The Eight Walls of Rogar: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Series! (The Lost Kingdoms of Laotswend Trilogy--Book One)

by Woodward, William

  “What will happen?” Andaris finally asked.

  “It will explode,” came the somewhat irritated reply. “It will open, what do you think?”

  It sure sounded like Gaven, and yet how could he be certain? “Okay, if it’s really you, then tell me who we’re looking for?”

  “You want the password?” inquired the voice. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Andaris said.

  “Well, let’s see, I can’t remember exactly, but it seems like her name rhymes with spade and means precious green stone. She’s got four legs and a furry behind that’s always in my business. Now come on, Andaris, quit fooling around and open the door.”

  Yep, that’s Gaven all right, he thought, reaching his hands forward. When he touched the rock, he experienced a most peculiar sensation. He felt as though someone, or something, were shuffling through his mind, flipping through his thoughts and memories as easily as a deck of cards. Suddenly fearful, he tried to pull away, but could not.

  There was a click and, with a grinding noise, the circle of stone at the end of the tunnel began to slide to his left, receding into the side of the wall. When Andaris removed his hands, he lost all memory of the mental shuffling. As far as he knew, the door had begun to open the instant he’d touched it. The waxing moon shone with a soft purplish light, banishing the gloom both in the tunnel, and in his heart.

  Fresh air blew from the other side, making the flames of the torch do a final wild dance before abruptly going out. Andaris looked up and grinned, for there was Gaven, standing there like he owned the place, the man in the moon with a wide smile on his face, his body bathed in the purplish light.

  “But what,” Andaris fumbled. “Where—”

  “There will be time for questions later,” Gaven said. “First, we need to wedge something in this opening before it closes again. Try your shovel.”

  Andaris placed the shovel’s point and handle into the channel in which the door would slide if it were closing, the point on the bottom left, the handle on the top right. The shovel had been forged as one solid piece of steel for durability on the battlefield. It would take a great deal to bend it, much less break it.

  “There,” Andaris said, handing the saddlebags and torch to Gaven. “That oughta hold her.”

  Gaven set these items to the side, grabbed his friend’s wrists, and pulled. As soon as Andaris’ feet were clear, the door started to close. The shovel slid in the upper and lower channels, scraping against the rock until, with a violent jerk, it slammed into place—defiant, rigid, and strong.

  The door strained to shut, pushing with mounting force. Andaris got to his feet, scarcely aware of how good it felt to be vertical again. They heard a metallic clunking from somewhere above, followed by a low, drawn out groan. The shovel was set aquiver as a tremor shot through the stone. The clunking grew louder, and more insistent. The floor vibrated with barely contained energy, at which time, to their astonishment, the shovel began to bow. At first only slightly, then by an inch or so. They took a step back. After all, the force required for even so modest a fluctuation staggered the mind.

  The struggle became static—two wrestlers locked in place, unmoving, straining with all their might. For several tense seconds it was unclear which would prevail, door or shovel. Then with an angry, “clunkity clunk!” from above, the door recessed back into the wall.

  “Hmph, now I know why I wasn’t able to pry it open,” Gaven said, his words touched with wonder. “See how fast it started to close after you were through? The same thing happened to me, except it did close. Thought it was gonna bite my foot off, the big stone mouth. Well, we showed it, didn’t we?”

  “Why’d you go through without signaling me?” Andaris asked.

  Gaven’s expression dimmed with shame. “Well, a few hours after you left I started to…you know, feel around a little. I couldn’t see anything. It was so dark, almost like there was no such thing as light…and never had been, if you know what I mean.”

  Andaris frowned, remembering all too well what he meant.

  “I had begun to imagine things, like you said I might, movement and such. I think it was worse because I was trapped. A captive audience, I guess you could say. I saw some pretty weird stuff, Andaris. Makes me wonder about myself, cause I know everything I saw was in my head, at least I hope it was. There was nothing for my eyes to do, so they started looking inward, like when you’re asleep.”

  Gaven sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t…quite as comfortable back there as I let on. Towards the end I really started to crack. There was this face, bulging out of the darkness like a nightmare, shaped of the darkness, its mouth and eyes vacant holes, connected by a flood of…I guess you could say…evil—glistening black blood flowing into the eye sockets and out of the mouth. It was crazy, to visualize something like that. I don’t know, I guess my mind was having as much trouble adjusting to the dark as my eyes. Speaking of which, Andaris, I want you to know that I have a new respect for what you went through. Must have taken a great deal of courage not to have lost your wits.”

  Becoming distracted by his surroundings, Andaris just nodded.

  “So anyway, trying to reassure myself that things were as I remembered, I started running my hands over the walls. You’re still here, I kept telling myself. Nothing has changed. Well, you can imagine my shock when that door slid open and I discovered this room. That’s when I signaled you. I meant to wait for you to get back before I went in, but I was getting this cramp. I just wanted to stretch my legs. How was I to know the door would shut so fast, and that I wouldn’t be able to open it from the other side?”

