He studied the demolished volcano and his heart felt heavy. It wasn’t the loss of the battle that weighed upon him. He had lost wars before. Hamath Valley had been a particularly humiliating defeat. Then there had been the time that the young boy and the gnome had cornered him inside Demaverung. At least he had destroyed Valtuu Temple before fleeing the battle there.
He looked to the sky and cursed it. “Fools!” he shouted. “You will all burn.” His thoughts turned to Kendualdern, his former home world. Now it was nothing more than star dust. Terramyr was set on the same course, he knew. Without his guidance, there would be no redemption for Icadion’s world.
The dragon roared mightily, but the ground did not quake this time. In spirit, his power was greatly diminished. He had to think of a way to reverse the events that had taken place. He had watched helplessly as his precious spell was destroyed. Erik had done a fine job of mucking everything up.
Still, he was never one to admit defeat. He had waited centuries before, he could do it again. He had only to find the right tool to bring his plan back into existence. There was always a human or elf that was seeking the darker arts. He was sure he could find someone to corrupt, eventually.
He snarled and stared at the ruined volcano before him. He knew that beneath the hollowed shell of the once mighty mountain was a great pool of lava building up. Whether in centuries or eons, the volcano would rise again.
“So will I,” Tu’luh swore. “I will rise again. I have all eternity to find the way.”
“Tu’luh, you broke our bargain,” a voice boomed from behind, ripping Tu’luh from his thoughts.
The dragon wheeled around to see Khefir standing with a great scythe in his bony hands.
“Be gone, dog,” Tu’luh snapped.
Khefir laughed, his jaw clicking and clacking with each chuckle. The god shook his head and pointed a single finger at Tu’luh. “You swore that when Gulgarin finished his life, I would have claim on his soul.”
“Be gone!” Tu’luh repeated.
“I have brought a few visitors for you,” Khefir said. He waved his left hand and a massive rift tore through the air. Burning, red lines ripped the very fabric of the air away to reveal an army of thousands of orcs dressed in blood-red armor. Each of them held halberds and swords at the ready. Flames of blue and white encircled each blade. Behind them was the abominable plane of Hammenfein. Waves of heat danced over the orcish spirit soldiers.
“You think to fight me?” Tu’luh mocked. “I am an Ancient. I am the son of Hyasintar Kulai.”
“And I am a god,” Khefir replied. “Let me introduce you to one of my newest generals. A fiery portal opened on Khefir’s right-hand side. Through the opening stepped Maernok. The orc grinned wide and saluted Tu’luh.
“You should have resurrected me, dragon. Though it seems I will have a more pleasing battle now.”
Tu’luh growled. “I have a bargain,” he offered.
“Enough of your schemes,” Maernok said. “Khefir demands his soul,” he shouted to the soldiers around him. “Attack!”
The orcish spirit warriors poured in from the underworld, flooding Terramyr like a great sea of brimstone. Tu’luh roared and lunged at them. Even though he was a spirit, he was not without power. He batted dozens away with his tail, swatted scores with his claws, and even devoured a few souls in his mouth.
Tu’luh could hear Khefir’s laugh taunting him as the ever-charging ocean of orc spirits washed over him. It wasn’t long before they subdued him with golden chains that bound his snout shut, and tethered his wings tight to his back. Even his powers could not break the chains that held him.
Maernok climbed atop Tu’luh and drove a long, golden spike though his head. The pain seared the dragon so that he collapsed to the ground and all of his strength left him. The orc bent low to his ear and whispered something that the dragon could not quite understand. Rattling chains were then attached to the spike and Maernok pulled on them. The pain forced Tu’luh up to his feet.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Maernok asked Tu’luh. “Now you are my slave. I shall ride you into Hammenfein as my prize.”
Tu’luh cried out in protest, but a quick yank on the chains attached to the spike in his head shut his mouth.
“That is right, General Maernok,” Khefir said. “One must not let their steed have too much spirit. It is improper.”
Maernok bent his head low, bowing reverently to Khefir. “I understand, my lord. I will be sure to break this one quickly.”
Khefir laughed as the army pulled on the chains, dragging Tu’luh down to hell.
