~ The Redemption Cycle ~
PASSAGE TO GLORY
~ Part Two of the Redemption Cycle ~
By Jack Ryan Lawrence
Prologue
Knives in the Dark
Zurdagg is no more.
Dreadful things follow when there are quarrels between the tribes of any family. You cannot expect things to play out smoothly when Doom has been signed upon a parchment of leathery paper – signed in the writers own blood! Let them agree to disagree on the subject of this matter, and therefore slaughter one another’s people until the throat of every noble member of either branch has been slit in the shadows of this most shadowy world. Disagreements are an unavoidable thing, as death is an unavoidable nature. Take the Zurdagg branch for example, and Lord Hestage Swildagg.
The Zurdagg branch is no more because of their own foolishness and pride. Their strengths were turned against them, as some would say, and no one can easily escape their might when it has all been turned into vipers. They spun webs of deceit all their life, steadily gaining more and more power with each passing decade, until, at last, they trapped themselves into a corner.
No god, no deity, would stretch forth its power to save those who have become their own gods.
The all great and all powerful Urden’Dagg knew this as well as anyone, and would therefore withhold its hand in the matter of gathering power that The Followers were so fond of. It had every right to stay its power. Zurdagg needed to learn a lesson. They needed to lessen their boasting. What better way was there to teach a lesson if not by example? Let them agree to disagree, and let all those within sight and hearing witness the negative power of lust.
A secret was brewed. Whispers were repeated in the darkness of the shadow realms. A knife flashed wickedly beneath a concealing cowl. The innocent die and the lords of lust rise before they fall beside them. Only one shall grin, but it is only that grin, that mocking laughter of a thousand people screaming their last breaths of life before death, which truly wins the hour.
This is a world where the dead speak louder then the living. This is a world where corpses are more lively then warm bodies. A world where there is only darkness, only shadows where the knives of the lustful, of the jealous, can easily find their way into your back or beneath that concealing cowl of purple silk. You walk over the corpse of your murdered enemy, examine their fine features, and see to your utter horror that they are smiling… still smiling.
Zurdagg is no more!
Book One
The Weight of Glory
It is interesting and frightening all at the same time, that when I look into my reflection I see not only the lord of my people, but also the captain who shall lead them to their doom. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many oaths I make or promises I have kept, I cannot put aside the disturbing sensation that I am doing something dreadfully wrong. This adamant armor cannot protect me for long. These finely crafted blades cannot hope to keep them at bay long enough for my people to escape. The links in my armor shall eventually break, and the edge on my swords shall dull as well. Too much stress on one part shall shatter the rest, and I shall fall with claws in my face.
I compare this to a kingdom: A strong lordship is held together like the links in a mail shirt. Each crafted piece is placed together in a way so that they hold as long as the others hold to the others. One misplaced link could break, bringing the whole if it down with it. Too much stress on a single link shall carry out the same effect, leaving a gap open for the enemy’s sword to cut a clean slash. A people must hold together as one in order to stop that swinging cut. We must hold tight to one another’s trust, lend one another our strength in arms, and stand where we stand. A single misplacement, one misunderstanding, will destroy us all.
There is no satisfaction in the shedding of one another’s blood. Only death is rewarded for those efforts.
We must understand ourselves as much as one another. Remember this, my people, and never forget what I have taught you in my last hours. These are the final words of a lord, a captain, a teacher who has placed his dying faith upon the shoulders of a young apprentice whom, beyond any doubt in my weary mind, is strong enough to bare the burden.
Bare it, I beg you! Do not falter under the weight of glory, for it shall reward you well in the end. I cannot promise you a glorious life, but I can promise you a glorious end, if you but carry this burden the rest of the way for our people. Of every lesson I have taught you, may this be the one you hold closest to your heart.
Spread the word of hope! Spread the word of glory!
– Dril’ead Vulzdagg
1
Number the Dead
Flames continued to lick at the shattered stones lying scattered across the ruined streets of Vulzdagg. Fumes of smoke bellowed out from beneath crumbled buildings such as barracks, stables, or the stalagmite structured homes of the commoners of Vulzdagg. It had been a dreadful battle, ending with many slain by the various monsters of the lesser realm. If cruel were the creatures of the shadow realm, crueler still were those lying beneath in the underworld of the underworld; waiting for the opportunity where they might wreak havoc across the civilizations of The Followers.
A passage into that lesser place was made open in the very center of the Vulzdagg complex, and all those monsters waiting for that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity poured out at the call of the Demon Fire. A light had blazed above the heads of the Vulzdagg people, brightening that hidden place far above their brows, and acting as a beacon for all hungry monsters of the underworld. Such was the Demon Fire.
Vulzdagg had gotten more than they had bargained for at the cost of their destroying Zurdagg. It seemed to some that the Urden’Dagg had taken action against Vulzdagg, had acted in punishment by bringing forth the creatures of the underworld against that single city. There was no fault in assuming so, for many believed that to be the cause, and those that did not believe still nodded their heads in private contemplation. However, there were those among the citizens of Vulzdagg that knew the truth behind it all.
