Ringwall`s Doom

by Awert, Wolf

  “Your father,” he said loudly and without a trace of humility, “was always a friend to the tribes. You decided to forgo the crown and instead wear the red band of the desert. And so I ask, if you please, Majesty,” he gave a bow lacking any semblance of respect, “as his successor, what will you do for the tribes?”

  “I will do nothing,” Sergor-Don replied serenely. He worked hard to hide his surprise. He had expected Sarch to press on like the old bull he was. This incident disrupted his plans.

  I will do nothing, the words hung heavy upon the hall, desperate for an explanation.

  “The king serves the realm. The realm gives back to its folk, the tribes, the people. And the people serve the king.”

  “I belong to the Ember Tribe and I have not ridden this far to return with ‘nothing’!” the plainsman shouted, his smirk lost.

  “If you want more than nothing, tell me what makes the fighters of your Ember Tribe special, and what you are willing to give. Then I will tell you what you will receive.” Sergor-Don’s voice was cool as he sat upright on his throne, staring down at the young warrior.

  “Have you forgotten the tribes so soon? Do you no longer know that courage and fortitude, the wish for freedom, the speed of our horses and the sharpness of our blades makes us the terror of our enemies? That we are the true strength of the Fire Kingdom?”

  The young man ended his speech with a scream. He turned around and raised his arms as if to invite support for his cause. And indeed, wherever gray and brown cloaks stood, there was an appreciative murmur, and in one case even a cheer.

  King Sergor-Don began to laugh loudly, and his laugh cut deep into the hearts of the plainsmen with the sharpness of its derision.

  “Truly? Courage and fortitude? I do not believe in the songs of heroes of ages past. I believe in deeds. As long as your riders ride in circles around your campfires, as long as battle cries and folk songs are one and the same to you, your words are nothing but empty claptrap. Only deeds turn words into things worth saying. I speak not of the deeds of the past, of your famed fathers and grandfathers. I speak of yours, of your family’s. In the Fire Kingdom, behind the protection of Gulffir’s walls and on the wide plains of the desert where you can run from battle, it is easy to speak – but can you fight?”

  “Were you not our king I would prove it to you here and now,” the warrior hissed as his hand closed around the hilt of his dagger; its ornate decoration showed that he was the son of his tribe’s leader.

  “And I would have a dead plainsman on my floor,” Sergor-Don quipped calmly. “I would gain nothing but work for my cleaners. But I accept your challenge.”

  Silence fell upon the throne room. The king continued in a low voice. “As I am the one challenged, I have the choice of weapon. I choose war.”

  A total eclipse at noon could not have produced a more complete silence. No foot scratched across the floor, no cloth rustled; even the wind outside seemed to have stopped blowing. What was the young king suggesting?

  “If you truly possess such courage and fortitude as you have boasted, Ember rider, then go and amass as many of your brothers as will join you. I will choose your enemy. If you should succeed in defeating them, I will grant you and all other survivors a just reward.”

  “If you want civil war, your Majesty, you can have it. Hide behind your warriors and your malformed mages. All of the realm will see your cowardice.”

  The young warrior had gone too far, everyone in the hall knew it. Accusing the king of cowardice meant a death sentence, certainly; one of the three court sorcerers raised an arm, ready to strike at his king’s command. But Sergor-Don smiled placidly.

  “You would have to prove your own courage before calling me craven. Does anyone present truly believe I would begin my reign by inciting civil war, just because some desert son has lost his way in the sandstorm of his dreams? No, Ember rider, my soldiers will not be your enemy. You will fight the warriors of Earthland. Hearken! These are my conditions for our duel. You may decide for yourself whether you are up to the task.”

  Sergor-Don looked around and saw nothing but confusion and curiosity.

  “Choose your brethren well. The larger your force, the smaller your personal glory. But do not deny anyone who wishes to fight for the honor of himself or his family. We shall see who will ride with you.

  “Your task is nothing more than to keep vigil over our border to Earthland. Go beyond the border but avoid any confrontation with enemy troops. From there delve deep into Earthland. Find the smaller villages and avoid fortified towns. The Earthlanders are well-versed in defending their cities; taking them is no mean feat.”

