Shadow Realms: Part One of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  Suddenly, and without warning, Dril kicked the sand where his sword lay and it came up into his hand. Neth’tek rushed upon him and swung at him in a sideways arch, but was caught by Dril’s sword once it came up.

  Steal rang in their ears as they danced with the weapons, Dril letting Neth’tek fight offensively, blocking every simple maneuver the student used. Dril’ead wasn’t paying much attention to the swings Neth’tek was using, however, but kept an eye on the pattern of his foot movements, waiting for an opening.

  Suddenly Dril’ead took a step forward into Neth’tek’s defenses, making the youth trip over his own feet in an attempt to get clear of his mentors’. But with each step Neth’tek took back while blocking an attack, a step would be taken inside his defenses again.

  Dril’ead put the toe of his boot behind Neth’tek’s heal and lifted as he took another step backward, tripping the student. And in that same moment the flat of Dril’s sword struck Neth’tek’s wrist, knocking his scimitar free of his grasp.

  Neth’tek fell backwards and into the dust, and Dril’ead caught the sword as it left his hand, crossing the blades over Neth’tek’s throat and placing a knee into the young fighter’s stomach to keep him from rising.

  Dril’ead smiled. “Defeated,” he said under a steady breath.

  Standing, and returning the scimitars into their scabbards, Dril’ead helped his brother to his feet and dusted him off. “Your skill with the blade is increasing,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone so young fight so well blade to blade.”

  “I was still beaten,” Neth’tek said, brushing dust from his tunic.

  “But that doesn’t change the skill with which you fought,” Dril’ead reminded him. “To be defeated by another isn’t always a terrible thing. It really only depends on the way you’ve been defeated, and the cause of the battle in the first place.”

  Neth’tek was silent, pondering the thought for a time, and found he had no comment to make.

  He knew his brothers’ wisdom exceeded that of his own, and when looking Neth’tek saw in the eye of Dril’ead that he wasn’t just trying to help him feel better about himself, so he nodded slowly.

  “Well, then,” Dril said, slapping Neth’tek on the top of the head playfully, “You should mind the ledges you choose for a perch. That one would have taken your life if you hadn’t reacted so quickly… Yet another trait I’ve rarely seen.”

  He adjusted the purple cloak on his shoulders, something that Neth’tek always admired about the warriors, and said, “Now let’s go. This has been enough sparring for one day.”

  Turning away, he walked to the edge of the overhang.

  *****

  Neth’tek trained from the waking hour until sleep. He enjoyed his time spent with his brother, and knew that Dril knew much about swords and how to properly use one. The thing he loved most about his brother was his smile. Though it was rarely seen, it always brought Neth’tek into a happier state of mind, and made him feel more confident about himself. But yes, his smile was rarely seen; only when Dril was pleased with a skill Neth’tek learned did he ever show it, but only for a brief moment until Neth’tek would look up at him.

  When no one was around, however, Dril’ead was a different person. He would sit for long periods of time in his chamber, and stare at his scimitars that he held on his lap.

  “What am I?” Neth’tek heard him whisper to himself. “What monster have I become in these dark days? To be like me, is to be like that of a beast born to kill… And nothing else.”

  Neth’tek could see in his brother’s eyes that he was not the same as he once was before, during the time Neth’tek was still deciding what skill he’d learn, and after his encounter with a demon of the Lesser Realm. After his injury which almost stole him from this world, Dril had changed from a skilled warrior to a crazed one. Neth’tek had heard it only from Dril’s very mouth; as he muttered to himself in his chamber when he thought Neth’tek wasn’t looking.

  He had heard Dril say, “I am a monster; nothing more, nothing less. I was born to kill, to destroy; nothing more, Nothing less.”

  Enough was known about his brother. Neth’tek feared to hear more of his brother’s crazed words that he told himself. He wanted to rush in and save his brother from himself, but knew that that would only invite danger. Neth’tek discovered, to his horror, that he feared his own brother. He feared that Dril’ead would become that monster that he had been when he was brought back from battle, wounded by the demons cursed horn. He had seen his brother become something else entirely, and feared to see that again and what might happen the next time.

