Shadow Realms: Part One of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  The Horg dragging Neth’tek stopped where it stood, and dropped Neth’tek as it took its broad ax in both hands, preparing to face the drake. The Horg lifted its weapon and charged foreword, but missed as it swung at the drake when it pivoted sideways, going round toward Neth’tek.

  Roaring in frustration and rage, the Horg spun round to chase after Vak and his mount. The drake swooped down and took Neth’tek gingerly by his shoulders in both clawed feet, and leapt upward. The Horg leapt into the air to catch the drake as it went, but was met instead by both Dril’ead’s blades.

  The Horg was taken back down, and slammed into the ground by the force of Dril’ead’s attack. Dril removed himself from the dead Horg, and turned now to face Vak as he made his escape with Neth’tek. However, the drake was too high now for Dril’ead to bring them back.

  A roar echoed from beside Dril’ead, and turning to his right Dril saw four other Horg’s climb up onto the top of the citadel. He brandished his scimitars and charged them with a roar of his own, slamming down onto the first ones blade and dropping below it to drive a hard knee into the fork of its legs.

  The Horg doubled over, and Dril’ead head-butted the thing on its nose – just for good measure – before driving his scimitar into its heart.

  Pulling away with bloodied blades, Dril’ead swung round to meet another’s club as it came swinging in upon him. Both scimitars caught the club heavily, and Dril slid backwards on his feet by the impact and into the beefy arms of another who came up from behind.

  Hooking its arms under Dril’s and behind his head, Dril’ead was lifted from the ground, his scimitars dropping from his outspread arms to clatter upon the ground. His chest was exposed to the Horg wielding the club, and the monster stepped forward to crush his ribs.

  Neth’tek saw this from over his shoulder as he and Vak swooped downward and away from the citadel. Neth’tek knew Dril’ead was outnumbered by three to one in his fight; and from what the vanishing picture showed his elder brother and teacher would not last the fight. His eyes swelled with tears, knowing his brother was soon to be no more.

  He tried to call out, but the word was choked in his throat.

  And then it was gone. Everything was swallowed into that light that overhung the citadel and the city of Vulzdagg as it increased even more, and Neth’tek cried for the death of his brother, and screamed in his heart for the pain of his future. He had not even the opportunity to see the death blow to his brother, and wondered if he preferred not seeing it.

  That question remained unanswered.

  *****

  Hestage Swildagg and Maaha Zurdagg watched on as it all happened faster than anyone could have imagined.

  It was Maaha who summoned that army for Mazoroth to invade, and it was Maaha who brought forth the Earth Elemental from above, to destroy everything that remained of the Vulzdagg’s city. No honor or respect was to be gained in this attack; only satisfaction in the revenge of her vengeful heart. Though it was all as she wanted it to be for the destruction of her Branch, she felt even more powerless than she had before, and would no doubt always feel so.

  Thinking it perhaps wiser to have not let the Vulzdagg’s destroy her city, Maaha could not except such defeat, and knew that it was too late to go back.

  She would not go back. Even if she could, she still would not. But rather go on with her selfish life, and take every good thing as a bad thing, and every bad thing as just another passing day. No happiness was in store for such people who were blind in the ways of living.

  Maaha could see well the infrared spectrum of chaos that was laid out before them of the city of Vulzdagg. The mushrooms of their grove were exploding at random, as monsters crawled from beneath and caused more and more of them to explode, wiping out the Vulzdagg defense.

  “Soon there will be no protection from the outside that can protect the inside of such a city,” Maaha remarked to Hestage. “A pity such a people as Vulzdagg must face such a terrible fate as their own. It is what happens to those who do not understand the ways of such a world as ours. Living is no way to live, but survival alone.”

  “Do you suppose they will attempt to save the child meant for the Urden’Dagg?” Hestage wondered.

  “Of course they will,” Maaha answered. “The question is; will you stop them successfully?”

  Hestage hesitated before answering, wondering if he even wanted to or had ever accepted such a task before. But he thought better of his answer, and reacted with what he knew she wanted to hear. If he were to get anything out of the destruction of Vulzdagg, he would have to do his part.