  “You would give me an old woman’s job?” the plainsman complained.

  “I trust you will find a way to prove your mettle. For my part in the duel, I will need to be represented by a champion. The kingdom needs me for more than petty squabbles. I name Grand General Sarch as my champion.”

  Sarch’s head flicked around as all eyes turned to him. What did the king have in store for the grand general? Whispers already abounded that he had lost favor at court.

  “Grand General Sarch, I grant you one hundred riders and two hundred horses; may you fly like the wind across the plains. Several of my best sorcerers will accompany you. We shall see who achieves more glory.”

  “Your Majesty!” Sarch had stepped forward, his clenched fist laid on his chest as a sign of reverence. He was visibly struggling to keep his composure.

  “If you grant me supreme command of your troops, the tribes will be pacified, the Earthland army shattered and Woodhold pushed back in less time than a mare takes to foal. And then Metal World may come.”

  The white-knuckled fist slowly slid from his chest, and all could see that the grand general was boiling inside. After a moment he continued.

  “But this is a task for a captain, not a general.”

  “I will grant your wish,” King Sergor-Don replied without batting an eyelid. “I hereby strip you of all ranks and titles. I also name you captain of the family. You will answer only to me, not the other generals. You will ride for me and only for me.

  “Should you solve the task I have given you satisfactorily, which I do not doubt for a heartbeat, I will grant you greater command immediately. But what I need at this moment is not a general; I need someone who fears neither magic nor malady, who will ride against the Earthlanders and show the tribes where they may find courage and fortitude when they falter.”

  “We’ll see who falters, your Majesty.” No Ember rider worth his salt could have left a doubt like that unanswered, but no one listened to the young warrior anymore. All the soldiers in the hall stood shaken before the crumbled remains of their world. Leaders that misstepped were beheaded, burnt or, as a last mercy for past deeds, granted the right to suicide. But demoting the grand general to a simple captain was beyond comprehension. No king had ever dared such a thing; and the degradation did not rob Sarch of any of his power. He had also been promoted to the highest member of the family apart from Sergor-Don himself. Was it meant as a sign of ultimate trust? In such close proximity to the king the opportunities for assassination were endless. Many of the generals wondered whether Sarch had fallen from grace or been rewarded. Perhaps both.

  Haltern-kin-Eben smiled blandly. It seemed obvious to him that whoever might pose a danger to the king was being removed from court. Did the boy not know that Sarch had friends who would stay by his side? That the border to Earthland was not distant enough for Sarch to miss any goings-on in Gulffir? But Haltern-kin-Eben could not shake the feeling that he was missing something, and he did not like it at all.

  “Captain Sarch!”

  The former grand general flinched as his new title whipped around his ears.

  “A great task requires great men. You have access to all of my riders, even the dustriders. Should you wish for it I will beg Astergrise to pick your warriors personally.”

  “You are too generous, my liege.” Chagrin almost const
ricted the captain’s throat. “But I would ride with my usual soldiers, and so prove to the tribes the proficiency, discipline and obedience in our army.”

  “As you wish. You are to sow fear into the hearts of the Earthlanders. Take all the gold and women you can; you will exercise your right as conquerors and take them before the eyes of their defeated husbands, and plant the seeds of hatred that will either paralyze them or drive them to foolishness. Your heroic deeds will be the stuff of legends for generations to come. Now ride.”

  With Astergrise in Rockvice and Sarch in Earthland, the military was as devoid of a leader as the court sorcerers, and Haltern-kin-Eben wondered when the king’s attention would turn to him. Although he had to admit to himself that Sergor-Don had been unexpectedly gentle with Sarch, he remained vigilant. He was thus all the more surprised when King Sergor-Don told him that he would be retreating to the desert with his kingsguard for a few days, to trace the secrets of the Fire magic in the solitude beneath the burning sun.

