Son of the Dragon (The Netherworld Gate Book 3)

by Sam Ferguson

  Alfrin’s mouth fell open and his eyes lost their fire. His hands dropped to his sides and he bent his head to the floor.

  “Sing the hymn,” the seraph commanded. “Sing the hymn proudly, so that Basei will accept your sacrifice.”

  Alfrin stammered at first, but as the khopesh swung slowly in front of his face and he felt the heat from the seraph’s wings come closer, he found the words and tilted his head up to the statue of his god and sang with all the strength he had left.

  Out in the fields of war,

  Our sword we draw for thee,

  Basei our God of War,

  Let your rage dwell in me.

  The blood of foes we spill,

  To conquer lands unknown,

  Though we bleed, help us still,

  So thy might may be shown.

  Basei our god, our rock,

  If we fail by our blades,

  And on thy door we knock,

  Lay us down in thy glades.

  Alfrin only barely finished the final verse before the khopesh lopped his head clean off. The seraph stuck his left hand out and uttered an incantation. A crimson mist rose from the wound and connected with the seraph’s hand as Alfrin’s life force was pulled from his body and absorbed into the seraph.

  After all of Alfrin’s strength was absorbed, the seraph touched the body once more with his blade. The body was consumed by fire that burned white and blue until there was nothing left but ash.

  The seraph turned and walked behind the statue. He rang a gong and then crossed into the astral plane before the young priest entered to clean the ashes from the floor.

  The seraph glided through a space of purple and blue mist. A silvery fog hung thick and cold in this plane, but it did not bother the seraph. This was the plane from whence he had been born centuries before. Flying on instinct rather than sight, the seraph followed a course that took him to a large expanse of broken rock and vents of fire and lava. In the middle of this expanse was a large throne made entirely of bones.

  Upon the throne sat Basei, the gargantuan demi-god of battle who had once been human. Basei was wearing his iron mask, hiding his face. His massive sword leaned against the left side of the throne, and a great shield hung on the right. Basei’s shoulders and arms were bedecked in spiked armor, but his torso was bare, proudly displaying scars won in battle. His legs were also well protected with thick armor. From a distance, he may have appeared to be made of the same stone as his statues, but the seraph knew better.

  The winged creature landed ten yards in front of Basei, and turned to an iron cauldron. The seraph placed his hands over the cauldron and the same crimson mist that he had absorbed from Alfrin flowed out from him and into the cauldron. More than that, there was energy and strength from several other sacrifices that had been made earlier in that day. After it was all placed into the cauldron, the seraph bowed his head and stepped away.

  Basei lurched forward, the ground shaking as he took two heavy steps toward the cauldron. His gargantuan hand reached out and picked the cauldron up by seizing the back rim. He tipped it to his mouth and drank deeply of the harvested strength and energy. A fiery glow enveloped the god of battle and Basei set the empty cauldron down with a clang.

  “Were there any souls worthy of the blessings they sought?” Basei asked in a low, growling voice.

  The seraph shook his head. “No,” he said quickly. “Though, I heard word of battles being fought north of Kobhir. Perhaps there you will find some sport.”

  Basei let out a pleased hum that sounded like a growl in his throat. “Soldiers?” Basei asked.

  The seraph bowed his head. “Some rebels, but mostly soldiers from what I heard.”

  Basei turned and grabbed his massive sword. He hoisted it up over his right shoulder and then turned back to the cauldron. He extended his left hand over the empty vessel and a black mist formed within, swirling and mixing until an image appeared in the middle. Basei uttered the incantations he used to enhance his scrying tools until he found a battle that suited him.

  “This one will do.”

  The seraph lifted his head only enough to see the formations converging on each other in the open desert. There were perhaps two hundred soldiers from each army. They were not yet charging, but they would be soon.

  “Are there any valiant followers?” the seraph asked as he stepped closer.

  Basei waved his hand over the image once more. As he did so, a crimson glow emanated from each of the four hundred souls about to fight. “Some are stronger than others, but there are no champions of Basei in this group,” Basei said with a disgusted snarl.

