Chronos and the Rogue Hunters

by Edward Eck

  Copyright © 2018 Edward Eck

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Year of the Book

  135 Glen Avenue

  Glen Rock, Pennsylvania

  ISBN 13: 978-1-949150-04-9

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018945511

  Table of Contents

  1 The Dark Figure

  2 The Search Begins

  3 Recovery

  4 The Rogue Hunters

  5 Max, But Not

  6 A New Threat

  7 The Departure

  8 Norway

  9 An Unexpected Call

  10 Local Troubles

  11 The Cold North

  12 Dark Plans

  13 This is a Bad Idea

  14 Gioll

  15 Questions of the Past

  16 Yggdrasil

  17 Nido

  18 The Wendigo

  19 Taryn’s Escape

  20 Choosing Sides

  21 The Dwarves of Nidavellir

  22 Lost in the Woods

  23 The Search for Taryn

  24 The Impossible Items

  25 A Fiery End

  26 The Elves of Alfheim

  27 The Next Challenge

  28 The Answer is No

  29 Searching for Answers

  30 Gather the Troops

  31 The Lower Mines

  32 Giza

  33 Dinner with the Elves

  34 Journey of the Dead

  35 Ammut

  36 The Well of Urd

  37 The Immortal Ra

  38 The Challenge of Strength

  39 Attack on Ravenicon Castle

  40 Aftermath

  1 The Dark Figure

  The tunnel was dark with patchy light given off by torches every thirty feet. Barely large enough for a full grown ogre to pass, the ancient and worn rock walls appeared to go on forever. Every so often a drop of water could be heard splashing into a puddle somewhere in the distance.

  A solitary man in plain black robes trudged through the corridor. The air was damp and heavy as if all the weight of the city above pressed down upon him. Not even rats ventured to this place. A thin mist whisked around the uneven dirt floor while the stench of burnt flesh permeated every inch of the passageway.

  His cowl was pulled up over his head with his hands placed in the sleeve of the opposite arm. The depth of the hood allowed no light to reach his face. He wanted it that way. He dreaded reaching his destination and made no effort to increase his pace.

  When he neared the end of the tunnel, he could hear the rumbling of a great fire and the scent of brimstone was strong in the air. The robed man paused in the shadows and swallowed hard before entering the larger chamber. He knew what manner of creature dwelt in this place and of its power. To displease this individual meant instant death.

  He had already prepared what he would say. It wasn’t his fault things hadn’t gone as planned. He hadn’t even been present for the part of the mission that took place in Babylon. It was the failure of another who, fortunately for him, had already met his fate.

  The robed man took one final breath before stepping into the chamber. The space was a massive cavern almost the size of a gymnasium. Its ceiling rose fifty feet into the air. Hundreds of cauldrons burned with a fiery glow all around the perimeter. In the center was an earthen ring of jagged rock twenty feet in diameter, radiating unbearable heat. About ten feet below the edge of the formation sat red hot lava. The boiling magma pressed hard against a magical barrier which prevented it from rising into the chamber and incinerating everything. The lava’s glow helped light the cavern, revealing a huge pentagram on the ceiling above.

  Fog from the barrier rolled over the edges of the pit and covered the floor. At the far end of the chamber, flames reached twenty feet in the air and curled around a figure sitting on a huge throne. Its fiery silhouette was vaguely humanoid in form and at least ten feet tall when standing, while shapes to either side resembled huge wings.

  As the robed man began his slow procession across the chamber, smaller creatures dashed between and around the many cauldrons. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of what looked like skinny little imps no more than two feet tall with leathery wings. Almost reptilian, their long tails whipped around as they moved among the stalagmites.

  A sound from above caused the man to look up and see four large, human sized, bat-like creatures hanging from the ceiling. Their human heads with long white fangs glared down at him.

  Upon reaching the edge of a dais surrounding the throne of fire, the man knelt on one knee. He remained there unmoving, without a sound.

  The figure on the fiery throne also remained unmoving for many long minutes. “What happened?” it eventually spoke in a low booming voice. Its anger fueled the flames.

  “Frederick Von Woonst has released Tiamat,” replied the robed figure, “but the dragon goddess has since disappeared. As has Von Woonst. He obviously failed to convince her to attack the human population. I promise, I shall find him and destroy him myself.”

  The robed figure continued to kneel at the base of the dais nervously awaiting a response.

  “I was monitoring his progress. Von Woonst is already dead,” said the booming voice with a hint of pleasure. “The dragon was displeased with his commands and incinerated him. But you already knew this. And Cerberus?”

  The robed figure hesitated then pulled back his hood to reveal the aged and worried face of Malcolm. In his late forties and of African descent, Malcolm’s head was bald except for a dark goatee with a touch of grey. It had been his job to release Cerberus and he had also failed.

  He remembered the young water elemental sorcerer named Max who prevented him from completing his task. The boy had shoved Hades’ helm of darkness down the three-headed guard dog’s gullet. Stealing that helm had been Malcolm’s job—an act which would have freed the monster from the Underworld. Cerberus’ acidic saliva destroyed it though, forever thwarting the hound’s release from Hades’ spell.