  “You will have regency of the kingdom for a little while. In particular I wish for you to take care of the needs of the men Skorn-Vis and Uul have brought. They are parched and their skin is chapped and blistered, and some have difficulty in eating solid food. Take care of them and nourish them, but do not pamper them with luxuries; that would be their deaths. You are personally responsible for them.”

  Haltern-kin-Eben gave a deep bow and thanked the king for his trust.

  “How will I receive your orders and hear your counsel if something unexpected demands fast action?” he asked his king.

  “The men I have placed in your care will know. They all have knowledge of the arcane; half-arcanists, black warlocks, outcast druids. All of them have special abilities. In Ringwall they were called lost ones. They worked in the salt flats where no one else could. They will be missed for their work, but they are more important here.” Sergor-Don gazed into the distance, deep in thought. “I will have to replace them, perhaps with people who are unneeded here. But that can wait a while yet.”

  Haltern-kin-Eben flinched. Telling a warning from a threat was not difficult to him.

  “Oh, yes,” the king continued quietly. “Your sons will depart for Rockvice to aid Astergrise in fortifying it. I can imagine that the old warrior could use people who can oversee the supplies and other things that have nothing to do with the actual building. And your sons will help you keep your thoughts in the right tracks.”

  Once everything in Gulffir was done to the king’s satisfaction, he set out with his five sorcerers, guided by the stars, the desert wind and an old map that had spent far too long hidden behind a stone in Skyseeker, the Tower of Worry and Hope.

  They rode towards fire, then changed direction to reach an old caravan route and spent the last stretch of their journey on one of the most important trade roads in the realm. The path snaked through the rising hills and touched the dragon’s tail, then dodged away to the right and attempted a second approach near the stone monster’s front claw, only to flee back to the desert. The reason for this was the great dragon’s hunch: as long as the traveler knew it was there, he could not lose his way, but there was also something fearsome about it, an uneasy feeling that only disappeared along with the mountain behind the horizon. It was no surprise that the dragon was a famed landmark for those who traveled the desert or journeyed between Gulffir and Encid. The whispers that a primordial dragon’s soul was still trapped within never stopped.

  Only the adventurers brave enough to leave the beaten path found the terrifying head of the beast. The dragon held it snug to the side of its back. Finding it was not hard, but surviving in the area was another story. There was no water, the earth moved beneath your feet; rockslides were common and had buried many who had not been quick enough; venomous animals skittered out from every cover, vipers, black scorpiworms with raised stingers, yellow jerboas, that all carried within them poison potent enough to kill creatures several times their size. Resting near or on the dragon was only possible with magical protection.

  The king and his five sorcerers discovered this for themselves. They had climbed up the dragon’s flank and worked their way to the highest point, from where they could see the entire rock formation. The similarity to the beast of legend was uncanny. The gigantic stone skull still seemed alive as it followed their every step. A pale red tongue poked out from the huge cave that formed the mouth. Even though it was little more than a seam of rock, colored by some twist of nature, the flickering light of the evening and the haze of the air were enough to make it seem very much alive. The eyes, on the other hand, were black and dead.

  “What we seek will be in the skull,” Sergor-Don explained. “I can feel it. But I do not trust the maw, nor the teeth that guard it. They look too loose. It would not be the first time a falling rock changes history.”

  Skorn-Vis was busy preparing their camp for the night and pretended not to have heard the king’s words.

  “We will enter the skull through the eye,” the king continued. “But not today. We will stay here for the night and Aulo will keep guard over us. Aulo, should weariness threaten to overcome you, wake one of the others. Preferably one whose sleep seems lightest to you.”

  The desert nights were even stiller than the days; when the sun stood high, the wind was a constant rushing. But not on the dragon’s back. The stones creaked in the dark. They worked all through the night; they had stretched out beneath the sun to absorb as much warmth as possible, and now they contracted again. Now and then small paws pattered in the night; once Aulo heard the sound of scales being dragged across the rock. What seemed burnt and dead during the day came to life in the dark.

  “Go to bed, Aulo.”

  Sijem the Brown had got up.

