Shadow Realms: Part One of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  All were silent in thought for some time, Gefiny rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand despairingly, Dril’ead looked up at Maaha with frustration and anger, and Leona and Vaknorbond thinking hard on the choices forced upon them. Neth’tek folded his arms and waited for someone to respond. But, finally, Leona’burda looked up and spoke to Maaha with firmness.

  “Tell us your location and we will come and return the property that we have taken from you.” She looked over at Vak, who stared at the stone floor with a thoughtful frown.

  Maaha smiled triumphantly. “Come to the remains of my once great city, and at the monument that you have placed of the Urden’Dagg I shall meet you and mine.”

  “It shall be done,” Leona said.

  The orb shrank and vanished quickly as Maaha pulled away from the contact.

  “Why are you doing this?” Dril’ead demanded, turning angrily toward his mother.

  “It is all for the protection of our people,” Leona said. “If word of Zurdagg’s destruction by our hand reaches any other Branch, all will fall upon us to destroy us.”

  “Why would anyone want to avenge Zurdagg?” Dril asked bitterly. “The other Branches detested it just as much as us, and would have done the same if only they had a good reason for the action.”

  “And now that we have gained so much from Zurdagg the others would gladly fall upon us to take it for their own, and use retribution to justify their claims,” Leona pointed out. “Both vengeance and lust for power are equally powerful.”

  Dril’ead looked down. His mother had good reason for their safety being jeopardized by the release of the secret which was kept of Zurdagg’s downfall. “We shall see how this goes about,” he said beneath an exasperated sigh.

  “Have faith my son,” Vak said to him. “I know what I do.”

  “I suppose you do,” Dril’ead said.

  Dril’ead turned about, still enraged at the lady of Zurdagg, and departed the Circle of Power. Gefiny exchanged worries glances between her father and mother, and seeing that they both remained sitting in thought she turned away and left them to their private thoughts. But Vaknorbond and Leona’burda simply looked to Neth’tek as he stood motionless, watching the back of his sister until she disappeared after Dril’ead through the iron doors behind him.

  “Neth’tek,” Vaknorbond said to him, capturing his attention. Then nodding toward the doors he said, “You are dismissed until further notice.”

  Neth’tek bowed his head and left the chamber with no word to either of his parents.

  “Are we to return the stolen magic of Zurdagg as promised?” Leona inquired of Vak after the child had gone.

  “We have no other choice,” Vak said, turning to her. “I’ll make preparations for their return.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  House of the Witch

  A dozen wagons were loaded with all the possessions that Vulzdagg had taken from Zurdagg, and Basilisks were fixed in pairs of two at each wagon for hauling. Vaknorbond stood aside, supervising the work of the Horg’s and a few master servants as they carried spell books, staffs, and other various items from Zurdagg and loaded them into the carts.

  Vak turned to a nearby soldier guarding the Horg’s. “Send for Dril’ead, my son,” he commanded the soldier.

  The soldier nodded, and first making a quick survey of the Horg’s he turned away and passed into the citadel.

  Vak shifted his position and looked around at all twelve of the carts and the workers loading them, wondering all the while what might transpire once delivering these things back to Maaha Zurdagg. Undoubtedly she’d strike them for destroying her homeland. However, a moment later the citadel doors reopened and the soldier led Dril’ead to Vaknorbond.

  “Here is your son, whom you have called for,” the soldier said, bowing in respect to Vaknorbond.

  “Thank you. You may now return to your duties,” Vak said to the soldier. Then turning to Dril’ead he relayed the plan he had set for the delivering of the supplies, saying, “These materials are to be taken straightway to Zurdagg. Levitate them down the crack and do not stop until you reach the city. Locate Maaha and depart without the carts.”

  Dril’ead bowed. “I am appointed this task, then?”

  “Yes,” Vak replied. He turned back to the work of The Followers and Horg’s. “I have a disturbing feeling, son. A feeling I felt once before, after my father died… the feeling of being exposed to danger.” He turned back to Dril. “I fear this is a trap, and only our fate and doom are to be received when this is over.”

  “Fear not, father,” Dril’ead reassured him, “All will be well.”