The nobles of Vulzdagg, and those that they allowed the dire secret to be shared with, knew and remembered that not all of the nobles of Zurdagg had been slain the day of its fall. One lone survivor was known to them. Matron Maaha Zurdagg lived to enact revenge upon those that disowned her power and authority. She had gotten more then she bargained for when allowing Vulzdagg enough information and time to destroy her kingly lord. The entire branch of Zurdagg was ruined at the cost of gaining all the power within her city.
Was Maaha satisfied with her earnings? Of course not; pride and lust tend to be ever reaching, ever grasping at the opportunities one can gain. There is no satisfaction in the shedding of another’s blood, as Dril’ead would say; only death is rewarded for those efforts.
Dril’ead Vulzdagg, lord of the Vulzdagg branch, stooped and stumbled through the ruined streets of his once magnificent city. It was nothing now but a city of corpses. He pulled aside broken stones that had shattered from the crumbling buildings, and looked under each one for the mangled body of a fallen comrade, or one who will be crippled for the rest of his or her life. He saw nothing as he moved the stone aside, and so stood again and moved to the next pile of broken bricks.
Nearly every structure in the city was groaning upon its foundations. The attack from the lesser realms had been devastating, and the defense of the city had cost the people much in many ways.
“May the Urden’Dagg bless us,” a soldier muttered as she limped about in search with Dril’ead.
“There are no blessings for those who stand idly and allow his people to fall beneath him in frantic
survival needs and purposes.” Dril’ead did not look at the fighter at his side, but continued to stoop about, moving bricks and looking into the darkened windows of structures.
The soldier looked at him strangely, pondering what he meant by those words. She shrugged and continued to search about and listen for the sounds of dying groans.
A bell sounded behind them in the direction of the citadel, clamoring once . . . twice . . . thrice, and continued on until the newly discovered lifeless corpse had been laid aside. The soldier looked over her shoulder toward the stalagmite castle, now dented and blackened with ash from the furious fray, and frowned as she heard the last echo fade into the distant caverns.
“That would be at least a hundred souls lost,” she said as much to herself as to Dril’ead. “There may be some ten more to count when our search is through. I grieve to learn of the death of my family, and also those of my friends.”
“Friends and family alike; we are all family,” Dril’ead said to her. He looked sidelong at the dirtied female, his eyes baring weariness and sorrow. “We all are of the name of Vulzdagg. We are all family.”
She lowered her head at his proclamation. “Then let us unbury our family to give them a proper burial.”
Dril’ead nodded his agreement. They walked forward, away from the citadel as they moved larger stones aside and searched within and around every structure they passed. The buildings that were completely crumbled, or not accessible, they had to leave behind. The wizards of the city would enact a deeper search with their magic abilities, but at the moment were tending to those wounded that were brought to them in the Circle of Power – a chamber in the citadel.
Dril’ead was with those able to search-out and find the ones that were unable to move or speak. Many found survivors and were able to save them before death, while others reached them only in time to witness their last dying breath.
Dril’ead removed a cracked stone from where it had broken, with many others, from its place in the foundation of a barracks. As the stone rolled aside he saw a face, dusted and bleeding, lying upon its side. From the shoulders down the person was buried beneath the stones of the smashed building, but even with that much buried, Dril could see his chest slowly fall and the rise again.
Dril called to his searching companion as he began to pull more rocks away, and she began just as furiously to uncover the injured victim of war. As the rocks were cast aside, and the whole body of the broken form was revealed, the two Followers saw that he was hardly a child. The pale face was so relaxed it almost appeared without life, the glyph on his brow symbolizing his station as a common warrior of Vulzdagg.
“So young, like children they are when beginning the art of battle,” Dril said to himself as he examined the face of the boy. With sudden recognition he put his palm to the childish forehead and spoke in a commanding voice, saying, “Nelastro, if you can hear and understand my word, if you remain among the living; then rise, child of the basilisk!”
The young fighter stirred at the command. That was all they received in response, but that was all Dril needed in order to know that he was alive for certain. He gently slipped one arm beneath the neck of Nelastro and another under his legs, and lifted him from the dusty ground.
“I go to the Circle of Power,” Dril said to his companion. He turned round and began toward the citadel with Nelastro of Vulzdagg in his arms.
*****
Dril’ead was a teacher of the art of melee fighting. He was perhaps the most skilled among the citizens of Vulzdagg in his prowess with his scimitars. He was a teacher, having taught and mentored every Follower of the Branch of Vulzdagg able to bare arms from the time they were strong enough to lift a blade and until the day they fell in battle.
Magic was not among the many skills of Dril. Though he knew the proper uses of the ability, he never found it among his design to master. Skills concerning incantations and spell books were for those known as the mages or wizards, and such a class was not fitting for Dril’ead Vulzdagg. The lord of Vulzdagg was a fighter, a warrior and protector of his people and the realm of the Urden’Dagg.
