by Glenn Thater
“Be not so quick to fly to Valhalla, young Eotrus, it will still be there however long your journey. It is…eternal.”
V
DARGUS DAL
As the men adjusted their gear, Gabriel unlocked an ironbound chest that he and his aides had earlier dragged into the room. When he opened the lid, an unnatural glow crept from within. The men gathered about to get a closer look. Gabriel reached in and pulled forth a long dagger in a bejeweled leather sheath. When he bared the silvered blade, it glowed with a soft white light. Similar blades filled the chest.
The men gasped at the sight of that eldritch blade, ensorcelled as it was with some forgotten magic of bygone days to luminesce so. Most retreated several paces and some drew their swords.
“Sorcery!” said one knight.
“Witchcraft!” cried another.
“Hold,” boomed Gabriel. ‘There is no danger here. This blade and its kin are weapons for us to gird, not foes for us to fight. Cover your blades. Now.”
The men complied, though fear and doubt filled many a face.
“What’s this humbug, Gabe?” said Ob. “We’ve no need of fairy magics, we have honest steel to gird us.”
“And honest steel is all one needs when facing mortal man or beast,” said Gabriel. “But today I fear we face something more.”
“Bah,” said Ob.
“Sir Gabriel is right,” said Par Tanch. “We’re facing something whose howls carry for miles, that spouts evil fog and waylays our finest men. To face such an enemy, we need a bit of the arcane I think.”
“Well, I’ll have none of it,” said Ob. “Nothing but rubbish.”
“I’ll not touch those things,” said one knight.
“Nor will I,” said another.
“I’ll take one,” said Claradon, as he and Theta moved toward Gabriel. Claradon reached out toward the glowing blade.
“Dargus dal is mine,” said Gabriel as he sheathed it and reached down into the chest. “But you may have its twin.” Gabriel pulled another wondrous blade from the chest and handed it to Claradon. “It is called Worfin dal, which means the lord’s dagger in the old tongue.”
“Asgardian daggers,” said Theta. “I thought them all lost long ago.”
“Not all, my Lord,” said Gabriel. “Some few remain. I regret that I cannot offer you one, for of them I possess only two.” He reached into the chest and withdrew another dagger. This one was longer and thinner than the first two. Its scabbard and pommel were less ornate, and although it glowed, its luminescence paled in comparison to the first two. He presented it to Theta.
“This one, and all the rest are of the finest Dyvers steel and ensorcelled by the arch-mages of the Order of the Arcane. No better blades are forged in Midgaard today, dwarven boasts notwithstanding.”
Theta nodded his thanks.
“These blades will protect us from the baleful fog and blind our enemies with the light of just and valiant Tyr,” said Gabriel. “There are enough for each of you. Each man will take one, like it as not. That includes you good Castellan.”
The men grumbled and grunted in protest, but in the end, each dutifully girded one of the daggers about their waist or ankle.
“I look forward to hearing the tale of how you acquired these,” said Claradon.
“And I’ll gladly tell it to you and Aradon both, upon our return.”
“I’ll be hearing that tale too,” said Ob, “as long as it comes with mead or good gnomish ale.”
VI
DOR EOTRUS
Claradon led the group from the central tower, the very heart of the Dor, through the courtyard and down Market Street, toward the main gates. As they made their way, they saw citizens dashing about, frightened looks etched on their faces. Many were carrying loads of food or other supplies, stocking up for a feared siege; some were loading wagons with all their worldly belongings, apparently preparing to flee the Dor for safer environs. More than a few residents of the Outer Dor, the town beyond the main walls, were filing into the keep proper, seeking more secure refuge for the night. There truly was an unmistakable and pervading sense of doom plaguing the keep. Dor Eotrus had ever been a place of strength, peace, and security. Now all that had changed.
Despite the circumstances, walking toward the main gates Claradon couldn’t help but be impressed by the strength and majesty of the Dor itself. The twelve-foot thick outer and inner walls of the noble castle, crafted by master stonemasons, stood forty and sixty feet in height, respectively. Mammoth towers flanked the main gate and additional towers were situated at the four corners of both the outer and inner baileys. The towers’ crenellated parapets partially obscured an array of large catapults and ballistae fortifying the roofs. Looking back, whence they came, he could see the enormous cylindrical tower they had recently exited. It was a magnificent work of engineering that approached two hundred fifty feet in height and included several majestic turrets and minarets that branched off from the primary tower.