  The eyes his brother fixed on him then never left Neth’tek’s dreams. Every night Neth’tek would dream of his brothers madness, and that he was being pursued by him down dark tunnels. But Neth’tek never saw what Dril’ead did when he caught him. Perhaps he was trying to protect Neth’tek. Or perhaps he was to murder him.

  Neth’tek hoped he would never know.

  But Gefiny loved Dril like anyone would love their brother. She rarely left his side, and whenever Dril was not about, she pressed many with questions on his whereabouts until she was satisfied that he was safe.

  Gefiny had been there when Dril was taken by the demons soul. She had tried to hold him down but was tossed away as he turned those flaming eyes upon Neth’tek. Looking back, Neth’tek realized that the eyes Dril’ead turned on him were not Dril’s, but a demon deep within the Basilisk warrior. Everyone knew of Dril’s madness that horrible day. But everyone knew it was in the past and nothing more would come of it. Everyone, that is, except Neth’tek, who feared the worst.

  That incident was just a flicker of what might come to pass. But Neth’tek’s father seemed to sense the same also. Whenever Neth’tek looked upon his father as he watched Dril’ead, his eyes and expression held the face of one who is concerned. But he would also turn to Neth’tek and hold that same expression when he thought Neth’tek wasn’t looking. Leona’burda, too, held the same feelings for her two sons as Vaknorbond did.

  Something was going to happen that involved both sons of Vulzdagg. Neth’tek knew not what it was, but he could feel in his parent’s gaze that they were planning on doing something with him. Then what of Dril’ead? What was to become of him and Dril? Neth’tek could only wait for whatever dreadful fate was to fall upon him, and also his elder brother.

  *****

  “Remember, Neth’tek, that when you are being charged by – let’s say three enemies – you must not shift your position. Keep your feet firmly planted on the ground and your swords in front of you.” Dril’ead spread out his legs into a fighting stance and lifted his scimitars to show Neth’tek, his face stern in reflection of the seriousness of the lesson.

  “Now attack me!” he commanded Neth’tek as they both stood in the barracks, the custom place for training.

  The apprentice swordsmen hesitated a moment, then went foreword swinging both scimitars inwards from either side. Dril’ead lifted a foot and hit Neth’tek in the chest between his defenses, knocking him easily to the ground.

  “Bad attack,” Dril observed with a stern expression. “Never come in from both sides leaving your belly exposed. Remember that your chest and stomach are the most vulnerable places, and if ever struck there you will most certainly perish. That caution goes right alongside your throat.”

  Neth’tek nodded his head in agreement to his brother’s logic. Dril went back into his fighting stance and motioned for Neth’tek to attack again.

  Neth’tek was not going to make another mistake this time. He was not going to screw up like he’d done so many times in the past. He always did something wrong, but was always complimented about something else. But his complement hadn’t come yet, so he was going to give his brother something to be pleased about.

  He brandished his scimitars, twisting into a spin as he broke into Dril’s defenses. But the elder brother was quick and easily eluded the attack with back hand thrusts, throwing Neth’tek’s swor
ds to either side as he charged in. Then taking a step forward Dril attacked by knocking Neth’tek off his toes with an elbow to the side of his head. Neth’tek stumbled to the side, but soon regained his stance a safe distance from his brother, who now began to grin at his strategy.

  “Much better,” Dril said, but sounding just as disappointed as before, “But I think you can do much better than that.” He raised an eyebrow at the suggestion.

  Neth’tek’s blades came in once again, determined to win his brother’s smile of approval for his hard work. Each attack was thrown aside as Dril’s hands worked quickly and his face never flinching in surprise at any of Neth’tek’s maneuvers. Then Neth’tek swung in with both blades from below to be caught by Dril’ead once again. But Neth’tek’s plan in this attack was not foiled yet. His knee rose suddenly and struck Dril’ead in the fork of his legs.

