Shadow Realms: Part One of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  Vengeance was a cruel thing indeed among the dark people of the Urden’Dagg, and Vak saw the ending of his people pulled back and forth between the hands of Maaha and the Urden’Dagg. Would their deity betray them into the merciless hands of the witch queen of Zurdagg? Vaknorbond would take his son Neth’tek into the courtroom of the Urden’Dagg before it was over, however the end might be. One among his aristocracy had to live. Neth’tek Vulzdagg would live!

  Vak’s features tightened under the straining thoughts of his weary mind, his eyes narrowing intensely on the reflection of his face. It was the last time he would look upon the face of the creature that brought his people unto such a cruel end as this. It was the last he would look upon the inscriptions his fathers and mothers made in the tome of his heritage. He promised himself in his childhood that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes as his father, but somehow here he was, watching the dreadful past come into the present. Never had he felt so hopeless than he did then, and now.

  He pulled the cowl of his purple spider silk cloak over his head. Standing, he brushed away the flame of the candle with the back of his hand, and walked away into the darkness of his chamber. He took his belt on which was buckled the scabbards containing the slender blades of his duel scimitars he had thrown on his bed, and strung them round his waist. What was to happen next would not be easy. Then again, when was betrayal ever a simple matter? He would steel Neth’tek from the citadel, and everyone would try to stop him by whatever means necessary.

  He left his chamber, walking down a narrow passage that led him into the anteroom of the throne room of his court. Standing against the wall was a single guard, his hand resting on the hilt of his short blade, and he nodded to Vak as he passed. Vaknorbond kept his attention on the task at hand. The door to the throne room stood directly before him, and he couldn’t guess what business was being discussed beyond those closed doors that he wasn’t informed of.

  “You,” he said, turning to the guard standing against the wall, “Where are your noble leaders?”

  The guard hesitated, blinking in thought. “My lord, they’re inside.”

  “All of them?” asked Vak, intent on knowing exactly who was beyond those doors.

  “As far as I have been informed, yes,” replied the guard with a short nod. “Why, has my lord not been informed of their meeting? I thought I had seen you pass through these doors not a moment ago.”

  “Dril’ead Vulzdagg has appeared much like me over these past few years,” Vak replied, approaching the door with cautious steps. “I was not informed of there being any meeting in the courtroom. Have you any idea why that might be?”

  “No idea, my lord.” The guard shook his head.

  “Very well,” Vak’s eyes narrowed on the iron frame of the door before him. Whatever was transpiring in his own city didn’t matter to him anymore. He was leaving. All that he hoped for them was that they were prepared for the fight that was soon to take place; a brutal massacre by the released hand of Maaha from the grip of the Urden’Dagg. If ever there was any strength, power, or hope in these people, let it come forth now. He stepped forward and pushed the anteroom door open.

  In her throne sat Leona’burda Vulzdagg, and standing at the foot of the raised platform was the two chief captains of the Vulzdagg forces, the cowls of their purple cloaks pulled over their faces as they stood in the presence of the matron of their city, holding her in the highest respect below that of the Urden’dagg and its all great and powerful authority.

  Vak knew the captains immediately, the taller and broader of them being Razarr, chief of the Vulzdagg militia, and beside him Dril’ead Vulzdagg, Vaknorbond’s own son and chief of the basilisk riders. Beside the captains stood Gefiny and Neth’tek Vulzdagg, and they waited patiently as Razarr relayed his stratagem before his matron.

  No one seemed to notice Vak’s silent approach from across the room, all eyes turned to the floor or on Razarr as he continued with his explanation of the most suitable reply to the requests of the Branch of Grundagg. The guards, several of them standing with their backs to the walls, gripped their spears with firm obedience, glancing only for a moment at Vak as he entered. Leona’burda lifted her hand, halting Razarr in the middle of his sauntering speech, and raised her eyes toward Vaknorbond as he strolled toward them.

  “I hoped we would not to disturb your studies, lord Vaknorbond. Have you found your peace of mind?” Leona said to him in an even tone, matched with a pride she always carried about her, nearly mocking.

  Vak stopped, standing aside from his captains and children, examining them with firm solemnity. “No peace shall come from my studies this day. However, I have found the answer to bring about our safety, and therefore the victory of our people.”

  Leona raised her chin in defiant curiosity. “And what is the answer?”

  Vak turned his gaze upon her, his eyes narrow with a seeming hatred as he hissed in reply. “Forfeit to the will of the Urden’Dagg.”

  An air of confusion filled the room as all eyes turned on him, each asking themselves the question of what the will of their deity might be, or if he had at last given up his sanity for the sake of being spared the awful pain of that which was to follow this day’s activity.

  What was the lord of Vulzdagg talking about? Gefiny Vulzdagg turned her eyes away from her father as her thoughts strayed, and Neth’tek at her side stiffened and shifted his posture as he looked skeptically toward his father. It was Dril’ead and Razarr who straightened and looked from beneath their cowls up at their matron sitting above them, her arms laying casually on the twisting framework of the stalagmite throne, and waited for her to respond.

