“Move back!” Durgen yelled as the vile smoke from the burning corpses filled the tunnel. Their retreat was slowed by the large number of warriors in the narrow tunnel, but eventually they were able to shuffle back, past storerooms, and into the main antechamber that housed the stairs leading to the inner castle. “Well done, Olandar,” Durgen said to the cleric.
Olandar, grunting in acknowledgement, looked at the fighters around them. The antechamber held five grim faced warriors, all officers, and all carrying magical weapons. The rest of the dwarves retreated to the inner castle where by now the rest of the castle guard was surely preparing their defense. The stairs behind them were choked with axe wielding dwarves.
Their reprieve was brief, however, as they heard the screeching resume again. Within moments, waves of the pale creatures had emerged from the tunnel opening, moving so incredibly fast that the room was filled with them almost instantly.
“Block the stairs!” Durgen yelled as seven dwarves fought to do just that. Handfuls of the demons dropped on them from above as others attacked from all sides. “Form up!” Durgen ordered, realizing the impending danger.
But two of the dwarves were blocked by angry demons before they could backtrack to the line forming at the base of the stairs. They frantically swung their axes into the hoard of demons, but in moments they were overwhelmed and literally torn to pieces. Blood splattered the stone walls and the coppery smell seemed to drive the demons mad, the sound of their howls reaching a higher pitch as the blood stirred them into a frenzy. They wanted more, and with blood drenched teeth and claws, they leaped at the five defenders.
“Moredin!” Olandar screamed, lifting his hammer. Bright light pulsed from the weapon as he sent a shock wave crashing into the attacking demons, launching them backwards against the stone wall. Some crashed into their comrades, while others were crushed by the force of the strike as they hit the wall, their crumpled bodies falling to the ground like overripe fruit.
Prince Riker could not sleep. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and images, scenes of the fighting he had witnessed from the walls, anxiety about the coming days, and the frustration of facing the unknown. The enormity of his task, that of which was to confront and defeat Malbeck, was a heavy burden and it consumed his thoughts to the point where nothing else filled his head. He needed to walk, to try and calm his mind.
Climbing from his bed he slipped on his breeches and tunic. The stones were cold on his bare feet. He found his boots at the foot of the bed and put them on. King Ullis’s armor was draped over a bust near the bed and Tihr-Alliam leaned against it. Riker sighed, grabbing the sword and leaving his chambers.
There were always two guards outside his door. They were surprised to see him at such a late hour. “I can’t sleep,” the prince said. “I need to take a walk.”
One guard looked at the other uncertainly. “My Lord, we have been ordered to watch over you,” the knight said.
“Are your orders to keep me locked in my room?” Riker asked, slightly annoyed.
“Uh.... no, my Lord,” the knight stammered.
“Well then, why don’t we take a walk together? That way I get what I want and you are still following orders.”
The other knight looked at his partner and shrugged. “As you wish, my Lord.”
A horn suddenly shattered the silence of the night. The sound was slightly muffled and reverberated from the stone floor and up through the walls. The guards looked at each other and quickly drew their swords. “Sounds like it's below us,” one knight said, unsure of what to do.
“The dwarves, they are in the catacombs,” Riker said as he unsheathed his own blade. Immediately Tihr-Alliam flared white, chasing away the shadows of the dark hallway. The knights, shocked by the sudden light, instinctively stepped back. Even in his night clothes and boots the prince looked like a king of legend while holding that enchanted blade. “Sound the alarm!” Riker shouted as he sprinted down the hallway. All guards wore horns for just such a purpose and soon the bellowing of warning alarms sounded throughout the inner castle. After sounding the alarm both guards hastily ran after the prince.
Riker’s room was next to his father's and mother's quarters, and he knew that Jonas, Allindrian, and the other esteemed guests were also quartered in this wing of the castle, but his exuberant youth took over and he ran past them, following the steps to the lower sections of the castle. He knew they had heard the alarm and would be just behind him. An unfamiliar anteroom loomed before him and he hesitated in front of its two doors. Both guards skidded to a halt behind him.
