by Tiger Hebert
“Hurry, we must not let them follow us to the lifts!” shouted Melgrim.
Captain Melgrim and his men led the surviving orc warriors, male and female, to the north end of town. They passed through a maze of narrow and crooked streets until they reached the falls. The river rushed over the face of the cliff as it plummeted the great distance down into the harbor. The soldiers grabbed a couple of torches and ran into the darkness of a nearby tunnel. The passage looked small, but much to their surprise, it was actually large enough to walk the horses and hralls through. The passage itself burrowed in a snaking fashion into the mountain, and the further they went into the tunnel, the further they descended. The soldiers all followed closely behind one another, single file. After a couple of minutes in the tunnel, they could see the dim light of the evening ahead of them. As they moved closer, they could hear the rushing water growing louder. The tunnel opened to a large rock ledge that was just to the right of the falling river. The light of day was quickly vanishing, but once on the ledge, they realized that there were several burning torches that hung on the cliff walls at the distant end of the ledge.
In that flickering torchlight the orcs could see the intricate system of platforms, chains, ropes, and pulleys. Some were small and could hold only a single man; others were large enough for several horses. They wasted no time and quickly began to load the counterweighted elevators, lowering themselves. Over the sound of the rushing falls, they heard two loud sounds. The iron doors must have fallen. They needed to get out quickly!
The soldiers found their way down as they navigated the extensive series of elevators. They would lower themselves down to the next ledge and take a different elevator down to the next ledge. Some of them spanned larger heights than others, but in any case, it would take several elevators to reach the bottom. There was no way of telling how long before the Minotaur discovered their escape route, but they didn’t want to wait and find out.
Sharka stood close to the portside edge of the lift as she rode down with the Hammerfist brothers. Her eyes were wide as she stared in awe at the sights all around her—the sheer faces of the cliffs that encircled them, the great falls, and the secret cove below them. She, like most orcs, had never seen anything like it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Theros.
“It…I-I can’t explain it,” stammered the lean warrior as she searched for words.
“Aurion is full of wonders, and it appears that we will have the chance to see many of them,” said Theros to the female orc.
“Where will we go next?” she asked.
“That is a good question, and one best reserved for King Tiereon,” interjected Ogron. “You fought well today, Sharka. You bring honor to your people.”
She hung her head in shame and painfully whispered, “There is no honor for the Daggertooths.”
“You are not your father,” remarked Theros.
“He shamed our clan. The Daggertooth name has blood on it, and it’s orc blood,” she replied with downcast eyes.
“That blood is on his hands, not yours. Hold your head up, daughter. His shame and guilt is not your burden,” declared the chieftain with authority as he gently lifted her chin up with his finger.
The hardness of her face departed, and the look in her eyes softened as he gave her a nod of approval. Then the lift came to its destination, and the orcs stepped off onto the rock ledge. They continued their descent down the various lifts until they reached the busy port floor.
The harbor was busy as every orc, human, and beast that had survived the siege tried to cram their way onto the nine long wooden ships. Minimal supplies were brought because these fishing ships just did not have the room. Theros and Ogron each took up oars once they boarded the vessels, and joined the others in rowing the galleys out of the harbor through the port’s narrow fjord. Soon the ships were out on the open waters of the northern seas. For now, they would say good-bye to their home and sail to the east.
22 Long Arm of the Lawless
Ekrin climbed the steps, working his way toward the top of the great stone temple. Long raven hair draped past his shoulders and down over the dark purple robe that flowed behind him. His eyes were fixed upon the winged shadow that descended upon the temple. The afternoon sky darkened as the black dragon drifted toward him. The fire in the beasts eyes grew brighter and larger, and the frozen chill of death rushed over the high priest. His master had returned.
“Welcome home, Great Slayvin,” announced Ekrin as he bowed low out of obligation.
The clawed feet of the dragon touched down as he landed. Then he spoke, “Dar Mar’Kren has fallen.”
“Who can stand against the might of the black dragon?” asked the high priest rhetorically.
“No one,” roared the dragon as he spewed fire into the air in a prideful display of power.
“What is next, my dark master?” he asked.
“We have dealt major blows to all our major threats. The elves have been crushed, the orcs driven from their homes. The land of Nashia burned to the ground, and the Minotaur should have crushed the human resistance in the Sky Reach Mountains by now,” recounted Slayvin. “We have suffered many casualties though, and we need to…restock.”
“Excellent work, my lord. What is your command?” inquired the servant.
“We must gather some…volunteers. Now that the major kingdoms of orc, dwarf, elf, and man have been crushed, we should be able to freely recruit from the outlying cities and villages. Gather everyone able to wield a sword,” instructed the dragon.
“And those that can’t or won’t?” questioned Ekrin.
“Kill them,” snapped with dragon with scorn.
“Yes, my lord,” the unholy cleric acquiesced as he turned to depart.
The shadow drake’s menacing eyes blazed with swirling flames as he spoke again. “There is another matter. A certain parasite seems to think that they have gone unnoticed. But nothing is unseen under the watchful eye of the shadow. The Unveiled Eye believes they can stop us from ushering in a new age of darkness! We will devour these fleas.”