  Andaris had now become too distracted to respond. It wasn’t that he was disinterested in what Gaven was telling him. It was just that, at the moment, the room demanded his full attention. He felt compelled to admire it, unnaturally so, captivated by its unassuming beauty, by its quiet grace. It wasn’t until much later that he realized how peculiar this was. Gaven opened his mouth to say something else, and then began admiring the room, as well.

  The ceiling, walls, and floor were made of stone, the surface of each polished as smooth as a pebble at the bottom of a streambed. The domed ceiling loomed at least fifty feet above the floor. On the far wall was a large opening that led into another room. Above the opening’s peak, carved deep into the stone, was a symbol—a circle within a circle bisected by a vertical line.

  Andaris ran his hand over the floor and smiled. He had never experienced anything quite like it. It was cool to the touch and, in spite of its appearance, felt like metal. Gems of various colors and sizes winked at him from high up on the walls, some no doubt worth enough to make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. Veins of quartz and gold, perhaps even real gold, sparkled in the purplish light, a warm glow with no discernible source, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

  “Have you ever seen the like?” Andaris asked.

  “No. Can’t say that I have,” Gaven answered. “And there’s more…maybe much more. Through there.”

  “So what’s it all doing here? Who built it…and why?”

  Gaven’s forehead creased. “Good question. I’ve been wondering the same thing. I wish Ashel was here. He would know. He talked a lot about history. He used to go on about how magic was once as fundamental to us as the air we breathe and the water we drink. He said that long ago, when the world was young, it flowed through everyone and everything, like blood flows through our veins.

  There was this ancient civilization he used to talk about—the Lenay, or the Lenoy, something like that. They built these great underground cities. Historians have been searching for them for centuries. Most believe they’re a myth. Ashel though…he thought different. He said if we only believed in what we could see or hear…that we’d be closing ourselves off to what mattered most. He said the cities were real, but wouldn’t be found until they were ready to be found, almost like they were alive or something. I asked him what he meant by that. Of
course he just laced his fingers together, got a really condescending look on his face—you know the one—and said, ‘Gaven, how can I give you the answer to a question you have yet to ask?’ “

  Andaris raised his hand as if in class. “So…what are you saying? That we’ve succeeded where generations of historians have failed? That we’ve stumbled upon an entrance into one of these fabled cities?”

  Gaven shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it seems pretty far-fetched when you put it like that, but if not that, then what?”

  Andaris stepped to the opening on the other side of the room. The chamber into which the opening led was immense, lit by the same purplish glow. The ceiling of the chamber was so high it made his head swim. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the sound of dripping water. “This place is huge,” he said. “I wonder where the light comes from?”

  Gaven walked up behind him. “Andaris, how far did you get on your digging?”

  “Not as far as I would have liked,” he admitted. “It was pretty slow work. I got about ten feet out…then had to backtrack and tunnel to the right to keep away from the edge of the road. From there I started to dig up, up and to the west. I had only gone a few feet when I heard your signal.”

  Gaven nodded. “It seems to me there should be more than one entrance into here. The way we came was more like an escape route, a secret passage only to be used when the need is great. I say we find the real entrance. There must be one…for a place this size. No sense risking our hide in that hole if we don’t have to.”

  “I made the tunnel as small as I could,” Andaris pointed out, “for added strength. I don’t think it’ll collapse, but then who’s to say…it might. I’ve been wrong before.”

  Gaven glanced back to the opening of the tunnel with a grimace. “Even if we don’t find another way,” he said, “it’ll do us some good to stretch our legs. And besides, think of what Ashel would say if we turned our backs on something like this?”

  Andaris smiled at him. The big man looked like a merchant trying to sell a bottle of tonic out of the back of a wagon. “Well,” he laughed, “as long as we’re here, I guess there’s no harm in looking around a bit.”

  “Good,” replied Gaven, “I’m glad we agree. Now, I think the first thing we should do is find that water.”

  Andaris gestured for him to take the lead. “After you, good sir.”

  Gaven chuckled and walked through the opening.

  Monstrosities

  The Rogarians still held the outer wall, though at times only by the narrowest of margins. They’d spent the day locked in desperate combat, fending off wave after wave of enemy attacks, the ferocity of which escalated as the twilight hour approached.

  The king looked out over the swarming flesh with disgust. Three times the shapelings had gained a toehold on the wall, and three times they had been repelled, but no matter how many were killed, more took their places, marching without end from the curtain of mist.

  One thing Laris hadn’t counted on was the effectiveness of the monstrosities. They had been named for their appearance, gargantuan size accentuating gruesome features, making them, without question, the most monstrous creatures any of them had ever seen.

  Overlapping plates of armor protected the tops and sides of the monstrosities’ wide bodies. Their heads, which to Laris resembled giant walnuts, came almost to the middle of the wall. Square saddles, each capable of carrying scores of shapelings at a time, and each equipped with a telescoping ladder, were attached to the armor on their backs with rivets the size of dinner plates.

