Shadow Realms: Part One of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  And so he went about saying such things, but let the children make the final choice.

  Neth'tek stood before a rack holding a pair of duel scimitars. He had always admired these weapons; the feeling of balance one felt out in combat with two equally weighted weapons was always a sensation that brought comfort to the young apprentice. When he took the iron hilts of the weapons in his hands and lifted them off their rack, he noticed Dril'ead watching him out of the corner of his eye.

  "Ah," Dril'ead mused, "I see you have chosen the duel blades: An excellent choice."

  "I thought, since I have trained with them most of my life, I would be better off with them," Neth'tek said.

  Dril'ead nodded his agreement. "They have never failed me so far."

  Neth'tek smiled. He was always filled with relief whenever his brother agreed with a decision he made. It always meant that he did something right. But was Dril'ead full heartedly agreeing? Or was he just accepting Neth'tek's decision as his decision? Those questions had to remain unanswered for the present time, though.

  And so Dril'ead let the children grow comfortable with whatever weapon they chose, and ran them through quick tips and exercises on how to use them properly. And then after that he allowed them to take their weapons to their homes and sleep on them for the night, and the nights to follow.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  A Promise to Fulfill

  Juanna stood over a table whereon laid the body of her comrade, whom she had saved from the Horg attack in the tunnels three days before. He had died of his wound, and Juanna was deeply grieved with the pain of losing someone she had hoped to have saved. But the faithful soldier was gone from her patrol, and she was angered at the Mazar clan led by Mazoroth.

  For the first time in a long time she wept. The tears fell from her pale chin down to fall upon the face of her patrol companion. From behind she heard the approaching footsteps of two of her dearest friends; Fustua and Yaldaa both stood behind her with bowed heads.

  "How dark the days have been, and how foolish a captain I have become," Juanna lamented as much to herself as to them. "My action of what I thought to be bravery, to stand up against the Horg’s, has brought only a dead companion. If only I had been wiser…"

  "You are our captain," Fustua said to her with bowed head. "You have protected us from the dangers of the wild many times. I would rather die obeying your orders than any others."

  Juanna looked at him solemnly. "You would obey even knowing the consequences to be worse than death – torment by the most powerful of foes?"

  "Especially against those who torment us," Fustua replied with a grin.

  Juanna looked at Yaldaa, who nodded her agreement to Fustua's promising words.

  "Then request me an audience with our lord and lady, if you will be so obeying," Juanna said. "I think our Horg friends would like a welcoming party."

  Yaldaa turned round to fulfill her captain’s orders, and Juanna turned toward Fustua, who looked up at her with renewed hope. “Inform the troops of our next patrol,” she said to him. “Tell them a second round with the Mazar clan is yet to be had.”

  Fustua grinned happily, and turned about to do as she bid. Juanna, though, lost her joy when a thought came into her mind.

  Who am I? She asked herself. To what end was I brought into this world? For what cause am I here, except to lead faithful soldiers to their death?

  Looking down into the face of her fallen comrade, she spoke silently to herself. “I am the captain of the fate of such faithful creatures.” And she left the room with that thought lingering in her mind.

  *****

  During the following days of Group Training, Neth’tek had spent most, if not all of his time, with his scimitars and spell books. He was eager to get to work and become known throughout Vulzdagg of these skills he believed he could one day acquire. That wish was soon to come true when Neth’tek was approached by another student who appeared older than he, and who challenged him to a sparring.

  The fellow apprentice held a shield and short sword that was without edge, so not to cut flesh. Neth’tek looked about with nothing in hand, and up into the young fighters face.

  “I’ll need a weapon,” Neth’tek replied.

  “I wouldn’t waste time, then,” The Follower said.

  Neth’tek stood a moment, unsure of what to do. In his years of training, he had only fought blade to blade with Dril’ead. But this student was a stranger, and Neth’tek didn’t know the intentions this Follower might have had. But Neth’tek walked to the nearest rack of weapons and retrieved a pair of substitute duel blades. Turning back round, he faced his opponent.