Claradon had ordered the Dor’s forces to prepare to defend against a possible attack and as they approached the main gate, he saw that the preparations were well underway. Squads of men-at-arms guarded the entranceway and the barbican area beyond. Soldiers on the allures were heating iron vats filled with oil and squads of crossbowmen stalked the battlements.
At the main gates, the men mounted fine horses and headed out. The guards bowed to Claradon as he passed. Several riders approached at a canter just as the group cleared the gates. Their leader pulled up alongside Gabriel and Ob.
“What news?” said Ob.
“No sign of the patrol, Castellan. We rode as far as five leagues into the wood. There were no animals, no birds, not even the sounds of insects. All life has fled the wood. I’ve never seen its like.”
“Any sign of an enemy force?” said Gabriel.
“Or any strange beasties?” said Ob.
“None,” said the scout.
The expedition soon passed through the Outer Dor and headed off the road, toward the Vermion Forest. Gabriel sent outriders to cover their flanks while Ob rode some ways ahead to scout. Gabriel rode at the vanguard of the main group, followed by his picked men. Behind them was Theta, Dolan, Par Tanch, and Claradon, the rest of the squadron closely followed.
As they rode through the ominous woodland, Lord Theta and Dolan conversed quietly. Dolan now looked little like a simple retainer; his aspect more akin to a veteran soldier or mercenary - donned as he was in a battered cuirass of brown and black-hued leather and equipped with a small arsenal of weaponry. He girded the well-oiled longsword sheathed at his side in the manner of a professional soldier, and the longbow engraved with strange pictograms that he wore over his shoulder was clearly oft used in battle. The hafts of several daggers protruded from sheaths at his boots and his shoulder.
“Lord Angle, after we’ve seen this business through, do you think perhaps we’ll be able to go back home?”
Theta shrugged.
“I know we must be here for some reason, something big, more than just some strange goings on in some woods. We’re not halfway ‘round the world from home for just that.”
“What do you expect we’ll find in these woods, Lord Angle?”
Expressionless and even-toned, Theta replied, “Some world-eating monster or demon lord or ancient wyrm, no doubt. It matters not, for I will put it down whatever it be.”
“I thought we took care of all of them fellas already?”
Theta ignored him.
“Guess there’s some more lurking about. I hate them lurkers.”
VII
THE CIRCLE OF DESOLATION
After two hours of travel through the darkened, foreboding forest the expedition came upon the dread circle of desolation. It was a bizarre and fearful sight. Not a single living thing existed across its stark and barren expanse. There was no foliage, animal life, or insect life whatsoever. The circle consisted of nothing more than a desolate, flat area of hardened soil that stretched out in a circu
lar pattern several hundred yards in diameter. The edge curved out a perfectly smooth arc and was depressed several inches below the surrounding ground, such that one would have to step down to walk upon the circle’s barren interior.
No enemies were about and the knights could discern no obvious signs of Lord Eotrus’s patrol. Gabriel directed Ob to take two thirds of the squadron and scour the woodland beyond the unnatural circle. They were to search for signs of the patrol or of whatever enemy force had waylaid them. “But do not set foot within the circle until I give you leave,” said Gabriel.
Meanwhile, the others examined the perimeter of the circle itself, none daring to venture beyond the rim after Gabriel’s warning.
“We must determine whether it’s safe step within,” said Gabriel.
“Perhaps I can assist with that,” said Par Tanch. “I think that the Arcane Order would approve the use of the sorcerous arts in this circumstance. So with your permission Sir Gabriel, I shall call upon my humble powers to divine if fell sorcery is at work here.”
“Of course Par Tanch, have at it.”
