose stretched out like a spear from under dark yellow eyes. His face bore scars; each being accented by the traditional tattoos that were reserved for goblin soldiers of the highest rank.

  “Because your stupidity is my gain,” replied Greblar as he jabbed his thumb back in a gesture toward the prisoners.

  “What do you mean?” snarled the tattooed Brig.

  “I mean your dimwit driver lost ‘is cargo and ‘is life. A shame really—that I din’t get ta watch,” said Greblar with a cold, emotionless stare that could unnerve a statue. “Fortunately I’s there to clean up tha mess. Now I’d suggest you’s move outs my way, I’s got a delivry ta make. The king’s already been waitin’ too long.”

  Theros could feel Galbuck’s ire grow at Greblar’s smug arrogance. He could tell Galbruck wanted to strangle his underling, but he dared not risk delaying the king’s delivery any further. Theros watched as Galbuck held his tongue. Instead the ranking goblin used a long, thin finger to trace the swirling trails of ink that marked his face, then he bit down hard, his jagged teeth sinking into his own lips. The commander didn’t even wince in pain as the blood poured from his flesh. He winked at Greblar and stepped aside, allowing their passage. He let Greblar and his prisoners pass, but the message was clear. Greblar better hope he found protection from the king, because Galbuck was going to kill him.

  He cracked the whip, driving them toward the palace.

  Nal’drin waited until they were inside the palace, then said, “So, you’re not too bright there, Greblar, eh? I don’t know a whole lot about goblins, but I’m pretty sure he’s gonna kill you.”

  “Shut it,” snapped the captain.

  Nal’drin chuckled. “I’m just saying, it’s probably not a good idea pissin’ off your bosses or other unsavory characters, you just might get yourself stuck with one of them there jagged knives that you are all so fond of waving around.”

  “You’s gots a smart mouth boy,” snapped Greblar.

  Nal’drin shrugged and said, “It’s better to be a smart a—”

  Kiriana gave him a quick elbow jab to the ribs.

  “Ow,” he muttered before finally falling silent.

  “You’s must think you’s very clever, but you’s won’t thinks so when the king is through with you’s.” Greblar cracked the whip again.

  29

  To Walk Among the Gods

  I have taken everything I can from this place, it is time to go. I have much to accomplish, and finally I am equipped with the tools needed to see it done. No sickness, disease, or other enemy will stand against me—ever. I am leaving this dusty tomb of tomes. From here I will travel north; there are a few stops that I must make before returning to my throne.

  From the personal journal of Duroc Stonebrow

  FEAR GRIPPED DOMINAR as the impact threw him from the wagon and the bridge. Before he knew it shrieks of terror—his terror, filled the cavern. The stout little man tumbled backward as he fell blindly into the darkened chasm. The rattle of chains sought to be heard, but it was only a ripple upon the cascading tide of echoes. Instinctively Dom’s hands groped about for the chains that fell with him; to who knows what end, he held fast.

  Aside from the fact that he was plummeting to his death, it was a sight to see. He was perhaps the most devout, faith-filled dwarf in all of Aurion, and yet as he fell helplessly to his end, he thought not to pray. And in that fleeting moment, he didn’t see the irony. Some say that in moments like this, one’s whole life flashes before their eyes, and Dom now knew that to be true. A deluge of memories rushed through his mind with a speed and fashion that could never be replicated by conscious effort. The memories so intricate, so detailed, and full of raw emotion that it would take years of reflection to even process them, rocked him. He couldn’t make out the places or events, just the faces. The faces of his lovely wife Gretchen and his two sweet girls met him as he prepared to meet his maker for the final time. Their warm and loving smiles were frozen before him. Dom smiled.

  The chain suddenly drew taut and Dom’s body jerked violently as he reached its end. The iron links were ripped from his grasp, but he was so entangled by the chains that he did not plunge into the rushing river below. Dom yelped in pain as the chains tightened into a knot around his legs and waist. As he hung upside down, the taut chain swung. The old dwarf tried to cover his head, bracing for impact as the momentum slung him towards the wall, but the impact never came.

  In the midst of chaos, Dom felt a sudden acceleration followed by the rattling of chains. The cringing dwarf tried to force his eyes open, but fear held too tightly as he flew through the air. Then he crashed. Cold water assailed him. Dom fought frantically to free his arms and legs as he began to sink, but the chains had already fallen away. Already short of breath, the notoriously bad swimmer kicked with all his might. The dwarf broke the surface and gasped for air.

  Fortunately for Dom, a nearby crystal offered just enough illumination for him to find the river’s edge. Dom wasted no time heading for the shore. As he crawled onto the smooth rock embankment, emotion rolled over him and he began to cough and spit up water. Once Dom was able to regain his breath, he looked up at the steep walls that surrounded him. He realized that the seemingly bottomless pit he’d fallen into was a gorge, far below the bridge that spanned it.

  There’s no way I’m climbing out of here, thought Dom.

  Panic began to set in. Dom looked back at the dark waters of the river where he landed, then he began to survey his surroundings. He guessed that the river that he had plummeted into wasn’t probably an off-shoot of a larger one. It wasn’t large, perhaps only six or seven yards from one bank to the next, but it had a swift flow. Dom tried to make out if there was anything beyond the river’s far edge, but the dimly lit cavern was too hard on old tired eyes. Dom’s pack was long gone and his crystal pendant wasn’t anywhere to be seen either. He was bereft of supplies and the only source of light down here was
a dimly lit crystal lodged into one of the canyon walls. Call it lost, call it trapped, it didn’t matter—Dom wasn’t going anywhere.

  Daddy isn’t coming home. The heartache struck, his knees buckled, and he fell to the floor and cried.

  Several minutes passed before Dom was able to wipe the last of his tears away. The heartache, however, that insufferable weight of grief, was a mountain upon his chest. Dom sat there until his salt-stained cheeks dried. It was about that time that he realized that he probably wouldn’t have clean britches if it wasn’t for his impromptu bath, and for that he laughed and offered up another prayer of gratitude.

  “How’d you pull that one off?” Dom asked with a laugh.

  A still small voice whispered in his mind, “Take a look.”

  Surprised to hear an answer, Dom cocked his head to the side and said, “Oi, I must of bonked my noggin again.”

  The gentle voice whispered again. “Take a look.”

  Dom had a perplexed look on his face, then he shrugged and decided to take a look. That is when he was able to make out his chain, or what was left of it. He was hesitant, but he reached out and grabbed a hold of it and gave it a slight tug. The chain didn’t move. He pulled a little harder—nothing. He carefully stepped out onto the river’s edge, and peered up in an attempt to follow the chain. The lighting was so poor that he couldn’t see much, but from what he could tell, the chain had somehow gotten lodged into a crag between some rocks that jutted out from the canyon walls several feet above.

  “Huh,” said Dominar with a chuckle, “very peculiar. Well, you’ve done it again, preserving this old bag-a-bones. For that I thank you.”

  There was no audible reply.

  “You know I’m grateful and all, but I know you didn’t leave me to starve to death down here; besides, I’ve got friends that need me. So let’s get this over with, shall we?”