  Several pockets of yellow and gold dotted the crimson sea as they inspected closer.

  “Followers of the Old Gods,” the seraph noted.

  Basei let out a displeasured snarl. “They will die first. Then, I will sate my blade upon the lesser souls.”

  At that moment, another seraph flew in and landed near them.

  This one also had wings of fire, but the flames were blue.

  Basei turned to address the newcomer. “I am preparing for battle. Do you have anything I must see first?”

  The new seraph rose up and nodded grimly. “A battalion of orcs are marching upon your shrine in Hamathea. The priests stand ready to fight, but I came to offer you the chance of answering the offense personally.”

  “Orcs…” Basei left his cauldron and placed his sword down in front of him so that his hands rested upon the thick hilt. “How many?”

  “A group of three hundred. One hundred orc knights, and two hundred footmen.”

  Basei nodded. “Hamathea has always been a productive shrine. The offerings have been steady, and often times worthy of my attention. Besides, the orcs will provide better sport than the human battle I was going to visit. Tell my priests in Hamathea to stand outside the shrine. Let them witness their god in all of his glory as he wipes the foul orcs from the plane of the living.”

  The seraph bowed his head. “As you command.” His great, blue wings of fire flapped mightily, throwing the seraph into the air and sending him shooting back toward where he came from.

  Basei turned to the first seraph. “Perhaps I will visit these battles north of Kobhir at another time. Return to my High Temple. Gather more sacrifices. I will see you tomorrow.”

  The seraph bowed his head and flew back through the astral plane toward the High Temple.

  A great flash of light erupted over the rocky expanse and Basei travelled in a great fireball toward Hamathea.

  CHAPTER 9

  Talon crouched under a fallen yew tree. The entrance to a cave stood exactly where the map in the red book had depicted it. A pair of Kruk guards stood outside, watching for intruders. As Talon sat there watching, he noticed a third guard would appear every ten minutes, talk with the two guards out front, and then disappear back into the cave.

  It was a strange place for a cave, sitting atop a large mountain that dropped into sheer cliffs overlooking the sea below roughly four hundred yards beyond the cave entrance. The trees had been cleared away for fifty yards around the cave, allowing the Kruk guards an easy field of vision to spy attackers early.

  The assassin found himself wishing he had a bow. Still, he had the sword. Talon was grateful yet again for the absence of the distracting voice of the black dragon as he drew Drekk’hul from its sheath and considered which of its remaining powers to utilize in his first strike.

  Talon waited until the third guard appeared once more. Then, he counted to sixty after the guard disappeared inside. Talon summoned the dark, purple fog and darted for the startled Kruk guards. Their bodies were outlined with a soft, purple glow from within the fog, allowing Talon to target them while they groped around as if they were blind. They tried to sound the alarm, but the fog also muffled sound, making it impossible for any but Talon to hear them.

  A flick of his wrist sent a dagger into the first guard’s neck.

  Talon sprinted forward, leapt into the air, and brou
ght the sword down in a powerful chop that split the second Kruk in half from the top of his skull down through his groin. The two halves fell away from each other. Talon then wheeled on the first guard and cut off his head, just to be sure.

  The assassin sent the fog away and began to make his way through the tunnel. Knowing to expect traps as he made his way to the first of the barriers, Talon carefully surveyed every inch of the cave as he proceeded. Jahre’s book didn’t describe each of the traps that would be encountered, but it had at least mentioned that there would be various mechanical and magical obstacles. Talon had expected as much anyway.

  .Finally, Talon’s eye caught the faint outline of a pressure plate on the floor in front of him. Once he had found the first one, he was able to discern the outlines of several more scattered in the few yards ahead of where he stood. They were not easy to see, but if he focused he could discern the slight difference in color. The floor of the cave was a touch darker brown than the pressure plates. Also, there was a bit of accumulated dust, as no one stepped on the plates to pack the dirt down.