Epilogue
Jaleal stretched out his hand and grasped the brass knob on his door. The round, wooden portal squeaked as he pulled it out to him. The room inside was dark, and held a damp, musty odor inside. It seemed to the gnome that no one had bothered to air the place out during his absence.
That wasn’t surprising. Most of his folk didn’t even bother to welcome him back today either.
He entered and walked down the short flight of stairs to the main level inside. He lit the lantern hanging from the ceiling and then shook out the match’s flame. He looked around his home, watching the shadows play off the lantern as it spun upon its chain. A thick layer of dust had gathered atop the small table and chair in his dining area. Mold had all but consumed a plate that Jaleal could only guess had once held bread.
“Well, ma always told me to clean up after myself,” he said sarcastically as his eyes landed on the furry green and white glob growing on the table. “Guess she was right.” He turned and gently slid his mithril spear into a set of iron brackets adjacent to the doorway. Then he moved farther into his home, heading for his green velvet arm chair.
Something moved in the darkness. At first Jaleal thought it was a shadow, but the more his eyes adjusted to the room, he realized it was not a shadow, but a black boot sticking out from the armchair and set upon the footstool.
Jaleal circled around the chair. How could someone have taken his home already? That was not the gnome way.
As he moved around the side of the chair he saw a stout gnome with a long, white beard. The intruder’s hands were resting upon his slightly bulging belly and he was snoring softly.
Jaleal kicked the intruder’s feet from the footstool.
The other gnome woke with a start, snorting and jerking his hands out to the side to catch himself.
“What, what? Who is it?” The gnome looked up at Jaleal and then he smiled. “Oh, it’s you! I have ben waiting for you.”
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” Jaleal asked. Then he glanced over to the moldy plate on the table. Flustered, he pointed to it and shouted at the intruder. “And for Terra’s sake, how can you invade my home without the decency to clean up such a disgraceful mess?!”
The other gnome frowned and looked to the table. He shrugged. “I have only just arrived an hour or so ago. I would have cleaned if you had taken longer to return, I suppose.”
Jaleal grimaced and folded his arms over his chest. “Waiting for me? Why?”
The other gnome rose to his feet and bowed graciously. “I am Phinean, Sergeant of the Svetli’Tai Council of Svatal.”
“Svatal?” Jaleal repeated as he drew his brow together. “But, Svatal Island is many months by sea beyond the Barrier Reef, what could you possibly be doing here?”
Phinean shook his head. “No, by sea it would take more than a year to get to Svatal, and it would only work if the Barrier Reef were not enchanted into a great ring of fire that blocks all ships from entering or leaving that entire area.”
“You traveled more than a year to see me? Why?”
“Good heavens, no!” Phinean said quickly. “I used magic! I came as quickly as I could. It is a matter of the utmost urgency.”
Jaleal narrowed his eyes on Phinean. “What?” he barked. The warrior-gnome was quickly losing his patience.
Phinean pointed to the small sack slung over Jaleal’s left shoulder. “
He said you would have it. The Goresym, do you have it?”
Jaleal thought of the magical crystal tucked safely into his sack. How could Phinean know of it? More importantly, what did he want with it? Jaleal held out his left hand and Aeolbani, his magical mithril spear appeared in his palm. He gripped the weapon and leveled the point at Phinean’s throat. “You had better speak plainly, else I will end your nonsensical words.”
Phinean blanched. “Quite right,” he said with a slight nod. “Perhaps I should start from the beginning. I was sent to you by Jahre, he is the oldest and wisest of the elf sages on Svatal Island. He was there when King Lemork led a war to crush the Svetli’Tai race.” Phinean paused and waited for a reaction. Jaleal stood stoic. Phinean frowned. “King Lemork was a dark elf, a Tomni’Tai, a sister race of the Sierri’Tai dark elves.”
“I know who the Tomni’Tai are,” Jaleal said impatiently.
Phinean nodded, glancing nervously to the spear’s point aimed at his throat. “Well, did you know that King Lemork rode upon a black dragon in his war with the other elf races?” Again he paused, but again Jaleal didn’t respond. Phinean stamped a foot in frustration. “Oh, must I spell it out for you?! King Lemork rode upon one of the Ancients, the black dragon who shall not be named! He wielded a great sword fashioned from that very monster and nearly consumed the Elven Isles of Svatal and Xlemt in his rage and bloodlust.”