“Prince, what are you doing?” a guard asked, sucking in deep breaths.
They were interrupted by the familiar sounds of fighting coming from somewhere below them. Piercing screeches punctuated the sound of clashing weapons, the rumble of boots on stone, and the screams and battle cries of the chaos of war. “We are under attack. I am going to their aid. Which way to the catacombs?”
“We can’t allow you to go down there. We don’t know what is happening, it is too dangerous,” the other guard stammered as the entire castle came awake. The sounds of fighting below grew even louder and they also heard the sound of approaching boots on stone above them.
“I’m going through one of these doors whether you like it or not. You can stay with me as my guards or stay here, the choice is yours, now which way?” Riker asked again.
One knight looked at the other, sighing in acquiescence. “Take the right, but we go first.”
Riker nodded and stepped aside.
A few of the creatures managed to get past the five warriors but dozens fell to their dwarven steel. Bodies began to fill the anteroom and the defenders on the stairs and beyond engaged many of the lizard-like creatures that scurried across the ceiling. But still they came, in countless numbers pressing in on the five warriors who were valiantly attempting to guard the entrance to the stairs. One dwarf, a veteran warrior, finally succumbed to the demons. As he was trying to yank his axe from the bony chest of one of the fallen creatures, he was left vulnerable for a split second, just enough time for the long arms of one of the beasts to snake out with lightning speed and, like a hunting cat, sink its sharp claws into the unfortunate dwarf, pulling him into their midst. The warrior's screams died in seconds, his blood streaking the floor below them.
One of the demons raced above Olandar, dropping straight down on him as he struggled with two others. Sharp claws found his flesh between the seams of his armor and the sharp pain shooting through his body added strength to the swing of his hammer as he crushed one demon while blocking the attack of another with his small shield. Luckily for the cleric there were other dwarves behind them and one of them instinctively snapped his axe forward, burying it into the spine of the creature attacking the cleric. It was a dangerous move. If he had missed he may have hit the cleric. But he didn’t miss, and the demon convulsed briefly, then fell to the side. The weapon, however, was not magical and the temporarily stunned creature quickly revived, reaching up with long curved talons and raking deep cuts down Olandar’s inner thighs. Screaming from the pain he stomped his metal shod boot on the creature’s chest, following up with a powerful strike of his war hammer. The demon’s head burst like a putrid bubble, its bile green contents splattering those around it. It was then that the cleric felt himself being yanked backwards by strong arms.
“Up the stairs!” Durgen yelled, slowly retreating up the stone steps, fighting all the while, as the endless wave of monsters continued to emerge from the tunnels below.
Olandar was faintly aware of being carried up the stairs by his courageous comrades, though he was slowly losing consciousness. The last thing he remembered was the feeling of pulsing liquid running down his right leg.
Durgen made it to the top of the stairs knowing they would be in a bigger anteroom than the one before. No more demons emerged from the dark hole marking the opening to the stairs they just ascended. This room was used as a guardroom to the storage rooms below an
d it was now filled with fighting dwarves and the dozen demons that had made it past them. It was a relatively spacious room with walls lined with bunks and a big oak table sat in the middle. Durgen knew that six guards were stationed there, and was grateful to know they would be able to join in the fight.
Less than a dozen demons had made it past Durgen and his comrades, and within moments they had all been slain. The room was eerily silent as forty dwarves and six Finarthian knights stared into the dark opening with weapons drawn. The prone body of Olandar caught his eye and Durgen noticed that the unconscious dwarf had a tourniquet tied around his right leg. He had obviously lost consciousness and that worried him. Durgen knew that he had at least a hundred more dwarves behind them blocking all entrances into the king’s palace and that the palace guards would now likely be joining his men in a defensive position.