  “It will,” Vak agreed. “Be sure Maaha has absolutely no power over us once she obtains these. And do not strike her! It is among my fears that the wrath of the Urden’Dagg hasn’t fallen upon us because not all of Zurdagg was destroyed.”

  “I will do my best,” Dril’ead said, and bowed in acknowledgment of his task.

  Vaknorbond turned to the workers and shouted, “Quicken the work! These must be moving soon!” And then he turned away and left Dril’ead with the workers and the slaves, and the business to be carried out.

  *****

  The wagons were loaded and the Basilisks whipped into action. Dril’ead sat upon his own Basilisk at the head of the company, leading the precession through the city, out the gate, and into the mushroom grove beyond. They went on silently and avoided the giant mushrooms as best they could. To their luck none were set off, and all the wagons reached the edge of the crack without any damage.

  Here mages stepped forward and lifted the luggage and Basilisks, lowering them all into the darkness below. Dril’ead rode his Basilisk along the roughhewn edges of the crack, and once upon level ground he commanded the carts to begin their way to Zurdagg. His hands and voice shook as he commanded the mages and steered his mount about, beginning to fear, like his father, that something dreadful was prepared to happen.

  The carts came to the crumbled walls of the Branch. The mage training quarters, where Grulad had met Dril’ead to reveal the weaknesses of Zurdagg’s defenses, was nothing more than broken stone fragments. They halted at the smashed wall of the city, unable to cross over its ruinous remains; but Dril’ead urged his Basilisk up and over the broken fragments.

  As it crawled over the debris Dril’ead turned in his saddle and shouted over his shoulder, “I’ll be back! Remain where you are!” and the Basilisk came down the opposite side and continued onward through the remains of Zurdagg.

  A large monument made of iron stood before the citadel and Mage Tower of Zurdagg, placed there by his own people after they had conquered the city, dedicating its fall to the all great and all powerful Urden’Dagg. It was in the form of a male Follower wielding a hammer in his left hand and a curved scimitar in his right, symbolizing the destroying and creating power of the Urden’Dagg. Dril gazed upon the statue as he past, but then turned away and searched for Maaha.

  She was nowhere in sight.

  Dril pulled his Basilisk to a stop beside the statue and slid from the saddle, sniffing the air but smelling only himself and his mount. He shrugged and was about to turn away when he saw the open gates of the citadel, broken on their hinges, and wondered if she was within – or, more on his mind, if any valuables could be found inside the secret chambers of the Mage Tower. He rested his hand on the hilt of his scimitar and walked warily up toward the broken doors.

  Passing within the dark throne room he nearly missed the figure of a woman seated upon a broken throne. Her legs were kicked out in front of her, and she rested her arms lazily on the stone arms of the cracked throne. Two scimitars, like Dril’s, were buckled to her hips.

  “Dark is the hour of which you come,” she said loudly, intending to startle the wandering fighter.

  Dril’ead jumped as she spoke, and half drew his blade as he spun to face her.

  Maaha sat up straight and looked him up and down. “I was expecting you – especially you, Dril’ead Vulz
dagg.”

  “You got what you expected,” Dril’ead said coldly. He released his grip on his sword as he noticed she was eyeing it suspiciously, and let it slide back into its scabbard. Then, dropping into an exaggerated bow, he mocked her in her ruined throne. “I’ve come to return your stolen property, Lady Maaha Zurdagg.”

  She stood, ignoring his tone, and strode several paces toward him. Stopping midway she looked over his shoulder and out the entrance of her domain. “I don’t see them,” she said with an eyebrow raised skeptically.

  “They’re at the bottom of the hill. I was unable to bring them over the gate,” Dril’ead replied offhandedly.

  “The gate you destroyed,” Maaha said offhandedly, a tone that shocked Dril’ead.

  Dril’ead hesitated before replying. “Me and my people…”

  “Yes you!” Maaha spat with sudden fury, “You, who murdered Deotuer, my lord! And you, who stabbed Grulad through his back even as he was about to save his master!”