  “My lord, I did as instructed.” Malcolm’s voice was shaky. “But there were three powerful sorcerers there from the Circle. I was outnumbered.” He stared at the floor in front of him, refusing to make eye contact with his master.

  The heat intensified with each excuse. “What of the Harpies, the Minotaur and Cerberus himself?” the dark voice grumbled from within the flames.

  “The Harpies and the Minotaur were worthless,” exclaimed Malcolm. “They barely did anything to assist me. I would have been better off with a team of water automatons.” A bead of perspiration ran down the side of his face. Malcolm knew he was lying, but he was frantic at this point. He didn’t want to meet the same end as Von Woonst.

  “If you were as poor a sorcerer as you are a liar, I would destroy you here and now,” bellowed the dark voice from within the flames.

  Malcolm shuttered at the accusation.

  “Fortunately for you, I still have need of your services,” the voice seethed. “Besides, the third operative was successful in releasing his target creature. The dragon will play her part when the time comes, though I would have preferred to have Cerberus with me for the coming war.”

  His master’s anger was great, but Malcolm was relieved to know he would be spared. He also knew if he failed again, his usefulness would quickly end. He could not afford to disappoint his master again. However, the fact he hadn’t known about a third operative did raise concerns in his mind.

  “Return to your for
tress for now,” commanded the voice. “I will summon you when I am ready for you to perform your next task.”

  The voice went silent and the flames around him increased, driving Malcolm back from the dais. He stumbled to his feet and quickly made his way back to the chamber entrance. The little demon-like creatures continued scampering around the cauldrons, stalking his departure. This made Malcolm even more nervous as he glanced from side to side watching them, preparing for an attack.

  Once Malcolm made it to the corridor, he quickly pulled up the hood of his robes. In the passage, he turned and paused for a moment. One of the smaller creatures had approached the throne of fire and knelt in anticipation of orders. The others scampered around the chamber excitedly.

  Malcolm heard the dark voice command, “Keep an eye on him. I don’t want another failure like the last time. My next move must succeed or things will become very difficult.”

  The figure within the flames then made a dismissive gesture with his right hand and the little imp-like creature quickly departed.

  “The wolf will keep them busy for now.”

  2 The Search Begins

  It was just after sunrise in the Painted Desert of Arizona. Long morning shadows gave the barren space an eerie feel. The sheer majesty of the ancient mountains with their vivid mineral colorations made the desert look more like broad brush strokes on an artist’s canvas.

  A battered red pickup drove down an old dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust and disrupting the quiet peace of a new day. Its engine ran rough and the exhaust blew clouds of white smoke. When it pulled into a nearby gas station, the driver jumped out and ran inside, looking quite anxious with his knees pressed firmly together.

  The owner just sat behind the register in tattered overalls and a stained t-shirt. He lifted the rim of his red baseball cap to get a better look at Old Bob—a regular customer, overweight and obviously in need of a shower. Anyone could tell from his awkward stance he was looking for the bathroom.

  The owner tossed him the restroom key and smiled as he watched Bob run to the back of the store as quickly as possible.

  But when Bob opened the restroom door, two people seemingly stepped out of the mirror and landed right in the middle of the tiny room. Bob clearly forgot about bodily needs as he stood with mouth agape, a wet spot running down one leg of his jeans.

  Bob then barreled through the store knocking over racks and almost crashing into the glass door on his way out. Confused by the sudden departure, the owner rushed to the restroom to find a man in his late forties and a girl in her early twenties, each carrying a small backpack. The man looked like a character from an old western movie wearing blue jeans and a button-down tan shirt with a brown leather trench coat, cowboy hat and boots. The girl looked out of place as well, but in an entirely different way. She wore a black leather trench coat over skin tight black leather pants and a black shirt with one too many buttons undone.

  The station owner was riveted by her long, bright red ponytail and dark sunglasses. “Where did you two come from?” he asked, lifting his cap and scratching a bald spot on the back of his head.

  “Ah,” said Vincent. “We’re new in town. You wouldn’t happen to know where we could rent a vehicle?”

  The station owner just stood there staring with his hands on his hips. He bit his lower lip as he raised a single eyebrow. “Ya got any money on ya?”

  Vincent reached into his pocket and pulled out a very fat money clip.

  The owner’s eyes lit up as his attention shifted to the neatly folded cash. A big grin spread across his face. “I got an old Jeep out back I’ll sell ya for a thousand bucks.”

  Taryn watched as Vincent craned his neck in an effort to look out a back window. After straining his eyesight to no avail, Vincent placed the money clip back into his pocket with a polite smile. “Any chance I could see it first?”

  The grin faded when the money disappeared. The owner turned and waved for them to follow, then made his way out of the station and around the back.

  “She ain’t much ta look at, I’ll give ya that, but she’ll get ya where yer goin’.” He climbed into the Jeep and started it up.

  Taryn thought the tires looked to be in fair shape and the engine sounded good. It was grey except for the rust-red left front fender. There was no top other than rusty roll bars.