“When did this happen?” Jaleal asked, his tone now showing a bit more concern.
“Five hundred years ago,” Phinean responded.
“So why seek out the Goresym now?” Jaleal pressed.
“Because we need it!” Phinean said impatiently. “The sage, Jahre, said that a great wrrior, named Talon, will come from the continent north of Svatal. This man is more than a simple warrior though, he is a cunning assassin and has great potential for either good or evil. Jahre said that Talon will come to Svatal looking for powerful artifacts that could disrupt the balance of Terramyr.”
“How can one man do that?” Jaleal asked. In his mind he thought of each of the warlocks and wizards that Erik had fought with. Even they had to have the help of Tu’luh.
“Don’t you see?” Phinean asked. The fear was evident in his wide eyes and nervous fidgeting. “The assassin now wields Lemork’s sword. The black dragon is the Patron of Chaos. The sword is born out of the black dragon’s bone and as such, the weapon itself has a mind and power all its own. It will corrupt the warrior, and he will turn to use the power he attains to destroy everything around him. If he succeeds in finding the other sacred relics, then he will be unstoppable.”
“Why do you need me?” Jaleal pressed.
“Because, with the Goresym, we might be able to counter the sword’s magic and restore balance. If we can do that, then there is still hope for him, and hope for us.”
“And if we can’t restore balance?” Jaleal pressed.
Phinean shook his head. “Then we must kill Talon before he finds all of the relics. Otherwise, he will set Terramyr on a collision path with a terrible and dreadful power known only as the four horsemen.”
Jaleal stiffened. He had not expected that. He brought his spear away from Phinean and nodded slowly. “As a gnome, it is my duty to restore balance. More than that, as one of Terramyr’s races, I am honor-bound to defend her against all calamity. I know of a great warrior who would be useful to us. He too is struggling for a way to stop the arrival of the four horsemen.”
“Oh you can’t prevent them from coming,” Phinean said quickly. “But, if Talon succeeds in attaining all three relics, plus the sword, then they will come sooner, and we will never stand a chance. The world will be turned to ash, and Talon would help them do it.”
“Then we must go and get Erik, we need his power.”
Phinean shook his head. “There is no time! Talon may already have the Tomni’Tai Scroll, and if he were to get the King’s Ring and the key as well, then it will be too late. Come, we must go now!” Phinean reached out and took hold of Jaleal’s hand. A flash of blue and silver light washed over them, and then the room was empty again.
You can follow Talon’s adventures in the Netherworld Gate Series:
The Netherworld Gate Series:
The Tomni’Tai Scroll
The King’s Ring
Son of the Dragon
The Dragon’s Champion Series:
The Dragon’s Champion
The Warlock Senator
The Dragon’s Test
Erik and the Dragon
The Immortal Mystic
Return of the Dragon
The Dragons of Kendualdern:
Ascension
Other Novels:
Dimwater’s Dragon
Jonathan Haymaker
Short Story Anthology:
Tales from Terramyr
For the latest updates, follow Sam’s Author Page, Blog, Twitter @Author_SamFerg and Facebook
About the Author
Sam Ferguson is a fairly average guy.
That’s it.
No, really, that’s it.
Oh- you are actually reading this?
Well… the truth is that Sam is a very lucky guy. He juggles work in such a way that he makes sure to spend enough time with his loving wife and six sons. His goal is to make writing his fulltime career so he can have even more time with them (assuming they can handle having him around that much every day…). If he can carve out an extra hour for himself during the day, he’ll hit the gym to try and regain the body he used to have in his youth (but he eats too much junk food to ever accomplish that goal).
He spent nearly five years serving as a U.S. Diplomat and absolutely loved the experience, but decided to move back home. Outside of the U.S. he has lived in Latvia, Hungary, and Armenia. He speaks Russian, Hungarian, and Armenian. (He used to speak some Latvian too, but he has no one to practice with anymore…)
He also has two dogs.
He plays the Elder Scrolls series.
His favorite superhero is Wolverine, but Batman is a close second.
If the kids go to bed at a reasonable hour, he will cuddle up with his wife to watch Scrubs reruns, the Big Bang Theory, Castle, or Burn Notice.
See, really just an average guy after all.
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