  “Am I right to name you Neth’tek Vulzdagg, child of our lord and lady?” the student fighter asked.

  “I am,” Neth’tek replied.

  “Then I shall take pride in defeating you,” the other said, grinning at Neth’tek as he stepped into his fighting stance.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Neth’tek could see Dril’ead standing with his arms folded, watching him as he was about to step into his first fight out of their lessons. Some of the other Followers came round to watch, but most were departing the chamber, finished with their work, or battling among one another at different sides of the room.

  The moment Neth’tek spread his legs in his own stance, The Follower charged shield first, slamming into him, and knocking him onto his back. However, Neth’tek wasted no time recovering from this hit. He spun out from under The Followers feet and onto his own, and went into a series of quick jabs and thrusts that put his opponent on his toes.

  The Follower spun sideways out of range of Neth’tek’s swinging blades and came round beside him, and swung his sword in a sideways arch toward his head. Neth’tek dropped into a crouch, dodging the attack, and came up below him with both blades ready in front.

  Neth’tek’s left blade was deflected by the shield, and the other past harmlessly by as The Follower stepped sideways out of its path. Growling in frustration, Neth’tek came up and turned once again on his opponent with wild attacks, none getting past the strong defenses of The Follower.

  His opponent suddenly dropped into a crouch like Neth’tek had, and thrust upwards with his blade. Neth’tek saw the attack before it happened, and without thinking he jumped upwards and over the head of The Follower, executing a perfect flip, and landed directly behind him. He kicked the center of The Followers back, sending him sprawling on the floor.

  The Follower went to raise his weapon, but Neth’tek was quicker than he, and slapped him on the wrist with his left blade. The sword fell from The Followers grip. With his right sword, Neth’tek knocked The Follower back onto his back, and placed the substitute sword against his throat threateningly.

  From across the room, Dril’ead applauded them. “Excellent work!” he said as he past them by.

  He shot Neth’tek a playful wink.

  *****

  Maaha Zurdagg easily past the two Horg’s stationed at the mouth of the cavern opening above the passage that wound past it from Grundagg. She had over herself an invisibility spell, and so remained unseen as she walked right up before Mazoroth, who stood in the center of the Mazar clan. Silently unsheathing a scimitar, she touched its steel to the chieftains’ throat and removed the spell from over her form.

  The Horg’s all leapt to their feet and grabbed weapons to attack The Followers, not noticing the blade threatening their chieftain.

  “If one of you even tries to touch me,” Maaha said loudly and with confidence, “I shall tear the throat from your chieftain!”

  Mazoroth only laughed, and turned his yellow eyes upon The Follower standing before him. In his eyes, Maaha saw both fear and anger. “What is one of The Followers doing so far from home, and without any companions?” said Mazoroth.

  “I understand that you hold a strong grudge against The Followers, do you not?” Maaha said boldly still.

  Mazoroth stopped his laughter, and looked at her with eyes that burned with hatred.
“I more than hold a grudge.”

  “Then we share the same feelings,” Maaha said with a smile.

  Mazoroth laughed again. “I have never heard of The Followers hating its own kind!”

  “It’s not the kin,” Maaha stated, “It’s the hope.”

  Mazoroth looked at her with a raised brow.

  “I am here to propose a treaty,” Maaha continued. “I shall grant the Mazar clan the opportunity of destroying the Branches of the Urden’Dagg tree if they will do me a favor,” She paused, allowing the Horg’s to exchange their curious glances. “From this agreement, you and I shall be at peace with one another. And I promise you; this friendship between you and I will more than grant you satisfaction over the ruin of our hated race.”

  Mazoroth nodded, looking to each of his Horg followers, but keeping a careful eye on the blade that still touched his throat. “What is it you want from us?”

  “I have been forbidden to attack any other Branch of the Urden’Dagg Tree, but there is one particular Branch that has been on my mind for some time,” Maaha said slowly. “Take the life of the Vulzdagg child, Neth’tek by name, and any others who get in your way. Better yet, bring the child to me, and our treaty will be fulfilled, and many of The Followers shall lie at your feet.” She bowed low, removing her blade from the Horg’s throat.