  “Of course I will,” he said with pride. “No creature has ever escaped the clutches of the drakes of Swildagg. We shall pursue, and we shall capture.”

  “I suggest that you prepare yourself, then,” Maaha said. “Such stubborn creatures as those of Vulzdagg will not give way easily to those who outmatch them. They are stubborn that way, and stupid.”

  Hestage turned away from where he and Maaha had been standing, watching the destruction of Vulzdagg, and went straightway to the drake which was stationed behind him to carry him down. Hestage mounted the drake, and looked about a moment before he left.

  “Your fate is before you,” Maaha told him.

  “I know,” Hestage returned. With a kick the drake took to the air with a flap of its leathery wings.

  Hestage and his mount flew toward Vulzdagg, and were joined by five other drakes and their mounts, to halt Vaknorbond and Neth’tek in their escape from their crumbling home.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  The Eyes of a Follower

  It was in the hour of last despair that Gefiny, the new captain of the Basilisk riders, stepped upon the shattered stones of one of the many crumbled barracks, and raised her voice and sword for all to hear and see.

  “Together! Together! Gather yourselves, soldiers of Vulzdagg!” Gefiny cried for all to hear, “To the Basilisks, to your mounts, warriors of Vulzdagg!”

  She came down and ordered those who followed her to open the gates to the Basilisk stables and mount their beasts, and the soldiers did as commanded. They ran as quickly as possible, avoiding all monsters that came upon them.

  Several reached the armored stable and threw open the doors, and the Basilisks came charging out to seek their riders.

  Those at the gate were found and mounted quickly.

  Many of the Basilisks were intercepted by the cave-crabs, but the ginormous lizards tore through them easily and many of those crabs learned to flee when the Basilisk came upon them.

  The Basilisks renewed the courage of those still fighting or fleeing outside the citadel, and those dying were able to die with a hope that their name would live on. However, Gefiny was without a mount, not ever receiving a Basilisk as a mount before, and knowing that attempting to mount one belonging to another would be unwise. But she was still giving commands to those who did find their mounts and came to hear her orders.

  “Form into ranks!” Gefiny instructed them, “Prepare yourselves, riders of the Basilisk, for we shall engage this demon from the Lesser Realms and fight it until either it, or we, return to the ash from whence we have all come!”

  The riders did as commanded, and fifty four in all formed into tight ranks, ready to fight the Elemental. Their numbers were few compared to the monsters ever coming from beneath, but they now had mounts, and the mounts would last far longer than expected.

  Every Basilisk rider available faced in their ranks the doors of their citadel, and the Elemental which continued its hammering against the keep. Gefiny climbed to the top of a pile of broken stones, and with her scimitar still in hand she raised her voice again to give the charging order.

  “Attack them now!” Gefiny shouted at her army of fifty four Basilisks and their riders.

  The ranks charged foreword, cutting and tarring through whatever cave-crab or other inhumanly thing stayed in their path. The only real threat to the Basilisk’s was the Earth Elemental, but even they didn’t
doubt their own claws against such a things body, or its eyes.

  The time for the fight was now!

  *****

  Gregarr Grundagg held his appointed army in formation; each soldier bravely standing his or her ground against the trembling doors. Any moment now the doors would fall to the ground, shattered against the heavy beating of the Elementals strikes.

  The doors trembled increasingly, giving way with each hit of the Elemental.

  Any second now, Gregarr told himself. Any second the doors would come down and he would have to lead what was left of his soldiers, and the soldiers of Vulzdagg, against the monster. He lifted his sword to look through the narrow blade at the shacking doors, and he lifted his head to speak for all to hear.

  “You are soldiers of Vulzdagg and of Grundagg, and we stand together to face our fate!” Gregarr told them. “And no matter what comes through that door, you will hold your ground!”

  As if he gave permission for it to happen, the doors broke under the final hit of the Elemental and came crashing down before it. The soldiers all stumbled back in fear and alarm, wanting nothing but to flee it before it destroyed them.