“Send a war party?” asked Ekrin.
“Yes, but not our own,” answered the dragon.
“Who then?” asked the high priest.
Slayvin’s response came with an affirming nod. “It is time.”
“You want me to call upon…them?” asked Ekrin as he verified the command.
“Let them know our…offer. I will make my appearance at Um’batri and secure their services,” issued Slayvin before continuing. “Then I have other matters to attend to.”
The high priest walked away in silent acknowledgement. Chills ran down his spine at the thought of his assignment. He wondered what other matters his master might have been referring to, but somehow he suspected that he did not want to know. He descended the long stone stair, and vile and repulsive images filled his mind. He had no choices in the matter. This was a task that was better suited for someone else to carry out, he thought, but it was his alone. He would issue the command for the armies to scourge the known towns and villages across the countryside first, if only to delay his task a few more moments.
As he reached the street level, Ekrin walked off toward his own home on the western side of the great temple. His home was huge. The palatial grounds were dark and desolate, and closely resembled a fortress of solitude or a stone prison rather than the grand home of the highest-ranking official in all of Karthusa. He walked into the estate that had once belonged to Karthull IV, the fallen king of Karthusa.
Karthull IV was a righteous man who ruled his kingdom with gentleness. Ekrin remembered the king’s smile and the purity that lived in his heart. It was the same smile the king gave him right before he died. It was that weakness that had forced Ekrin to bury his dagger in the king’s stomach. It was necessary to cull the weak so the strong could thrive. He would never forget the days of his ambitious youth, even if he wanted to. Those days were so long ago, but it felt like yesterday. The king’s smi
le and his words still haunted him.
“My brother…not you too,” he had gasped as he went into shock. “Don’t let the darkness take you! It’s never too late.” The blood spilled out of his wound as he clutched Ekrin’s robes. “I have always loved you… brother. I forgive you…”
His hands loosed their grip and fell away, and his still-warm body slumped to the reddened marble floor.
Ekrin dropped down to one knee on the still-stained floor and whispered, “I am sorry, brother, I cannot accept your gift,” as he wiped a single teardrop from his eye, just as he had done sixty years ago.
He walked across the room to the mantel near the open balcony at the rear of the master suite. He picked up the jewel encrusted dagger of his priestly order, the same traitorous blade that had stolen the life of his brother, and slid it through the belt on his robe. Then he quickly departed the mansion and went out into the palatial grounds. The jungle was encroaching upon the grounds, as it was wildly overgrown. There he stood, and after placing two fingers in his mouth, he let out an ear-piercing whistle. A crashing sound erupted from the dense foliage before him before a massive beast leapt through the bushes.
There before him stood a panting jagrel. The muscled beast had a very broad chest and shoulders covered with bright white fur, as were all four legs. Much of the creature’s body resembled the jaguar in shape, with golden brown fur dotted with flecks of black coloring the sides and the back of the beast. A tall ridge of hair ran down from the beast’s short mane on its head and neck to its hindquarters. The head of the large creature carried the markings of a snow leopard, but it was the size of a young lion, and four rolling horns protruded from the furry forehead. The lower jaw of the beast hung open as it took deep breaths, revealing two rows of flesh-rending teeth. It was a gorgeous and frightening creature to behold.
“Vratle mirtokh!” barked the priest in a foreign tongue.
At his command, the creature dropped down to the ground, lying obediently before him.
“Good girl, Tawny,” he said as he stood over the still animal. “Kiruk!”
At his last command, she slowly stood up to her full height, lifting her rider off the ground. Grasping the rearmost set of horns, he urged her toward the streets of Karthusa. The jagrel leapt forward without delay, moving with frightening speed. They raced through the streets toward the nearest Drakari temple.
It was only moments before he reached the city’s westernmost temple. At his arrival, the red-robed servitor priests scrambled to greet the head of their order.
Ignoring their greetings, he shouted orders to them, “Contact Colonel Jun and have him evangelize the outlying cities and villages to the south of the wilds. They are to check every port, harbor, mountainside town, farmstead, and every fishing village.”
“Find them all. Deliver this message—serve the black dragon or die. Go now!”
He did not wait for their response. Instead, he urged his jagrel westward out of the streets of Karthusa and into the jungle. While he disappeared into the dense foliage, the Drakari priests scrambled to heed the high priest’s command.
“Darrick, deliver the high priest’s orders to the commander of the armies,” delegated the senior elder priest.
“Yes, sir,” replied the young acolyte as he dashed off toward the War Master Hall.
Fortunately for him, it was not far away, as it was also in the western end of the city. Darting through the streets, the nimble youth found his way to the hall, and the guards gave him entrance. He was breathless once he reached the top of the stairs. He stood before the commander of the armies, fighting to regain his breath and composure.