  Mazoroth flinched as the steel moved away, but held his position. He thought for a long moment, mostly just to test the patience of the witch who held her bow, waiting for his response.

  “I may have quite a large force of troops at my bidding,” Mazoroth began, Maaha slowly rising from her bow as he spoke. “But to make such an attack on them, one would need more – many more – troops to breech their strong walls, or let alone attack them in their stronghold.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Maaha said, eager to get the message through quicker than Mazoroth was intending.

  “What I am trying to say is,” Mazoroth said slowly, hiding a grin, “I am going to need a larger force to accomplish what you ask.”

  Maaha hesitated. “What kind of army are you asking for?”

  “One that can vanquish The Followers,” said Mazoroth.

  A thought came to Maaha’s mind, and she smiled at the new notion. “How many of such lesser creatures will you need?”

  “As many as you can give me,” Mazoroth replied with a bow of his own, and all the Horg’s in the chamber grinned greedily at the task before them.

  *****

  Juanna studied the map of the complex tunnels that wound out and round the realm of Grundagg; the tunnels of which she led her patrols. She had memorized all these passageways and their destinations, knew every secret that the slick earth could tell her, and discovered countless places and items, some of which she kept only to herself or her troop.

  She tapped her index finger lightly over a passage she had recently traversed with her patrol. It was the same passage that the Mazar clan had ambushed her small group, and killed her loyal comrade; thus making a large mistake in angering such a fierce fighter as herself. She would stop at nothing to take revenge against the chieftain of the Horg clan, and retake the passage. Already the notion of running her sharp blade through the throat of Mazoroth was conquering her thoughts.

  The door to the chamber opened and in strode Yaldaa with her report from their Lord. “Your audience has been accepted,” Yaldaa said with a bow, “the lord and the lady Grundagg await you as we speak.”

  Juanna looked up and smiled. “Soon, my faithful friend, we shall claim our land from the doomed Mazoroth of Mazar.”

  “I look forward to the time,” Yaldaa said without much enthusiasm.

  Juanna hesitated at the expression Yaldaa held, and for a brief moment Juanna doubted even her own judgments on the action she was to execute. And then, with slight tension, Juanna left the chamber and walked out into the street of Grundagg.

  The streets were more or less like that of Vulzdagg. Only there was more melee warriors marching to and fro, carrying out various duties, or gathering for practice runs and ambush. Mostly, though, the city was busy preparing troops to march out into the tunnels to investigate the Horg’s who now settled there; or even attack, if necessary.

  The citadel was a large structure built of what looked to be stone with stalagmite and stalactite towers. It was set against the wall of the huge underground cavern, and appeared to be a part of the rock face itself. To Juanna’s understanding, it was. Windows were riddled here and there. In some candles were burning, and to the innate ability of The Follower, the lights appeared bright and it took a moment to settle her eyes over their brightness.

  The doors to the citadel were made of hard stone. And, like the Vulzdagg Branch, they opened before Juanna on approach. The throne room appeared much like Vulzdagg’s and Zurdagg’s, only before the two thrones of Grundagg was laid out rows of benches made of stone, like that of the doors.

  Hundarr was leaning forward in his throne restlessly, and appeared to be having a deep conversation with the seven other captains of his patrols and militia; for he did not look up when Juanna approached. Lady Grundagg was not present in the room, as Juanna observed, and she did not even try to guess where else her lady would have been, caring little or not at all.

  “I have come, my Lord!” said Juanna as she approached from behind the captains and out of the attention of Hundarr.

  Hundarr nearly leapt from his throne at her voice in surprise, but he remained stationary and only turned toward her with furrowed brows. “And I am glad of it,” Hundarr said. “I was just preparing a meeting with my captains when your request was brought to me by your messenger…”

  “Yaldaa,” Juanna corrected him. “I was hoping to speak to you of the Horg’s of Mazar.”

  “Yes,” Hundarr said thoughtfully, “and that is why I was hoping to meet with all of you.” He gestured to the other captains in the room, who looked sidelong at her with solemn faces.