  Dril’ead pulled back, surprised at his brothers attack. He breathed out hard a few times as he recovered, and then raising his eyes to Neth’tek he smiled faintly.

  “Good work,” Dril remarked as he examined Neth’tek carefully.

  Dropping into a crouch Dril unsheathed a knife from his boot and threw it in Neth’tek’s direction. Neth’tek twisted out of its path as it passed only inches from his face. As he turned to face his brother he found his weapons struck hard near his wrists and fall free of his grasp. Neth’tek faced his brother, the cold steel of Dril’s blades crossing over his throat.

  “Never let your enemy out of range of your weapons,” Dril instructed firmly. His face went grim as he continued. “It is better to slay your enemy while you have the chance. You never can tell what tricks they have up their sleeves. You must also be careful how, and to whom, your mercy is given.”

  “Have you ever given mercy to someone?” Neth’tek asked, capturing his breath.

  “I have,” Dril’ead said. “Perhaps it was my first mistake.”

  “You regret your actions?” said Neth’tek curiously. They had never discussed such topics, and it didn’t occur to the young fighter that that might have been for a reason.

  Dril’ead turned to him. His face was stern, mixed with anger and sorrow. “I do not regret any past actions. I cannot go back to fix what was wrong, so why trouble myself with regrets?”

  Neth’tek dropped his eyes to the dark floor at his feet, embarrassed. “I guess there is no reason.”

  “No, there is none,” said Dril’ead. “You may return to your studies. I’ve done enough training for the day.”

  The apprentice and master both walked out of the barracks and went their own way. Dril’ead disappeared down a lane crowded with soldiers and Horg slaves, each carrying out various chores, while Neth’tek returned to the citadel to continue his studies on melee and magic.

  *****

  Leona’burda sighed in distress as she entered the throne room to see Vaknorbond standing before the thrones, his back to her as he faced the two empty seats, fists resting on his hips where there was belted his two scimitars.

  Without turning to face Leona as she walked slowly toward him, Vak said to her, “These days are growing darker.”

  “Days in these lands are always dark, Vaknorbond, which is why they call this land the Shadow Realm,” Leona replied smartly.

  Vaknorbond did not reply until she stood beside him and followed his gaze to the thrones.

  “The shadows of doubts and fears are beginning to spread. They began at first as slow and abrupt acts of greedy lust to become harsh attacks and assassinations on friends and foes alike. These actions were caused by us; by fears and doubts.” Vaknorbond faced Leona with an unreadable expression. “We doubt ourselves and fear that the worst is yet to come. I believe that the worst is yet to come.”

  “Then why don’t you tell him everything?”

  “Do you know the circumstances of such knowledge at his age?” Vak turned away from her and looked back at the thrones. “No. We cannot let him know anything about his destiny.”

  “His destiny?” exclaimed Leona in a raised voice. “Are we to keep his destiny from him? Why, then, should we call it his when it clearly isn’t.” She lowered her voice as she added, “Neth’tek must know what is to become of him, and if you don’t tell him, I will.”

  Vaknorbond shot her a glare. “You?” he mocked, “You will tell him his doom? I doubt even your strength on such matters!” He turned away and walked from Leona and the thrones toward the anteroom door.

  Leona spun round to watch him go and shouted at his back, saying, “We will see, Vaknorbond! We will see who has such strength of which you speak!”

  Vak stopped and looked over his shoulder at her as he reached the door. He smiled wryly at her words, and then vanished with the door closing behind him.

  Leona sat upon her throne and stared across the room at the far wall. Her grip on the arms of the iron chair was firm, but she didn’t notice it as she glanced at the empty throne beside her. Doubts and fears began at once to grow in her mind as her eyes rested on the empty seat.

  Will it always be empty? She asked herself. Will the Lord of Vulzdagg ever fill its form? Or am I to rule alone? She would accept it all anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Horg Chieftain

  A score of Followers crept silently through a narrow passage as they patrolled the wild parts of the Urden’Dagg Realm. They went on foot, making no more noise than a mouse, the echo of steel striking rock leading them onward. Something was disturbing the stones, and by the sound of the commotion The Followers couldn’t help guess the perpetrators.