  When fully extended, these ladders could reach the battlements. Once there, because they were attached so firmly to the armor, they could not be cast off, which meant they had to either be hewn with long axes, or the monstrosity from which they rose had to be brought down. The ladders were constructed of a wood unfamiliar to the king, harder than oak, seemingly impervious to fire, each rung reinforced with iron bands. This made their destruction, even at the hands of broad-shouldered men with keen eyes and fierce swings, both difficult and time consuming—especially during the middle of an attack.

  Bringing the monstrosities down was no easy task either. No, far from it. In addition to being hideous to look upon, they were proving absurdly hardy. Laris supposed he should rejoice each time one fell. Instead, he felt only a vague sadness. One does not blame the mount for the actions of its rider, he reasoned. And he was convinced that’s what these creatures were, beasts of burden, gentle giants with no malice in their hearts.

  He had not come to this conclusion without cause. With the exception of the six that had died in the initial charge, the monstrosities had been docile to the extreme, walking calmly from the curtain into the fray, moving forward as though taking a leisurely stroll through tranquil environs, walnut heads occasionally turning to admire the countryside. On three separate occasions, one made it to the base of the wall, and in each case just stood there as it was showered with flaming arrows and cannon shot—a mountain of flesh rising from the churning sea, a loyal pet waiting patiently for its masters to extend their ladders and throw down their ropes.

  Why not use them to ram the wall again? Laris wondered. If four didn’t work, why not try more? Even if they don’t use them to ram…why send only four to six at a time? It would be a comfort to blame it on limited numbers. Unfortunately, Laris’ gut told him different. The Lost One was not being conservative out of necessity. He was just feeling them out, looking for weaknesses he could later exploit. Indeed, some believed the shapelings were being created on the other side of the curtain as fast as they were being exterminated on this side. Laris had told Elkar to do whatever it took to lower the barrier, for regardless of what was or was not happening over there, the seed of doubt sewn by their ignorance had planted itself deep into the soil of their minds. Unless something was done, it would soon grow into a great tree of fear, its stark branches casting a shadow over their hearts. Once again, the king had to grudgingly admire the Lost One’s strategic savvy. He was utterly insane. There was no doubt about that. The trouble was, he was also brilliant, his genius rivaled only by his capacity for doing evil.

  So far Rogar’s casualties had been light. But Laris knew the worse was yet to come. Even one life lost to these fiends is too many, he thought. This morning, he’d seen a young man—a boy really—killed by a winged shapeling that had come swooping in from the curtain to the wall. He’d later been told the boy’s name was Olaver. They’d shot many of these winged assassins out of the sky. The ones that made it through, however, always did damage, and always had a specific target. That particular assassin had been sent to kill Ironshield. Had Olaver not jumped in front of it at the last moment, it probably would have. The scene kept repeating in the king’s mind, irresistibly tragic.

  ***

  Ironshield spun around as Olaver cried out, as his handsome young face was sliced to ribbons. With a furious bellow, Ironshield severed the assassin’s malformed skull from its shoulders. The body took flight and, with a sudden flailing of dark wings, hurtled to the ground, crushing several of its earth-bound brethren. Olaver fell into Ironshield’s arms. The general eased him to the flagstones, cradling the back of his head in his hand, dabbing helplessly at his ruined face with a corner of his cloak. But there was too much blood. The veins in his neck had been sliced as well, pumping out his life with each beat of his young heart. Soon Ironshield’s lap was soaked red. Olaver convulsed, opened his mouth in a silent exclamation, and died—died so that Ironshield might live.

  ***

  From that point forward, the general had been like a man possessed, always the first to engage the enemy and the last to withdraw. He had never married, so had no sons of his own. He’d once told Laris that his children were the soldiers who served beneath him.

  One of the lookouts sounded their horn, jarring Laris from his reverie. The king’s eyes widened, for there, in the distance, slowly walking from the curtain of mist, were twelve lumbering shapes. My god, he though
t, feeling the last domino fall into place—the click one experiences when foresight becomes fact. That’s too many.

  “Ready all forward defenses!” he yelled. “Bring up the reserves! Concentrate fire on those monstrosities! They must not reach the wall!” When the creatures were in range, he lowered his arm, and the sky filled with cannon shot.

  Minutes later, the catapults began hurling Headcutters into the air, stone discs with circles cut out of their middles, each packed with scores of iron stars tied to braided twine. When the discs took flight, the stars unfurled behind them, resembling strands of hair attached to a broad head—hence the name. Because of the bloody mayhem left in their wake, and the shrieking made by the braids, they were also called Redheads.

  The ballistae sent forth long spears of oak and steel, a crude weapon which hadn’t changed design since Rogar’s inception, crude yet effective, especially at short distances. The archers lit the air with hundreds upon hundreds of flaming arrows, the vast majority striking, if not their desired target, something. The field literally swam with shapelings, making it almost impossible to miss.

  Within the hour, despite all their efforts, five of the beasts reached the wall. “I need fifty volunteers!” Laris shouted. “Fifty men to stand with me while the rest fall back!” Hundreds raised their hands—everyone, in fact, within the sound of his voice. Word traveled from one end of the wall to the other, increasing the count to thousands. Now, practically every man in sight had his hand raised. Some faces were stern, some were afraid, but all were proud.