  “Nobody can sleep here, when earth and stone are going on and on and on. Unless you mean forever. To sleep here you’d have to be deaf or blind, or so lame you can barely move.”

  The dwarf shot Aulo a venomous look. Aulo gave a small yowl and made a two-fingered gesture that was likely supposed to show how little he thought of Sijem, but still he trotted off to the others and fell into a restless sleep.

  The next morning, Sergor found his dwarf glued to the rock, and Aulo had to use his Metal magic to cut through the sticky foam of the sandrunner to free him.

  “Looks like our little friend missed the scent of life,” Phloe jibed as his stroked the dwarf’s sparse hair. Sijem the Brown hissed menacingly, but did not dare act on his anger. His Earth magic was no match for Phloe’s Wood.

  They packed up their camp and the king entered through the round, black eye. The entire skull was a single huge cave through which lava must have flowed in ancient times. The rock had a sheen of dark violet upon it. The cave felt as dead as a long-buried corpse and had lost any passion its earthen and fiery origins had once given it. But it was big. What had looked like a mouth from outside was a maze of halls that led deep into the mountain.

  The floor was smooth, yet not too smooth to deny their feet a good grip, and the walls were decorated with bizarre figures and twisted pillars. Every niche in the hardened lava could be the hiding spot the king was looking for. The ceilings in the rock chambers were yet more dangerous. Trails of cold stone hung down like candlewax, and where they had shattered they left foot-long daggers, sharp enough to cut a man’s arm off. It was hopeless to try and find something here without at least a vague idea of what it looked like.

  King Sergor-Don and his kingsguard spent the night in the cave beneath a magical barrier, Sijem having refused point-blank to take the guard that night. Days and nights passed. The group rested when they grew weary and forced their way through the maze when they were awake. The rhythm of night and day was long lost, for they were so deep in the tunnel system that no light betrayed whether the sun or moon shone.

  On the fourth night Aulo discovered another cavern above them. There was a hole in the ceiling, and Uul clambered up the wall with astounding agility and pushed himself away from it,
landing with a great leap in the cave above.

  “It’s another floor,” his voice came from there, slightly muffled and distorted. “It looks like it goes on forever.”

  Aulo followed him. He lacked young Uul’s dexterity, but he was several times stronger. Phloe seemed to almost dance up the wall. Everything he did had an air of grace about it, like the opening of a flower’s blossoms, even climbing up walls. Sergor-Don looked at Skorn-Vis and Sijem the Brown. The dwarf looked dejectedly at the ceiling, to which Skorn-Vis responded by grabbing him by the waist; he shouted out and then flung Sijem high up through the hole, where a strong hand caught hold of him. Sijem hung like a puppy in its parent’s jaws and did not even dare kick with his legs. There was a short howl from above. Sijem cursed. The howl came again, and in the following silence everyone heard the pained “please” from Sijem. Aulo pulled him up and the dwarf felt solid floor beneath his feet once more. Skorn-Vis and the king followed.

  Their steps came to a pause when a cry sounded, more surprised than pained, and they broke into a run when the cry turned into a groan where each breath only served the next groan until it grew into wild, mad screaming. A cascade of blue sparks flashed in the distance.

  “What happened?” King Sergor-Don demanded as they arrived. Uul lay on the ground, his back bent so far backwards it looked as though he was trying to break his spine. Sijem was jabbering agitatedly, Phloe’s voice was so quiet even he could barely hear himself, and Aulo pointed at Uul’s neck as he dribbled and spewed incomprehensible sounds.

  Sergor ordered Aulo to be silent, but the idiot was too hysterical to notice anything except for the screaming boy. Phloe sank to the ground with a twirl that would have made any court dancer jealous and took Uul’s screaming head in his hands, bent over and kissed him gently on the lips. As if struck by an ax, the last scream suddenly fell silent. Its echo wandered through the halls for a few more moments before finally coming to rest. Aulo immediately stopped whining and wiped his wet face. Phloe stroked Uul’s cheeks and Uul’s back slowly returned to a more human shape. But his eyes remained shut and his breath came and went with a gag, as though the air was a sackful of slime.