“Form up,” Durgen growled. Immediately twenty dwarves ran forward and formed a perimeter against anything that might come up those stairs. The other dwarves formed a second line and the few palace guards stood behind them. “Get the wounded out of here,” Durgen ordered and the palace guards made themselves useful, following his orders, several grabbing Olandar and carrying him from the room.
As the wounded were carried away, they heard something come up the stairs. It was a slow scraping sound as if something were being dragged up the stone steps. As they stared into the darkness of the opening, two glowing red orbs appeared, followed by a black cloaked spectre that stepped through the darkness and into the room. A skeletal arm reached forward from the darkness, holding a black staff in its hand, an appendage which appeared to be nothing more than bones covered with flakes of decomposed skin. It carried no other weapons. A wave of fear buffeted the defenders, and every man and dwarf stepped backward, a little less sure of themselves in the presence of this creature. One bony hand pulled back the dark hood revealing the face of a corpse, dried and rotting skin drawn tight around a skull covered with patches of matted gray hair. Decayed yellow teeth and rotting gums were fully exposed as it had no lips with which to cover them.
Gullanin, the Lich, laughed, the sound coming out like a gurgling hiss. “Well done, I had not expected the catacombs guarded, and by dwarves no less.”
“You killed hundreds of my men,” Durgen said, his voice a low rumble, infused with anger.
“More will die, as will you,” the Lich said. Then he began a low hoarse chant.
“Shoot him!” Durgen yelled. Several dozen dwarven crossbows twanged but the bolts fell harmlessly to the ground as if they had hit an invisible wall.
Gullanin then casually flicked his hand and every dwarf and man in the room began to choke, except Durgen, who looked about frantically as his men, including Ballick, his longtime friend, dropped their weapons, and grabbed at their throats. The sounds of them gasping for breath filled the room, and almost immediately they began to fall to their knees, desperately attempting to inhale air that was no longer there.
“You can watch your men die,” the Lich hissed.
“No!” Durgen roared, charging the undead creature. He came in low, swinging his axe in a wide arc trying to cut the thing’s legs out from underneath it. Gullanin flicked his staff to the right and Durgen was hurled forcefully against the wall by some invisible force. The impact was great but Durgen was a dwarf, an enraged one at that, and he righted himself quickly, coming at the Lich again.
This time Gullanin whispered a few words releasing a bolt of lightning which shot from its staff, striking Durgen. But the undead wizard had forgotten about Durgen’s axe. Not so long ago, when Gullanin was human, he had attacked Kromm in the Tundren Mountains. The magical attack meant for Kromm hit Durgen’s axe and was absorbed by the magical weapon. The same thing happened again, the burning energy of the bolt was absorbed by his axe. But just as before, the power of the strike knocked Durgen from his feet, and this time he didn’t land on the soft ground but was smashed up against the stone wall a second time. This time he wasn’t so fast in getting up.
The rest of the dwarves had stopped struggling, lying still in death, but more raced into the room to take their comrades' places. They looked around in horror as the last of their friends died, the sturdy warriors gagging on their own tongues.
“Ah, you’re that dwarf?” Gullanin said. “I owe you,” he hissed, and he began chanting again, just as fifteen dwarves charged him, eager to help their struggling leader. This time a vortex appeared in front of the Lich, and from it emerged a huge swarm of hornet-like insects, each as large as a man's thumb, which descended on them like flies on garbage. Within seconds every dwarf in the room was covered by hundreds of the stinging creatures. The warriors screamed in pain, futilely swinging their axes and hammers in the air. But this was an enemy they could not fight with steel, and as more warriors rushed into the room, more began to die.
“Now it’s your turn,” the Lich whispered, turning towards Durgen. He raised his arm, releasing an invisible force that lifted the dwarf off the ground and slammed him against the wall with such incredible force that Durgen nearly lost consciousness. Then Gullanin did it again, and again, until Durgen was a limp hunk of flesh. Finally the lich dropped him to the ground with a thud.