  “I have already made a proposal to the other Branches of the Tree of the Urden’Dagg to aid us in our defense,” Hundarr continued. “But if they do not reply, or help us at all, I and my commanders fear that this problem is ours to face alone. And on our own we shall face it.”

  “And you are not wrong to fear so,” Juanna said. “I am prepared to do whatever is necessary to drive the Horg’s from our tunnels; the death of one of my troops is not taken lightly on my behalf. My fellow patrol feels the same. We will not rest until vengeance has been claimed.”

  “And I respect that,” Hundarr said with a bow of his head. “Your courage has always inspired me, Juanna, and the strength of your patrol has always brought us good fortune. If your blade was to be put to use against the Horg’s, then I would have it so.”

  Juanna grinned at the notion. “It will be my honor to drive them away with my steal,” she tapped the hilts of her blades to clarify her point.

  Hundarr raised a hand to put aside the thought. “But I am afraid your duty is to be had elsewhere.”

  Juanna scowled at the rejection. “Where else, my lord, would my blades be put to work?”

  “Trouble of another kind is falling into play,” began Hundarr. “The other Branches, Swildagg more than any of the two I have been able to inform, will no doubt reject me. They hope to see my destruction at the feet of the Horg’s, and their own hands will no doubt be in the mess also. Your duty is to be sure that they have nothing to do with the Horg’s being in our realm, otherwise the Urden’Dagg would like to be informed of the treachery of its own Branches toward one another.”

  Then leaning in closer Hundarr spoke in a warning whisper, “Be aware not to let your investigations be known to them.”

  Juanna bowed her agreement, though she was not pleased to be put aside from the driving out of the Horg’s. “Shall I get to the work right away?”

  “As soon as possible will be most needed,” Hundarr said, and dismissed her by turning back to his other captains, who hid expressions of ridicule toward Juanna’s ap
parent disappointment.

  “Time is running short for us, I fear,” Hundarr was saying to his captains as Juanna turned about and went briskly toward the doors of the chamber.

  She was not at all pleased with her orders, and wished to get them over with as soon as possible. She was eager to fulfill the promise she made over the body of her fallen comrade. A vengeful promise it was. But no matter what, Juanna swore that her blades would somehow find their way to Mazoroth’s throat.

  Yaldaa and Fustua were the only ones of her patrol that she wished to take with her. The smaller the company the more unnoticeable, she believed; and she was right to believe so. But it wasn’t just for that reason she chose only them, nor was it their skill that impressed her, though it most certainly did. It was their faith, and the determination they held to remain at her side, even in times of great danger. She didn’t have to experience this to know it of them; she had only to look into their strong, steadfast eyes and see what no other Follower held before.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The Price for Victory

  Vak closed the book, gently wrapping its leather cover over rough pages inscribed with characters etched in dark ink by the hands of his ancient fathers and mothers, and sat back on his stool as he looked into the mirror image of his face reflecting before him in candlelight. His face was thin with fatigue, eyes exhausted over countless nights of sleepless pondering, and hair tangled in places where it hadn’t increasingly thinned in reaction to his many years of stress. How long had it been since he slept, ate, or wondered in thought of other things besides the fated doom of his people? The Vulzdagg Branch was broken. It was only a matter of time until it at last plummeted into the waiting stream of destruction.

  They had only to embrace it.

  This book, this ancient tome of the history of the dark people, could not save them. It was too late for histories mistakes to be pardoned. Vaknorbond Vulzdagg had only to watch his people, his family, and his namesake, crumble into ruin before his solemn eyes. There was a chance for their salvation, if he could bring his youngest son before the throne of the all great and all powerful Urden’Dagg to fulfill his station, in time to sway its anger against them. If such a thing could be done, his people might be saved. However, there was someone among the many enigmatic citizens of the Urden’Dagg’s realm of shadow who would stain her concealed knife with the blood of the Vulzdagg aristocracy. All knew her name, Maaha Zurdagg, and the hate she bore against the name of Vulzdagg. Enough hate, that, despite the possible outcomes, she had murdered their previous lord.