Par Tanch began his divination by chanting in a strange guttural tongue. He soon coupled his rather oppressive intonations with strange arm and hand movements, akin to a bizarre, primitive, and awkward dance. He tossed various sparkling powders about that gave off small bursts of light and puffs of smoke that smelled like rotten eggs. Such antics were mere mummery, and though wholly superfluous, the members of the Arcane Order seemed to think such things expected of them, so they carried on thus.
As Par Tanch put on his performance, Lord Theta quietly approached the rim of the circle several yards to the backs of the rest of the company. From a pouch at his belt, he produced an amulet inset with an oblong azure-hued gemstone that had the look of a sapphire, though it was actually a spinel. With this ancient charm, Theta could detect the presence or residues of all manner of arcane magics, marking them as either beneficent or fell. As he held it aloft and moved it toward the rim, the gem began to emit a soft flickering glow. The color of the stone quickly changed to a fiery red. As he passed his hand beyond the rim, the glow faded but did not extinguish.
Theta quickly replaced the amulet from whence it came, and then gripped the strangely twisted wooden ankh that hung from a leather cord about his neck. The ankh was no mere accouterment, but an ancient holy symbol preserved from some bygone age. One who grasped its deepest secrets could use it to detect the presence of certain maleficent creatures, beasts, or men. In its ear, Theta whispered words from ages past, forbidden words of power, long since lost to the world. Gripping the relic tightly, he surveyed the barren landscape before him. His eyes consumed the circle for several seconds, devouring every inch of it. Finally, he released the ankh, allowing it to fall back against his chest.
He then passed the tip of his lance across the rim of the circle and thrust it, gently at first, then more forcefully against the bleak soil within. He seemed to be testing the soil, as one might use a pole to probe the firmness of the ground when traveling through a swamp or bog.
Completing his ritual, Par Tanch cried, “Oh my, oh my. There is black sorcery at work here, Sir Gabriel. Fearful, insidious magic of a kind quite alien to me. I would say that--”
“Chaos sorcery lingers along the very rim,” said Theta, as he moved to stand beside Tanch. “It emanates from something buried below the surface, but its power is waning.” Tanch raised an eyebrow at Theta’s proclamations. The knights looked to Tanch, apparently skeptical of the conclusions of the foreign soldier.
“I agree with Lord Theta’s most astute assessment,” said Tanch. “I’d no idea you were so versed in the arcane arts, my Lord. To your assessment, I would add, however, that we can safely pass the threshold and enter the circle.”
“I concur,” said Theta. He boldly stepped across the rim and walked about to no ill effect.
“You men, break out the tools and try to uncover whatever is buried below the rim,” said Gabriel.
VIII
CHAOS, COINS, AND CULTS
“How goes the work,” said Tanch.
“Mr. Indigo’s broken three shovels so far,” said Dolan. “Mr. Paldor’s only broken one. Not that he isn’t trying as hard; it’s just that he’s smaller.”
“This bloody ground’s like frozen soil in the dead of winter,” said Paldor.
“More like the packed dirt of an old road - in the frozen dead of winter,” said Indigo as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Not easy work.”
“That much is clear,” said Tanch. “Oh, I do wish I could assist you in your labors, but with my delicate back, I’m afraid such work is quite beyond me. Perhaps after I’ve rested a bit longer under yonder tree, I’ll feel strong enough to heft the shovel for a time.”
“Hold on! Look at what we got here,” said Dolan as he lifted a shiny metallic object from the soil. “A gold coin with some strange markings.”
Dolan passed it over to Tanch before redoubling his efforts to look for more. The others gathered around as Tanch studied the coin for a time. “There’s no doubt,” said Tanch, “some strange arcane signature indeed emanates from this coin.” He held out the coin toward Theta. “Would you care to examine it?”
Theta waved Tanch’s hand away. He wouldn’t touch the thing. Tanch held out the coin toward Claradon. “Master Claradon? Sir Gabriel?”
Claradon reached for the coin.
Gabriel started. “Stop!”
“Aie!” cried Claradon as he touched the coin, his face contorting in pain and revulsion. Gabriel swatted at Claradon’s hand and the coin went flying. “The damn thing burned my hand.”
“It doesn’t seem to like thee Eotrus,” said Theta chuckling.
“Are you hurt boy?” said Gabriel.