  “Five hundred,” said Vincent, circling the Jeep.

  The owner’s jaw dropped. “Naw, she’s a good Jeep. Make it nine hundred.”

  Taryn stood with her arms crossed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other while staring at the two of them over the top of her dark sunglasses.

  “Seven-fifty,” Vincent said with a grin. “Final offer.”

  Taryn could almost see the little gears in the man’s head turning.

  In an attempt to force his decision, she started walking away and called back with a slight Irish accent, “Ye be wastin’ too much time. I’m out of here.”

  When Vincent moved to follow, the station owner’s attention shifted yet again. “Okay, seven-fifty.”

  The two travelers stopped and turned around. With a smile, Vincent pulled out the money clip and began counting out the payment.

  Ten minutes later after filling up the tank, they were on their way with Taryn behind the wheel.

  “Ye would have given him five times that amount just so ye wouldn’t have to walk. Why haggle?”

  Vincent sat in the passenger seat scanning the horizon with a pair of binoculars. “I’ve always enjoyed negotiations and seeing how I no longer work for Malcolm, I’m probably out of a job at the investment firm.”

  He lowered the binoculars when they heard a rustling behind them.

  As he turned around, he asked, “Is your backpack alive?”

  “What?”

  “There’s something moving inside your backpack.”

  Taryn stopped the Jeep and they both climbed out, prepared for an attack. The pack continued to show movement, but nothing threatening.

  Taryn eased closer and opened it. When she did, a black cat climbed out leisurely and stretched. “Oh, it’s ye,” she said. “Well, I hope ye like the desert ’cause we’re not takin’ ye back to Ravenicon castle. Ye’ll just have to stay with us for now.”

  Vincent looked at Taryn, then at the cat, then back to Taryn. She realized he was trying to decide if she was losing her mind or if she was actually expecting the cat to understand her.

  “Something I should know about?”

  “He’s been sneakin’ around Ravenicon Castle for the past week,” said Taryn. “I’m not sure how or why but the cat seems to understand us. Sometimes I even think he’s tryin’ to talk to us, but we don’t understand cat.”

  The feline curled up in a ball on top of Taryn’s pack and looked like it was about to take a nap so Vincent and Taryn climbed back into the Jeep and started off again.

  “Based on the sketchy information from Meagan and Hank,” she said, “we should be headed toward the general area where they arrived from Hades. Can you see anythin’?”

  Meagan and Hank had narrowly escaped Hades, as did Max and Malcolm through an ice mirror—an unpredictable form of transport. Ending up in the clouds above the Painted Desert, they had almost fallen to their deaths if not for a levitation spell. Their hope was that Max too had appeared somewhere in the Painted Desert, but they had no idea where.

  Vincent put down the binoculars and cast a spell, “Searo te-yon maku.” He held out his hand perpendicular to the ground and moved it around in search of magical signs nearby. “Nothing yet,” he said.

  They had known this was not going to be an easy task. Trying to find Max in the middle of a desert was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack the size of New York City. And that’s if he was even still alive.

  3 Recovery

  Today, the training room was a long practice range, fifty feet wide and a hundred feet deep. The walls were the same grey stone as the rest of Ravenicon Castle. A fireball impacte
d the hovering target at the far end of the training room. Only two feet wide, the target now bore the customary scorch mark. Another fireball slammed into the bottom half of a different target, followed by a third just barely catching the top edge of the last target.

  A kick at the gravel floor stirred up a wisp of dust. “Ugh,” shouted Cyrus in frustration as he paced back and forth near the room’s entrance. His black hair was frazzled as sweat rolled down the back of his neck. He had been practicing for over two hours that morning with the fireball bracer Elisa had given him. The latest shots were by far his best attempt with two-foot targets at a distance of fifty feet, but it still didn’t please him. His sorcery couldn’t keep up with the elemental powers of his friends. He was determined to make sure at least his aim had unquestionable accuracy.

  It had been nearly forty-eight hours since their return from Babylon. Cyrus had been practicing almost every available minute after recovering from the poisoned spikes of a manticore. He wasn’t wearing the normal sweat suit, but instead had chosen blue jeans and a white sleeveless t-shirt, revealing his muscular frame from his high school days playing quarterback. A standard punching bag hung in the corner of the room. He took a few good jabs at it to relieve tension. He was exhausted from both the mental and physical exertion, but was determined to carry on with his practice.

  As he continued to pace, the door to the training room opened and Meagan walked in carrying a bottle of water. She was wearing her grey sweat suit and had her long curly blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. A bandage still covered the left temple of her forehead from injuries she sustained in the Greek Underworld.

  “You need to take a break,” she said, and handed him a bottle of water. “There may still be some after-effect from the poison. You’re not invincible. you know.”

  “I know,” replied Cyrus still a little disgusted with his practice session. “I just can’t help feeling like we failed in Babylon. No… like I failed in Babylon. Taryn and I were too easily captured when approaching the ziggurat. Then she almost died from heat in the underground passage, and Amber nearly followed trying to find Tiamat in the dark chamber. All I could do was get stuck by the poisoned spikes of a manticore.”