  After a few minutes of weaving around the traps, he heard footsteps. The shaft curved to the left just a few yards ahead. Talon quickly moved to press himself against the wall on the left, hoping to surprise the third guard as he made his way back to the entrance.

  It worked.

  The Kruk was looking down, focusing on the pressure plates as he rounded the corner. Talon struck out with a single thrust, deftly piercing the guard’s chest. The assassin reached out with his left hand, barely managing to steady the falling body in time to direct it away from a pressure plate. He then pulled his sword out and continued along the tunnel.

  He went around the curve and noted that the tunnel dropped down sharply. At the bottom of a small set of stairs the shaft divided in two. One tunnel went due south, and the other curved back to the north, running parallel with the tunnel above. He figured that the cave would wind back on itself in some fashion, else it would open up in the cliffs beyond and drop into the sea, so he chose to walk to the north.

  The light was exceedingly dim here, but Talon’s eyes adjusted well enough. He also noted the air was not stale and damp, as one might expect as he walked further into the tunnel. It was warm, and smelled slightly of sulfur.

  He continued picking his way through the traps until the tunnel wound in an S curve that had him moving even deeper into the bowels of Terramyr. As he rounded the last corner, torches dotted the walls and the pressure plates ended. The assassin picked up his pace slightly, but he did not lower his guard. His eyes darted about the tunnel, scanning the floor, the ceiling, and the walls around him. Even still, he almost didn’t see the next trap until it was too late.

  A hole on the left side of the hall, about knee-high, sat directly opposite a hole on the right wall. There was no string running between them as a tripwire, which is why Talon almost missed it, but, just at the last second, before he walked through the trap, he caught sight of a faint blue glow. It was a magical, invisible tripwire. He had heard of such devices, but never encountered one before as magic was all but non-existent on the main continent. Talon managed to step over the trap without triggering it.

  He looked around for what the result might have been had he failed to notice the contraption, but whatever it was, it was concealed too well even for him to identify. Not wanting to find out the hard way what tricks lay in store, he moved away from that area quickly.

  Eventually he came to another fork in the tunnel. Only this time, both tunnels moved away from the cliffs. Talon moved his hand to his pocket and pulled the gorlung fang out into his hand. As he held the fang, he thought for a moment to see whether he could remember the incantation by heart, or whether he would need to retrieve the book as well. In the brief moment it took Talon to consider this, the same black mist Talon had seen the first time he had summoned the gorlung began to pour from the fang, and the great beast leapt gracefully to the floor of the cave. Talon’s surprise must have shown on his face, for the gorlung’s voice came into his mind.

  We now know each other. I will come as soon as you think to call me while holding my fang.

  Nodding his approval of this new arrangement, Talon instructed, “Go through the tunnels, and find which one leads to the Netherworld,”

  The gorlung snarled and looked almost as if it was sneering at Talon.

  I don’t have to explore. This is how I came to your world. Follow me.

  The phantom tore off through the tunnel on the left. Talon had to run to keep pace with it. The descended deeper and deeper. The air grew warmer, smelling much more strongly of sulfur. Then the tunnels doubled back again to the south. The duo ran silently through the shaft until the gorlung came to an abrupt stop and sniffed the air.

  Three guards around the next corner.

  Talon nodded and the two of them moved quietly to the corner. The tunnel curved to the east. Talon peered around and confirmed that there were, in fact, three Kruk guards standing before a large, stone wall. It almost looked like a dead end, but Talon saw the engraving on the stone wall and knew it had to be the first physical barrier.

  The assassin looked down to the phantom. “Can you see if I call the fog?”

  My eyes pierce any darkness.

  Talon nodded and summoned the purple and black fog once more.

  The three guards instantly drew large swords and shouted. However, the fog was not enough to encircle them. The guards summoned light spells and drove the fog back.

  The gorlung roared and charged around the corner before Talon could decide what to do.

  “The monster returns!” one of the elves shouted.