  Dril’ead, however, spoke first with a sudden realization. “Do not patronize us with your use of words, father. We know of the workings of the all great and all powerful Urden’Dagg, and so we also know that it will do nothing to save us or defend us against this coming storm. It has released this chaos against us. It cares not for our fate.”

  Vak turned to his son, his steady eyes matching that of Dril’ead. “There is a price for victory, one that we must always pay. Our subjection to the every will and want of our favored deity is our payment for all that it has done for us, delivering us from the cruel grip of our predecessors.” Vak paused in quick hesitation, swallowing some misunderstanding, but he continued with resolve. “In return, it asks only that we follow it. I have seen cities crumble because of their disobedience and unfaithful example, and I can tell you what a tragedy it was to watch – no, to participate in the destruction of such a people who disregarded the simplest request: Subjection. It is all we must do. I will not watch my own city fall because of the lack of this simple request, not while I can save it. It is the price we must pay for our victory this day.”

  The chamber was silent for a moment that felt like an eternity, all eyes turning to the floor. All eyes, that is, except for Vaknorbond and Dril’ead Vulzdagg. Dril’s eyes smoldered with a burning hate to the words his father spoke.

  “So that is it,” Dril said pointedly, “We must make ourselves helpless to the will of the Urden’Dagg? That is all we must do to survive? Well, forgive me father, but I cannot do what you say or what the Urden’Dagg asks. There is life and there is death, nothing in between. Nothing is there to separate the two aspects of life. We will not make ourselves a helpless and therefore hopeless people. Isn’t there little enough hope among us already? I cannot allow this to happen to my people.”

  To the surprise of everyone present in the room, Vak smiled. “I know, dear son.”

  “Then why?” Dril demanded, his voice wavering at the sudden empathy of his father.

  “You are a wise captain, Dril’ead Vulzdagg, and as your father I am very proud of you.” Vak’s smile faded as he finished his thought, and replaced it with a solemn expression as he had when fist entering the chamber, his eyes drifting to fall upon Neth’tek. “However, one of us must live.”

  An understanding passed through all those listening in the chamb
er, heads turning to look upon Neth’tek as he stood beside his sister. He closed his eyes, clenching his teeth, just as the scrape of adamant sword on steel scabbard echoed off the walls and ceiling of the throne room. A cry of defiance followed after a quiet whistle, a thin blade cutting thin air.

  Neth’tek reopened his eyes as Dril’ead was stepping forward toward his father, scimitar in hand, and Razarr was stumbling backward in alarmed surprise. A hand grasped Neth’tek’s shoulder and pulled him away from before the throne, Gefiny obviously attempting to bring her brother out of harm’s way, and the two of them disappeared into the anteroom.

  Leona’burda was now sitting forward in her throne, fingers clutching the arms of the stone chair as she watched the scene play out with wide eyes.

  Madness had somehow taken hold over Dril’ead’s mind, pushing him against his own father in an uncontrolled rage, and Vak was left stupefied as he reached for his own weapons to defend himself. However, a kick to Vaknorbond’s jaw sent him stumbling backwards several steps, putting distance between himself and the enraged warrior. Dril charged in with both scimitars, and Vak drew his to counter the coming attack.

  From their posts, the guards rushed foreword to separate the two combatants, but their attempts were in vain, for Dril’ead’s blind rage drove him foreword, tossing whoever came between him aside. Seeing only their own harm coming, the guards backed away, but stood at the ready for any opening that might halt the fight.

  The kick Dril’ead had laid on Vak’s jaw left him with the taste of blood in his mouth. He backed against the wall of the chamber, and held his position there, using the wall for support. Vak watched as the guards retreated from Dril’ead, one holding the side of his head where Dril’ead had struck him with the hilt of his scimitar. Dril’ead ignored them, and now steadily approached Vak by circling round to come in from Vak’s right.

  As Dril’ead approached the wall that Vak used as his support, he broke suddenly into a sprint and leapt high to its stone face several feet from Vak. Vak was unsuspecting of the movement, and knew not the intent Dril’ead had in this sudden rush. However, as the agile fighters feet touched the stone and began running along its face, he started toward Vak from above with outstretched blades. Vak pulled away from the wall and crossed his scimitars over his head, backing away from the fast moving Dril.

  Dril jumped into a flip that brought him higher into the air and over Vak still. Vak was still backing away with both scimitars over his head in defense, and Dril’ead came down in front of him. When Dril’ead landed with a headlong roll, he came up with both feet in and struck Vak in the chest.

  Vaknorbond bent beneath the impact and fell onto his back, but kept the motion going so that he came back up onto his knees. His scimitars flashed in front of him menacingly as he came up, cutting at the legs of Dril’ead who dodged the attack.

  “A clever attack, I must admit,” Vaknorbond said breathlessly.

  Dril’ead only stood with both scimitars pointed toward him, breathing steadily, despite the difficult maneuvers he had executed to perfection.

  Leona only sat, watching from her throne, as the two now stood or knelt in the middle of the chamber. She made no movement, but gripped the arms of her chair in anxiety, her knuckles turning weight with the pressure. She muttered to herself as she looked sidelong at Razarr and the guards as they slowly approached, thinking this a good opportunity to interfere.