  “Face the truth, Maaha!” Dril said, becoming equally angered. “You killed my grandfather, poisoning him unto a weakened state of which he could not recover! You murdered my lord, practically asking for your own doom to fall upon you!”

  Maaha sighed heavily and rested her hand on the hilt of a scimitar. “You are very wise, Dril’ead Vulzdagg. So wise, in fact, that it surprises me that you have not yet inherited the throne of your father.”

  Dril opened his mouth to retort. He hesitated, however, as her words sunk into his understanding. Did she really purposefully slay lord Vishtax to bring the destruction of her own Branch? If so, why would anyone ever want their city toppled beneath them? As she took a step toward him, now standing directly before his line of sight, he simply stared back into her eyes as she stared into his.

  He took a weary step back and wiped a drip of sweat from his forehead, overcome with a strange sensation of confusion. “Did Deotuer know what you did?”

  “No,” Maaha said calmly. “I kept my wisdom to myself. I didn’t share with him the plan I had set for his fate.”

  She paused, smiling at his horrification before continuing. “I knew that you were going to seek vengeance in some way or another, and so I made preparations for my own escape. Deotuer knew nothing of the doom before him. Only I knew of your plans. Grulad just followed proper orders, telling only me of your people’s intentions, of which I was already expecting. I forbid him to speak to Deotuer of it, and apparently he obeyed his orders. You may have given Deotuer the death blow, but it was my hand that guided yours.”

  Dril’ead’s shoulders fell as he shifted his weight to one foot. “So what are your plans now? What will you do with all the property that I’ve returned?”

  Maaha’s smiled widened, having been waiting for this question. “What will I do? What will become of me? I will gather all my power first, and then see if you are worthy of my mercy.” She stepped back a few paces as the elements surrounding them began to shift.

  The ground cracked and split. A large fragment of the wall fell and shattered as it hit the floor, too close for Dril’s comfort, and he drew both his swords and readied himself for whatever was to come. But Maaha only backed toward her crumbled thrown, smiling a wide, cruel smile. However, the ground where she once stood was splitting and crumbling into a dark chasm.

  Dril looked down into the deepening chasm and saw only blackness. He backed away as the ground underfoot began to crumble within.

  Once the chasm expanded to the length of six feet to either side, there arose a brightness that blinded The Follower standing dumbfounded at its brink. The light like that of a blazing fire erupting from the depth of the pit, though seeming not to affect Maaha as she now sat upon her throne in amusement, watching Dril raise an arm to shield his tender eyes from the burning brightness. The walls and floor shook as a loud crack and bang echoed throughout the chamber.

  Then, without warning, Dril’ead was thrown backwards by the force of a magical lightning blast. He smashed into the wall above the large and broken doors of the citadel, and fell to the floor in a heap of smoking armor and cloth. He struggled to stand, though only managed to get onto his hands and knees. His purple cloak was smoking and burning on his back, and his mesh armor steamed with the heat of the blast.

  Another bolt of brightness struck him in the chest even as he straightened onto his knees. He was thrown out the doors of the Mage Tower and hit the statuette of the Urden’Dagg, and lay upon his back in agonizing pain beneath the statue, every bone in his body feeling singed by the repeated blast. He didn’t struggle to stand this time, figuring it was no use since another hit was about to follow, this time ending his life.

  A mocking laugh echoed from within the citadel, and a cruel voice saying, “You’re doing well, Dril’ead Vulzdagg; much better than the others!”

  Dril’ead’s anger took control of his body. He grabbed the ankle of the statuette and pulled himself to his feet. There came another bang followed by a crack! But this time Dril’ead rolled to the side and the bolt struck the statue of the Urden’Dagg, and it glowed with a dark orange that gradually faded.

  Dril flexed his hands and found he had lost his swords somewhere in the citadel, and growled angrily as he searched his surroundings; but there was only the shattered remains of Zurdagg wherever he looked. The red glow from within the Mage Tower still lingered, and even from his distance Dril’ead had to squint because of its exceeding brightness. He dared not go toward it to retrieve his scimitars.