Then the imposing presence of the commander struck him. The swarthy man towered above him, staring down with beady green eyes. Short but thick black hair naturally rose into a series of spiky points, and a swath of blackened scaly skin stretched diagonally across the lower half of his face. Black iron wings rose threateningly from the massive pauldrons that covered his shoulders. The cloak the hung off the back of his armor was bright red and displayed the crest of the black dragon. His chest was tightly armored with layers of scaled plate mail. His lower body was layered with more iron plates that covered the black steel mesh below. Reaching over, Jun picked up the curved two-handed sword from the table. It was formed in the shaped of a dragon’s talon. Every piece of his draconic regalia paid tribute to his master.
“What is it, priest?” growled Colonel Jun.
“High Priest Ekrin is sending us to proselytize the remaining people of Southern Darnisi,” reported the disciple.
“Then we will march to the eastern coast. We will depart from the Kiyai River road. Have your priests ready to move out in one hour,” ordered Jun.
The priest took the commander’s instruction and ran out of the room. He hopped down the flight of stairs, clumsily stumbling at the bottom before he tumbled to the ground. The nearby guards laughed as the impetuous young man scrambled to his feet. Then without further delay, he rushed out the door and disappeared out the gate and down the road.
The thud of the heavy boots landing on the wooden steps behind them startled the guards, prematurely ending their laughter. The two guards snapped to attention. The rattle of the colonel’s heavily armored body echoed through the lower hall.
“Assemble the evangelists. We leave in an hour,” ordered the colonel.
“Yes, sir,” they both shouted before rushing out of the room.
The brooding figure walked out of the hall and started up the street toward the stables. Citizens and soldiers alike scurried out of his way as he walked. His face was hard and cold. From the furrowed brow to the clenched jaw, the darkness within him could not go unnoticed. His long strides covered ground effortlessly. The long, curved blade rested upon his shoulder, and the red cloak flew in his wake.
As he reached his destination, the stable boy wisely greeted him with his horse, which was saddled and ready to go. The young boy stared at the dark champion with awe. Saying nothing, the colonel slowly slid the long blade into the scabbard that hung at the steed’s side. Placing his foot in the left stirrup, he then reached up and grabbed the saddle horn. Pulling the great weight of his armored body up, he swung his right leg over the saddle until he was securely seated. From atop the horse, he looked down on the poor stable boy with both disgust and pity.
“From a poor family, he wants to carve out a life for himself, escaping his birthright. He wants to climb the ranks of the army to gain respect, power, freedom,” said Jun as he locked eyes with the boy. “That’s your story, right?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the boy fearfully.
“It’s a fool’s dream. Choose another life, boy,” he stated coldly.
Timidly the boy asked, “Was that not your dream too?”
Displaying the first sign of weakness, the commander let out a deep sigh and said, “It was.”
“You should be proud of yourself. You got everything you ever wanted!” shouted the boy excitedly.
“It came with far more than I ever imagined—a hefty price, one that could not be paid in three lifetimes,” gravely replied the commander. “No, kid, go write your own story.”
As he turned his horse away from the stable, Jun grabbed a small black velvet coin purse and tossed it to the boy. Without another word, he rode away. The stable boy didn’t know how to respond, and he just stood there silently as he watched the tormented rider trot away. The young man eagerly untied the string. Inside he found a small pile of golden coins, easily worth several times his yearly wage. He turned to look at his benefactor again, but he was gone.
The hour’s remaining minutes did not linger. Instead they evaporated into the moist jungle air. The commander’s black saddle was strapped to the back of a brown stallion. That is where he sat as he oversaw the assembled force. The war party was broken into small detachments. Each one had anywhere from twelve to twenty-five soldiers and two or three Drakari priests. These soldiers were different from the forces that led all
the attacks. They wore long black robes that were overlaid with snug bright red decorative vests that flared out beyond their shoulders. They wore no armor, and their faces were uncovered, exposing their beautiful faces and their flowing hair. It was no coincidence that all the soldiers in this army were exclusively female. The robes of the priesthood were different, but they all shared the same bright blood red coloring with black trim and the embroidered markings of the black dragon.
The commander sat above the assembled forces and gave them their marching orders. The detachments would spread out and hit the villages and farms and towns all along the coast to their first major stop, Port Harlan.
The largest detachment was led by Colonel Jun. They happened upon a small farming community just to the south of the Shaillone Peninsula. The pretty voices and faces of the young women led the way as they descended upon the coastal town. Their songs heralded their arrival. The singing finished as the audience of townsfolk gathered together. Then the priests went to work.
“Brothers and sisters, Aurion is about to be cast into total war, and an evil is now spreading through all of Darnisi. But we come from Karthusa to bring you good news,” proclaimed the priest. “The great dragon Slayvin has sent us to extend his mercy to you. He invites you all—men, women, and children—to come find safety in the shadow of his wings.”
“War? What war?” shouted one of the villagers.
“Elves, orcs, dwarves, and now even humans have been slain. Shaillone, just to the north, lies in ruins. We must band together to stand against the forces that would ravage our land,” cried out a second priest.
“What dragon has ever been merciful?” asked one of the women in the village.
“Master Slayvin has long lived peacefully among our people, offering his wisdom and protection to all the children of Karthusa,” chimed in the first priest.
Another voice from the village asked, “And if we don’t accept this dragon’s mercy?”
“It is your choice. But if you stay here, we cannot promise your safety,” answered the first priest again.