  Talon heard a sickening, wet crunch. He peered around the corner to see that the phantom gorlung had ripped into one guard’s neck, crushing the bone and tearing the flesh apart. The assassin joined the fight.

  The second guard knocked the phantom back with a magical blast of air, but Talon was there in a matter of moments, slashing through the Kruk’s back and dropping him to the floor.

  The third Kruk turned his weapon on Talon, but the assassin easily blocked the strike. The gorlung lunged in at that moment, sinking its teeth into the Kruk’s right hamstring and dragging him down to the floor, providing Talon an easy opening to sever the elf’s head from his body.

  The fight was over.

  “I expected more,” Talon said disappointedly.

  The gorlung snarled its agreement and then moved to the stone wall at the back of the chamber.

  Talon inspected the carving. It was a depiction of King Lemork riding upon a great, black dragon and fighting with King Dailex, who rode upon the white dragon. The riddle was almost too easy, Talon noted with a smile. There was a hole in King Dailex’s hand. A slot for the human king’s ring.

  The assassin retrieved the artifact and slipped it into the hole. The gem glowed brightly, spreading its light over every line in the carving until the door released with a heavy crack, and sank into the floor. As the slab of stone disappeared, a trough of oil ignited along the tops of both walls, illuminating the room beyond.

  The walls here had been carved flat, as if it had been a proper room in a house somewhere. Carvings and murals covered the stone walls, depicting battle between the races of elves. A black stone door stood at the end of the room. Painted onto the black surface was the picture of one elf casting a mighty spell, with a column of light erupting from his hand and stretching to the heavens above.

  As Talon approached, he realized that the elf in the picture was Jahre.

  The painting depicted Jahre with his mouth open, as if he was shouting the spell. Inside the open mouth is where Talon found the next keyhole. He took the Key he had stolen from the old drow castle and slipped it in. He turned the Key and it sounded several clicks. Then, like the previous barrier, the black stone door sank into the floor and revealed the next chamber.

  At the back of the chamber stood a strange portal. Yellow and white light shone through a mess of
thick columns of rock and strange vines with sharp barbs over them. Talon could feel the air swirling towards the portal, almost beckoning him to come closer. He could hear what sounded like distant howling, or perhaps screaming, coming from the portal.

  The flesh on his arms prickled into goose pimples. The hairs on his neck stood on end.

  This is what he had been searching for. The power to defeat Basei.

  He stepped into the chamber.

  No sooner had he done so than a flash of blindingly white light erupted a few feet in front of him. A terrible, thundering voice shouted something at him in Taish, the language of the elves. A golden bolt of energy shot out toward Talon.

  The phantom gorlung leapt in front of Talon and took the strike. The beast roared in pain and slumped to the stone floor. It only just managed to lift its head enough to look at Talon before the phantom disappeared.

  Talon’s instincts kicked in. He jumped to the side. Another bolt shot out and crashed through the stone floor behind him. The assassin rolled out to the right. Another bolt slammed into the wall behind where he had just been. Talon threw a dagger and changed directions, rolling back as the strange light sent out yet another bolt.

  A strange scream came from within the light. A female elf dropped to the floor, her chest heaving for breath as her hand went up to the dagger now stuck in her abdomen. She flashed angry, white eyes at Talon.

  Talon’s blood stopped in his veins. There had been nothing in the book that warned him of this. His final foe was a Svetli’Tai Kruk Priestess.

  She floated to her feet, aided by some sort of magic that healed the wound in her stomach as she pulled the dagger out and dropped it to the floor.

  The priestess spoke in her ancient language. “Sinun ei olisi pitanyt tulla tanne. E nanna avaat portin.”

  A sudden weight gripped the pit of Talon’s stomach and dragged his soul down as he realized he would have to choose between breaking his one rule and achieving his goal. Surely Jahre had to have known about this final guard. Had this been the ploy all along? Give Talon a second hope only to snatch it away at the last? Could Jahre be as cunning and malicious as that?