  “Stand your ground!” Gregarr commanded them in a loud voice, “Stand and fight!”

  The Elemental took a step forward to enter the chamber, and all the cave-crabs at its feet scrambled foreword into the ranks of The Followers. But before the Elemental could take another step forward a flash of heat slammed into its cold rock-hard body, and was followed by many other images of Basilisk’s that clawed and climbed about its form, tarring off pieces of rock.

  The Elemental stumbled and staggered sideways, slamming into the side of the citadel. The Basilisk’s continued to claw, and some climbed up its back and front to get to its face. The Elemental swung its heavy arms and threw its body about, smashing itself against the citadel, breaking its walls down and crushing the riders and their mounts that came between.

  One Basilisk leapt high and grabbed hold of the Elemental’s face. Immediately the lizard began digging with its sharp talons at its burning green eyes, now filled with dread and fear, and pain also.

  The footmen held their ground, stunned by the attack of the Basilisk’s on the Elemental. It took them a moment before they saw the cave-crabs crawling toward them, but the crabs’ shells would stand no chance against the mages that now came from the Circle of Power, launching their spells into the hard bodies of the crabs, melting away what there was of their armor. The warriors brandished their weapons and charged, slicing through the melting shells of the crabs.

  The cave-crabs that had once been a terror to these doomed Followers were now nothing but melting slices of disgusting meat, which stunk nearly as terrible as the Horg’s.

  Gregarr had led his followers to a triumphant victory!

  Now only the Elemental was left.

  The Basilisk’s had torn one of its glowing eyes apart, so its wild swings were not as accurate as they would have been as it swung down, wiping out lines of the Basilisk’s and charging footmen. Mages now joined the fray, but their magic only chipped the rock away in small pieces.

  Gregarr’s victory had not been conquered just yet.

  *****

  The pressure increased.

  His vision was slowly fading.

  And the Horg standing before his helpless form, with raised club, looked to be nothing but a blotch of glowing heat.

  Soon there would be nothing.

  His attempts had been useless, and now he would die a failure, to move on into the spirit world empty handed – nothing to give for his honor. Tears of both pain and shame slipped from his eyes and ran down his pale cheeks.

  But no, Dril’ead could not accept such a defeat.

  His hands were emptied of his scimitars, but he knew he still had at least one weapon to be used in his defense. His knees came upon until they touched his chest, and reaching into the hidden place within his boot he took hold of the hilt of his dagger.

  It came free, glistening in the orange glow around them, and spinning in his right hand he plunged it as hard as his weakening muscles would allow into the back of the Horg’s throat that held him fast.

  As he felt the blade go deep into the Horg’s hard hide that fire again returned, burning brighter than ever before. Seeing his eyes suddenly glow the way they did, the club stopped in the air as its bearer hesitated in fear. But it came down, and was caught harmlessly between the feet of The Follower.

  The Horg that held him stumbled, roaring in pain as it fell backwards, and Dril pulled the club from the Horg’s grasp as he fell with it.

  As Dril’ead landed he rolled backwards, flipping back onto his feet. He was weaponless now, but was still dangerous in the eyes of the fearful Horg standing before him.

  Dril’s lips twitched into a snarl as he crouched like a cat ready to pounce, and the Horg began taking cautious steps backwards toward the passage through which Vaknorbond, Neth’tek, and Dril’ead had taken to get onto the top of the citadel. It was going to attempt an escape, Dril’ead knew, but with him there it would not succeed.

  Another Horg was charging Dril’s back. Even without the roar, he knew it was coming as the ground trembled.

  With incredible agility, Dril’ead bent before leaping up and backwards to flip over and behind the charging Horg. The Horg had no time to slow down its run, and so plunged right into the other monster nearing the passage down into the citadel. They tumbled, but did not fall into the opening.

  As the dazed monsters were climbing to their feet, Dril’ead had already found his scimitars where he had dropped them and was coming upon them quicker than they could react. His blades spun wildly, and before the Horg’s knew it they were lying dead at his feet.

  With the toe of his boot, Dril flipped the trap door shut, and secured it so that no other unwanted things could enter without his knowing first.