  But Dril’ead acted quickly, diving in straight at Vaknorbond with both weapons spinning in his hands. Vak jumped back onto his feet and blocked the attacks that came in at random and quicker than he could react to. He looked into Dril’ead’s eyes and saw only rage burning brightly, and Vak recognized the eyes as the same that were present in his awakening after the injury with the Faxtogar demon.

  Vak was immediately placed on the defensive side. And no matter how strong his efforts were he could not overcome this young, strong, and angered warrior that pressed him so hard with his blades. His movements, which were at first smooth and easily handled, as they were in every sparring or battle he had ever been involved in, slowly became frantic and more edged than wished.

  Razarr suddenly rushed across the room; not toward Vaknorbond and Dril’ead fighting ferociously in the center of the chamber, but toward the large iron doors out into the city. He was doing what he thought the others should have done a long time ago. Go and get a mage.

  As the double doors swung wide, and the captain of the city militia went swiftly out, Dril’ead was distracted for half a second by his departure and Vaknorbond took advantage of that moment. He brought his right hilt up into the face of Dril, striking him in the nose. Without hesitating, and while Dril was dazed by the hit, Vaknorbond leapt with great effort and swept his leg into Dril’s head.

  The weight of Vaknorbond brought Dril’ead down onto his hands and knees. Vak dropped his scimitars and grasped both of Dril’s wrists, holding them firmly while twisting so that he dropped the scimitars. Blood dripped from Dril’s smashed nose, and his head was already spinning from the hard knee which brought him to the ground.

  The guards charged in as the double doors reopened, three mages following Razarr into the center of the chamber; and as Dril’ead regained his strength and focus after the unexpected hit, he began to pull free from Vak’s grip round his wrists. But just before he freed his weapons, the butt end of a spear struck the side of his head. The force behind the guards blow knocked the young fighter out cold, and he dropped his weapons.

  Vaknorbond struggled to steady his breathing, then rising to his feet he instructed the guards, saying, “Take him to his chambers, and lock the door.”

  As the guards took Dril’ead by the arms and lifted him off the ground, Vak turned to the mages who had come in with Razarr.

  “Neth’tek must be taken in,” he said to them.

  Leaping from her throne, Leona cried out against his words. “Neth’tek is not to be given to the Urden’Dagg!”

  “To keep him here is to bring destruction to us all,” Vaknorbond reminded her. “We have no other choice.” He turned again to the mages and nodded toward the anteroom door.

  Leona strode foreword even as the mages headed for the door, Dril’ead carried through just before them, and she came up before Vaknorbond. Looking him in the eye she said, “Your mistakes and your troubles. They are all yours. Do not punish a child for the actions of another more foolish.”

  Vaknorbond was speechless, not fully understanding her meaning at first. Instead he looked toward the anteroom where they had all departed through; Dril’ead, Gefiny, and Neth’tek. Razarr stood before the door as he solemnly hesitated, but turned round to depart out of the citadel instead; the large doors opening before him and then shutting as he passed out into the city.

  “It was not I who wished to destroy Zurdagg,” Vak said solemnly, “nor was it Dril’ead, as far as my understanding goes. But it was, and is, he who has become crazed over the finishing of the wicked deed which was started long ago.”

  “It was Maaha’s assassination of Vishtax!” Leona growled angrily. “We did what we judged to be right! For every blood spilt that day, she should pay!”

  Vaknorbond opened his mouth to say more, but was cut short as a resounding Boom, Boom, Boom filled his ears. The ringing of the tower alarm followed soon after, bringing the news of the anonymous disturbance. And Vak and Leona both looked sidelong at the double iron doors as a soldier limped through to tell of the commotion outside.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Act of Vengeance

  Gregarr, commander of a force of Grundagg warriors, led his troops through the winding tunnels of the passage the Horg’s had taken. Ahead of the band of one hundred and fifty Followers went a scout who was learned in the passages of Grundagg. He had gone ahead to be sure the Horg’s were still encamped in that region, and the scout hadn’t reported back yet, leaving Gregarr to grow ever weary with the ever growing anxiety of the many thoughts rushing through his mind. An unknown amo
unt of Horg’s were making home in his land, and had driven back the best known patrol captain Grundagg had; Juanna and her two strongest and well skilled companions.

  From the distant darkness their came the softest noise that only the keen ears of The Followers could pick out. It was the sound of light feet approaching. Gregarr lifted his fist to halt his troops, and waited for the approach of the scout.

  “Report your findings,” Gregarr commanded quickly.

  “The passage ahead has been cleared out,” the scout began. “It seems they have broken camp and left.”

  “How long ago would you say they made their departure?” asked Gregarr.

  “Two, maybe three hours,” the scout replied.

  “Where have they gone?” Gregarr asked, not liking the situation any more than before.

  The scout shrugged in his response, “Out of the region.”

  “Perhaps they’ve given up the fight,” an anonymous soldier suggested from behind.

  Gregarr shook his head, “Horg’s are not known for giving up so easily. They must have moved to a different position, or are lying in wait still for us to come, for us to think they have gone, and spring out when we least expect it. But then again; Horg’s are not known for such tactics in combat.”