  Juanna of Grundagg, the patrol captain at the head of the Grundagg Company, lifted a clenched fist to single her followers to stop. She fixed her gaze on the passage ahead, where there was a faint glow of orange light outside the infrared spectrum. The echo of the persons before them was no doubt the sound of pickaxes striking stone, and the only creature that had such a fascination in stone, and made that sort of noise, was the Gnomes of Gerrabaar; not twenty miles deeper down the tunnels ahead.

  Reaching over her shoulder, Juanna unsheathed from her duel scabbard a single scimitar, and signaled for the rest of her patrol to do the same. Then, more silent than before, The Follower went down the passage to the Gnomes. This company of The Followers had patrolled these tunnels countless times, and had noticed, as these Gnomes obviously had also, the sparkling ore of adamant. The Followers had kept guard on it, waiting for the unfortunate creature that would find an interest in it. The Followers cared little for the ore of the Shadow Realm, but when finding it they kept guard for any intruders to come into their land, knowing that the intruder would have some bit of information that would help them if the ore did not. And if no information was useful, then entertainment would suffice instead.

  A single lantern lit the cavern as it sat upon a stone beside five Gnome minors as they hammered away at the veins of sparkling rock. Two others paced about the cavern, wielding a sharp axe and the other a heavy battle hammer, as they kept watch over their mining party. The Gnome wielding the axe never knew The Followers had entered the cavern until he felt the cold tip of a blade press against his throat. He halted in alarm, but didn’t strike out in defense, knowing that he’d be cut down before he could lift his weapon to attack.

  “Move and he dies!” Juanna said to the Gnome across the cavern as he lifted his hammer, realizing his comrade was in danger. “My blade will slice right through him like a raft through water. I wouldn’t suggest any foolish actions. I will not hesitate to bring your companion to the ground.”

  “Neither will we hold back our picks which tear flesh just as well as rock,” the Gnome retorted, brandishing his axe.

  The minors stopped their work and lifted their picks into defensive postures, each with an angry glare on The Followers that crowded behind their captain holding the motionless Gnome at the tip of her scimitar.

  “Just answer us one question, then we’ll dismiss you all,” Juanna said. “What excuse do the Gnomes have in enter
ing our domain?”

  The Gnomes did not answer The Follower right away, not until she pressed her blade harder into her hostages’ throat, drawing a drop of blood. The Gnome jerked in fear and said quickly, “The ore, the ore; we came for this ore!” He pointed franticly at the wall sparkling with adamant to get his point through.

  “You mean our ore,” Juanna replied. “This is our land, which makes this ore ours.”

  “We are sorry for trespassing!” one of the minors cried, dropping into a bow, and the others did the same.

  “Why should we forgive you?” Juanna said as she shoved her prisoner foreword to fall beside his companions. “What do the Gnomes of Gerrabaar have to offer us for their forgiveness?”

  “You can have the ore!” a Gnome cried.

  “I am not interested in the ore of the earth,” Juanna replied. “I want something we can use, something worth our dear time, which cannot be wasted on picking worthless stones and rocks from cave walls. Give me something useful!” She brandished her scimitar and shot one of her companions a wink.

  “Anything!” the Gnomes cried. “We’ll give you anything you want!”

  “Anything,” Juanna repeated wryly.

  The Gnomes nodded eagerly, wishing only to get the whole meeting over with and be on their way.

  Juanna turned to the nearest of her companions beside her. “What worthless craft that these Gnomes have, do you suppose, might be useful to us?” she asked in a whisper.

  The fighter thought for a moment, then looked up into his captain’s face with a cruel smile, “Their boots.”

  Juanna laughed loudly at the idea of barefoot Gnomes stumbling along in the tunnels to enter their homeland in humiliation.

  And so seven Gnomes made boots were in the hands of the Grundagg patrol as they laughed mockingly at the Gnomes retreating into the shadows, the orange light of their lantern fading slowly as they rounded the many corners of the passage to Gerrabaar.