“It’s a thing of evil! and should not be touched by a righteous knight,” said Claradon, still wincing from the pain.
“Oh my, oh my,” said Tanch, hopping from one leg to the next. “I beg your pardon Master Claradon,” said Tanch. “I didn’t know it would harm you. Please accept my deepest apologies. I didn’t know. Truly, I had no idea that --”
“Tanch. Put the coin on that large stone,” said Gabriel. “That way we can examine it without having to hold it up.” Tanch did so.
“It’s got many strange markings on its surface,” said Dolan, still digging.
“They are mystical glyphs and symbols,” said Tanch. He turned the coin over to view its obverse side.
“Mortach,” said Theta.
“Indeed,” said Tanch. “This symbol embossed on the surface is the mark of Mortach,” said Tanch. “And the glyphs on the other side are used by Mortach’s priests and followers for their vile rituals.”
“Who’s this Mortach fella?” said Dolan.
“He’s a Chaos Lord,” said Claradon.
“A who?” said Dolan.
“They are vile, maleficent, completely inhuman, otherworldly creatures,” said Gabriel.
“Once they were men,” said Theta.
“No longer,” said Gabriel. “Now they are patrons of death, destruction, and all that is unholy and corrupt.”
“Sorry I asked,” said Dolan.
Gabriel continued, “They are few in number, but said to have lived since the dawn of time. They possess superhuman powers and wield incredible magics beyond the ken of even the greatest mortal wizards. They are the sworn enemies of our lord Odin, and the rest of the beneficent gods of Asgard,” the Aesir. “They reside on another world entirely, the very hell of myth and legend. There they command vast armies of lesser fiends, devils, demons, call them what you will.”
“Legend has it,” said Claradon, “that long ago these beings walked freely on our world,” Midgaard, “but were driven off - back to their Courts of Chaos, by the great heroes of yore.”
“Oh, now I get it,” said Dolan. “We call them fellas ‘Old Ones’ back at home. Lord Angle and I don’t get on well with them. You’ve a lot of them folks around here?”
“No, of course not,” said Claradon. “If they were ever truly here, they are long since gone.”
“But they’re not forgotten on Midgaard,” said Gabriel. “Even now, they’re worshipped as gods by practitioners of the black arts— those schooled in the necromancy, demonology, chaos sorcery and the like, and by other base individuals. These followers are murderers and lunatics all. They sacrifice innocents on unholy altars dedicated to the foul lords, in return for promised power, wealth, or more base desires. Cults of their followers are scattered here and there throughout all the known lands.”
“They say that even in Lomion there’s a secret temple dedicated to one of their number, Hecate, somewhere in the southeast section of the city,” said Tanch. “Also—“
“Here’s another one!” said Dolan, lifting a second golden coin out of the dense soil a few feet from where he had found the first. He passed it over to Tanch who placed it on the stone beside the first. Soon Dolan and the others had unearthed several more golden coins. They’d been uniformly spaced around the perimeter of the circle, buried some six inches down. Some bore the symbols of Mortach, as did the first, while others bore the symbols of Hecate. They recognized still other markings on some of the coins as symbols used by the priests of Bhaal, yet another chaos lord.
“It seems likely that these coins were enchanted by the followers of the chaos lords, and placed here by them for some as yet undetermined purpose,” said Claradon, as they stood about the rock, studying the coins.
“I cannot explain it otherwise,” said Gabriel. “So it seems we’ll be going up against the followers of chaos, or some fell sorcery or some fiend or beast that they’ve conjured up.” He paused for a few moments, and then turned to the rest of the group before continuing, “I will tell you that although it’s not widely known, the followers of chaos have caused much suffering throughout Lomion over the years. The Crown and the Churches don’t want such news causing panic so they’ve suppressed it. Few even know of the existence of these nefarious cults. But various covert military groups in Lomion, such as the Rangers’ Guild and the Church Knights, have battled against the cults a number of times. Ob and I have even had our troubles with them over the years. They’re not to be trifled with. I’m afraid that unless they’ve taken our men prisoner in hopes of extorting a ransom, their involvement does not bode well for Lord Eotrus’s safe return.”