“Stop!” someone bellowed from the opening that led to the upper castle. A dazzling bright light filled the room as Riker emerged carrying Tihr-Alliam. The two palace guards flanking him stared in horror at the scene before them, their eyes wide with terror. Dwarf bodies filled the room in piles; their lifeless forms swollen beyond recognition from thousands of lethal stings. The hornets had quickly retreated from the light, disappearing back into the swirling vortex where it snapped out of sight.
Gullanin moved forward slowly, his bony feet scraping on the stone floor. “What do we have here?” he said, but he was tired of playing games. “Remember me? I will have to rectify the mistake I made when I faced you and your father at Cuthaine.” And with just a few words lightning crackled from his staff, striking all three of them. The palace guards were hurled into the wall, dying on impact, their bodies burnt and smoking. The bolt aimed at Riker struck the sword and evaporated into his body.
Gullanin’s red eyes flared wide in confusion. It wasn’t just that his magic had been negated; it was as if it had been wiped away, as if it had never existed. It didn’t even stun the warrior who wasted no time in charging him.
Riker, roared in fury, his Ishmian energy ignited, giving him the strength and courage of ten men. He charged the undead wizard, who lifted his staff with both hands to block the attack. His sword met the Lich’s staff and a blinding light flared as the staff split in two. The explosion that followed launched the evil wizard off its feet.
Gullanin slid across the ground, immediately raising his arms to bring forth more magic. His hands erupted in flames and two large flaming cones of fire shot forward, striking Riker directly in the chest.
The prince felt something, a force of some sort, rise up in him. It was as if his skin was covered with a thin layer of shimmering light, and if anyone witnessed it they would have been amazed to see his form briefly encased in the orange flames. The protective energy that surrounded him fed on the magic of the fire and soon the flames dissipated into smoke and steam, but Riker stood their unharmed, his eyes bright, and energized with new power.
As he stood facing a bewildered Gullanin, the room flooded with more defenders from the castle above. Jonas, Allindrian, Kromm, and over thirty elite palace guards had hastily armed themselves and rushed down the stairs to defend against this new threat. They stopped momentarily as they quickly took in the scene before them.
“Son,” Kromm said in bewilderment, unaware that Riker had already left his room before the others.
Meanwhile Gullanin had regained his feet. This time he quickly conjured a giant disembodied hand which materialized next to him, forming a fist which instantly hurled itself forward in a powerful punch toward Riker. Riker, swinging his sword defensively, sliced through the magical hand
easily, causing the magic to falter and flutter, consequently doing no damage to the prince. Unfazed by the wizard's attack he continued his momentum, stepping forward into the Lich, reversing his swing and slicing into the wizard from hip to shoulder. Gullanin stumbled backwards as the tip of Tihr-Alliam cut through his flesh. Riker wasted no time and brought the enchanted blade across Gullanin’s throat, separating the wizard’s head from his body for a second time. There was a flash of light as Gullanin fell to the floor, his head landing a few seconds later. His body burst into flames, the magical energy used to create him dissipating, leaving behind nothing but ash.
“Riker, in Ulren’s name what has happened!?” Kromm yelled, rushing forward to join his son. Riker turned to face his father, his eyes glowing. Kromm stepped back slightly, having never before seen his son in such a state. “Are you okay?’ he asked as the others joined him and the palace guards went about their duty of checking for wounded among the many bodies strewn throughout the room.
“I’m fine, Father,” he said. “I’ve never felt better. That thing’s magic could not harm me, did you see that?”
“I did. You did well,” Kromm said, gripping his son’s shoulder. “But next time wait for us.”
Before Riker could reply they heard a low groan from the corner of the room. Turning, they saw Durgen stir slightly, his body crumpled against the wall, blood dripping from his ears, mouth, and nose. But his eyes were open.
They ran to him and Allindrian was the first to arrive at his side. “Durgen, can you hear me?” she asked, cradling his head in her lap.
“Not feelin'…good,” he mumbled weakly.
Kromm turned to the palace guards. “Get a healer in here now!” he ordered.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 03 - Glimmer in the Shadow Page 36