  “Well done, Follower!” a growling voice said from behind Dril’ead.

  Spinning on his heels, Dril’ead faced six Horg’s that stood at the edge of the citadel’s crown, looking upon him with hate and anger. They were well armed for battle, and huge in size. Dril’ead knew he couldn’t fight them all at once. But he also knew that Horg’s weren’t known for their intellect, and so thought it better to outsmart them in some way, or possibly outrun them – knowing them not to be renowned for speed either. But running from a fight was not something Dril’ead would ever do, especially with such a fire burning in his eyes.

  The Horg who had spoken appeared to be the chief of the company, wearing a single patch over its right eye, and was larger than the rest. It was much more intimidating to even one as Dril’ead. This Horg was Mazoroth, and his company was that of Mazar.

  “Ha! You pitiful Followers stand no chance against the powers that bind together to destroy this people! You are all doomed, and your attempts are pointless and in vain!” Mazoroth mocked with spiting words.

  “You, Horg, of whatever evil brought you here, are a coward,” Dril’ead said coldly.

  Mazoroth growled a deep throated growl, and stepped forward threateningly, raising his heavy axe as to fight. Dril’ead grinned, discovering the Horg’s weakness.

  “Coward,” Mazoroth growled angrily, “Why say you so?”

  Dril’ead spread out his arms, his scimitars pointing to either direction. “Face me, and no reason will be needed.”

  Mazoroth laughed wryly. “Face you? Why should I go through all that trouble when my followers can easily take you themselves?”

  Dril dropped his arms back to his side casually, and shrugged. “Then you shall be marked as a coward.”

  The Horg’s behind Mazoroth glanced at their chieftain doubtfully, wondering if he had such courage as this Follower was making a mock of.

  One Horg nudged Mazoroth and grunted something in a language that Dril’ead could not understand. Mazoroth nodded as the Horg reminded him of the reason they were there in the first place, and looking up, shifting his shoulders to stand
taller, he looked down at Dril.

  “Tell me where Neth’tek Vulzdagg is first, and then I shall face you alone,” Mazoroth said calmly.

  Dril’ead scowled, filled with rage and hatred at the mention of the name from this wretched monster. He loved his brother, and always would; but the name now struck him in such a way because he had lost him. However, Dril’ead wasn’t about to tell these Horg’s anything about his brother – at least nothing of truth.

  “Neth’tek Vulzdagg?” asked Dril in a dark tone. Squaring his shoulders, Dril’ead raised his chin to Mazoroth as he continued with pride. “Such a name belongs to him who stands before you.”

  The Horg’s all lifted their weapons, preparing for the fight that would soon come. Mazoroth scowled at Dril in confusion. He had imagined someone younger, but then again, Mazoroth wasn’t too familiar with The Followers, and cared little enough to take the lie for what it was.

  “Who sent you here to find me?” Dril asked, hoping to gain more information.

  “You will soon see,” Mazoroth said, “But now you must come with me or else die.”

  “We agreed in single combat,” Dril said. “You agreed.”

  “We did,” Mazoroth admitted.

  “If I lose, I shall go with you. But if I win… well, you die and I go my own way.”

  “Fair enough,” Mazoroth agreed, “But my fighters will not let you escape.”

  The Horg’s shifted and tensed as Mazoroth jerked a clawed thumb toward them.

  Dril examined these Horg’s carefully. Each one would charge straight forward, no order at all among them, and if their chieftain was to die at Dril’s feet, they would be leaderless and easy to separate and defeat that way.

  Dril grinned, gaining confidence despite Mazoroth’s size.

  Stepping into his fighting stance, Dril’ead brandished his scimitars, beckoning for Mazoroth to begin the brawl.

  Mazoroth stepped from the group of his Horg’s and paced sideways, circling around Dril’ead as The Follower raised both scimitars up and before him in his standpoint. Dril faced the chieftain as he walked round him, until his back was to the rest of the Horg’s. That was when Mazoroth charged foreword, swinging his battleax in a side arch toward Dril’s head.