  Then, like out of a nightmare, something began to lift itself from within the glowing chasm. First there came a large, red scaled, clawed hand that gripped the pits edge. It lifted itself upward with all its strength as a terrible roar echoed and shook the stones underfoot, a structure standing on broken pillars collapsing at last, and Dril’ead nearly fell when a breath of hot foul air struck him in the face.

  The thing raised itself over the edge and its top half came into sight, revealing that from the head down to its waist it appeared to be like a giant, red scaled man. Two horns protruded from the sides of its head like that of a goat, and its bare scalp was painted with purple swirling designs that Dril’ead could not understand. Its black eyes fixed on Dril, and it showed its yellow sparkling teeth in a tight growl.

  “Go forth, Fextogar! Destroy!” Maaha cried.

  “Wait!” Dril said franticly, but too weakly to be heard. “After all I’ve done?”

  He had no time to bargain with the witch; Fextogar had already pulled itself out of the chasm and was readying itself to charge the helpless Follower. Its legs were like that of a goat, but the same red scales guarded them down to its two cloven hoofs. The Fextogar stood over twenty feet high, and in one hand it lifted a flaming war hammer. It kicked the ground twice before leaping foreword, smashing through the archway of the citadel entrance, and rushed upon Dril.

  The Follower rolled to the side as the flaming hammer smashed the ground, throwing up chunks of rock where he once stood. Fextogar roared in frustration as it missed the fleet footed Follower, and looking up it saw the statuette in replication of the Urden’Dagg almost head level with it. It growled and swung outwards with the hammer, and the burning hammer melted straight through the statue, sending fragments of it in all directions and melting the rest to the ground.

  Dril was running back into the citadel, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the burning light, but was halted for a moment by the fallen fragments that the Faxtogar demon had cast down from its archway.

  Fextogar turned to him and roared again. It flexed its muscles and flames erupted from the red scales along its body, burning across his hide to reveal its true frustration.

  Dril began to climb over the ruble of the archway to get back inside to his scimitars. But as he stumbled to the summit he felt a sudden rush of air, and jumped foreword out of instinct even as the hammer came down upon the ruins of the entry.

  He landed at the base of the crumbled gateway, shocked for a brief moment, but t
hen wasted no time in idle sitting as he scanned his surroundings for the swords. He stood, tears streamed down his face because of the burning pain that the light of the Lesser Realms caused him, and felt through the broken stones for the familiar steel of his weapons.

  Maaha laughed again and clapped her hands somewhere beyond that burning light, but Dril’ead’s anger only boiled to its brim. He stumbled suddenly, tripping over a piece of the Mage Tower, and landed on his elbows. He reached out and felt the familiar cold steal of one of his scimitars. Blinded by the light he laced his fingers round the hilt and wielded the adamant blade once again.

  A loud roar shattered his joy, however; and standing he turned to the pile of rubble in time to see the flaming hammer curve smoothly through the air and catch him square in the chest, throwing his body across the chamber to collide with the opposite wall.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Hammer Falls

  The flames burned his armor, heating it against his pale skin, but that pain only conquered his sanity for a short time as he spun wildly through the air. In mere seconds he crashed into the wall, hitting his head so hard that his thoughts took him into another world for the briefest of moments.

  The next thing his mind caught hold upon was the rough nudging in his side from the toe of Maaha’s boot as she stood over the heap of his crumpled body. “You did well,” she said with a cruel smile, “until you failed.”

  Dril’s eyes remained closed, his cheeks wet with tears. He only groaned softly in response as the pain reacted to his crushed ribs. Several were undoubtedly broken.

  Maaha laughed and dropped something that clattered to the floor – his scimitars! “But there is still time left for a second chance,” she said, “However, this time I won’t stop the demon from crushing you.”

  Dril’ead remained motionless on the warm stones, the heat from the chasm apparently warming the entire chamber of the Mage Tower; sweat beginning to drip from his hair – or was that blood? He had never felt so much pain in all his life. His cheek, pressed against the smoothness of the warmed floor, felt numb. Where was Vaknorbond? Where was his father, his sister or his mother? What happened to his comrades and friends? Had Maaha already killed them all while he lay unconscious? Looking up at his white hair he noted the streaks of red in it, the blood caking the side of his face where he had struck the wall.