The perfectly balanced weight of each scimitar in his tentative hands was all that lord required for him to feel safe and secure with the defense of his city. To watch his knowledge pass into each student who came to him was enough to allow him rest during the night. His people would last, they had to last, if Dril’ead did not; and to pass on the knowledge and legacy of respected warriors was all he wanted, all he needed, and all he prayed his people would receive and keep to pass on to their children after him.
He felt his life slowly slipping away with each passing day. The strength of his arms felt as if it were seeping away as the guilt, the grief, and the separation of a thousand faithful soldiers came upon his wearied mind. It seemed to the lord of Vulzdagg that with every lesson taught, and every student gaining more and more knowledge from his, he was giving away pieces of his own life.
This was his life. This was his purpose in walking the tunnels of the underworld; to call upon himself the duties of fighting the monsters that destroyed the souls of those he loved. Dril’ead was borne to fight, borne to defend, and destined to conquer whatever evil was spreading throughout the hearts of his fellow beings, if not in his own. There was no greater joy felt in the heart of Dril’ead Vulzdagg then that of watching the young of his people take up arms and train day by day in preparation of the one day – the day that their strength of both body and mind were to be put to the test in the defense of their souls. They would conquer. Dril’ead believed in them.
The master smiled as he watched the boys and the girls of the Vulzdagg name take up their chosen weapons and go at one another in their regular practice sessions. Each one of them was borne, raised, and brought up in the understanding of their purpose here in the branch of Vulzdagg. They were all heralds of Vulzdagg, carrying forth its banner to the separate parts of the shadow realms with pride. They would carry the name of their people, of their fathers and their mothers, sisters and brothers, until the final day when the flames shall rise to receive them back into the ash.
Vulzdagg would live on, if not in reality than in memory. Such an attack that had come from the lesser realms would not happen again. More then enough of his peoples’ blood had been shed on that dreadful day, at least two weeks ago. He would keep his students busy during the days of cleaning that terrible mess, and prepare them for the next possible attack.
“Death comes once in a lifetime,” Dril’ead told them all as he walked between each pair of students. They fought with makeshift weapons, designed for such practice sessions that Dril instructed. “Let us take advantage of the moment of battle. Let our deaths be one of honor.”
He turned to watch as two boys and a girl went at each other with shields and makeshift swords, spinning in and diving out of the thrusts and jabs of their opponents repeated attacks. One tripped over his own boots, falling to his back as the other two crashed together in furious play.
The girl ducked and spun beneath her opponents’ defense and jabbed with a quick thrust at his ribs. The boy stumbled aside as he felt the attack, making way for her as she spun upon the tripped boy and placed a knock against his head with her weapon. The boy, halfway sitting up, fell back over and lay there, exhausted by the exercise.
Dril’ead smiled, offering his apprentice a hand. “You did well,” he said encouragingly as he pulled him back onto his feet. “Defeat is not the end, nor is success. Always remember that the way you win is the more important, and that an honorable death is better then all. Death comes once in a lifetime!” he patted the student on the shoulder as he dismissed him to continue his training.
Dril stood straighter as he looked about the training courters. Group training was always a busy session for everyone. At least thirty students were present, the others taking their turn cleaning up the mess in the streets of their city. Buildings would have to be restored to frame, and lingering lives nursed back to health by the mages. N
o mage was present at the group training this day, or perhaps for the next few weeks. They would all be busy healing those wounded.
A guard stood in the entrance of the wide chamber the students of Dril’ead practiced. Dril saw him, and as their eyes met the guard motioned for him to come near.
Dril’ead wound his way through the groups of combatants until he stood before the guard. “What is it?” he inquired.
The guard straightened before his lord, bowing his head before speaking. “A wounded soldier has requested your presence, my lord.”
Dril nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the activities behind him. He focused a nod to an adult fighter standing with his back to the far wall. The soldier stepped forward into the center of the room, going about each group as Dril had.
“I come when I am bidden,” Dril said to the guard, turning away from the group training as his substitute instructor took his place among the students.
The guard turned round, indicating Dril’ead to follow as he walked into the corridor outside the large training chamber. The two of them walked through the straight passage before them until coming to a wide staircase that meandered down to their left. They began down the staircase, taking each step gingerly but hastily.
Stepping from the last step of the four tortuous stairways, the pair of Followers turned sharply to their right and into a narrow corridor that turned them once again to the right. They followed this corridor through the passage of the noble Vulzdagg chambers until entering into a wider chamber; the anteroom of the courtroom.
Stone benches lined the walls on either side, each empty from any personnel as usual. Only a single guard stood against the wall with hands clasped in front of him. He nodded to Dril’ead as he made his way toward the small side door into the courtroom of Vulzdagg.
Passage to Glory: Part Two of the Redemption Cycle Page 1
