Oblivion: Part Five of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  “Who are you?” a voice demanded from the doorway, causing Duoreod to drop the paper and turn around, his hand grasping the hilt of his short scimitar under his cloak.

  A man stood in the doorway, his silhouette the only visible feature about him. There wasn’t enough light inside the warren for him to make out the newcomers face, the small candle flickering on the desk only bright enough to read and write those papers. But Duoreod relaxed his grip, realizing that this man meant no harm, and he wanted avoid violence at any cost.

  “Me?” he said, looking around as if forgetting something, though in reality he wanted to avoid disclosing his identity. “Well, who are you?”

  “You’re in my house,” said the stranger, “so you tell me.”

  “Vexor Hulmir, is it?” Duoreod said, enthralled to discover that he had not died as the odd fellow had predicted.

  “In the flesh,” said the stranger, and he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

  Duoreod shuddered in fear as he saw The Fallen’s face lit by the dim light of the candle, a hard expression and a deep scowl set upon him. In his hand he held an arrow, blood still dripping from its tip and leaving blotches of red in the wood of the floor. He noticed blood on his hands as well, and guessed that he had plucked that arrow from someone or something.

  “What do you want?” he demanded of Duoreod.

  “I... I came to find you, Vexor, and it is of the utmost urgency that you pay heed to what I have come to say,” Duoreod replied.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve come to tell me who put this arrow into my back,” he said, holding up the bloody arrow, “Or why my entire crew has been slaughtered and left to rot in the sea.”

  Duoreod frowned, taking a cautious step backwards as he saw his eyes light up with fury.

  “Was it you?” he asked Duoreod, his tone soft and yet threatening, “Did you send the assassin after me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Duoreod replied, putting up his hands defensively. “Believe me, I mean you no harm and am greatly sorry for what you have been through. But I don’t know anything about an assassin. In fact, all I know is that doom is upon us all unless we do as Muari says. That assassin... whoever you speak of... perhaps he was a servant of the same power that took Grindle and destroyed my troops stationed there.”

  “What do they want with me?” Vexor demanded, his teeth gritted together angrily.

  “To kill you,” said Duoreod, “to stop this meeting from taking place. You are one who knows where to find The Fallen, are you not?”

  Vexor’s face softened a little, understanding coming over his expression. “The Fallen,” he repeated, “I am one of them, but I do not know who else you may be looking for. Why, though, are you looking for The Fallen?”

  “I don’t know,” said Duoreod, “All I know is what Muari told me, and that is that The Fallen are the only ones who can save the world from oblivion.”

  “Muari,” Vexor repeated, his eyes drifting to the wall as he was lost in thought, “I’ve heard that name mentioned among my shipmates... But I do not know it. And I do not know who you are either. Tell me your name, and then tell me everything that this Muari has told you, and we’ll see where this meeting goes from there.”

  “Fair enough,” said Duoreod, “If you are indeed Vexor Hulmir who came out of Valdorin prison, I see no harm sharing the message with you. After all, you mean a great deal of importance in all of this.”

  Vexor motioned to the chair beside him. “Sit down,” he said.

  Duoreod turned the chair around and sat, resting his hands on his lap and sighing with relief. He watched as Vexor bolted the door, dropping a bar across it to keep it shut.

  “Quite a humble home you have here, Vexor,” he said as he looked about the empty room.

  “I make use with what I have,” Vexor replied, leaing on the wall behind the door, as if purposefully keeping in the shadows, “and what I have is enough.” He held the arrow in his hand still, fingering its tip as he waited for Duoreod to speak.

  “Very well,” Duoreod began, “I am Duoreod son of Drelus, king of the Silver City and of the Adya.” He paused, expecting a reaction from The Fallen, but Vexor remained still and seemed not surprised in the least. “As I have before mentioned, Muari the Beloved of the First Born came to visit me and my councilors the night before last night, and informed us of Grindle’s falling into the hands of the enemy and also of the peril that we were in as a world. We were told that some unholy being called the Shadow Queen is responsible for the fall of Grindle, and she works the will of The Watcher and will bring oblivion upon us. Doomstriker’s coming has been foretold. But Muari also stated that there was one in the east who he has chosen to save the world, and stay Doomstriker’s hand. This is The Fallen, and I was hoping you’d be able to lead me to him.”

  Vexor shifted where he leaned against the wall, scratching his face with the tip of the arrow as he pondered all that Duoreod said. Finally, he spoke, though he sounded as if he were talking to no one in particular. “There can only be one of my people that your god could be referencing to in this thing,” he said, “but I don’t have an inkling where he might be...”

  “Narthanger,” said Duoreod, “in the Fourth Hold of Aldabaar. That is what the Beloved told me, and is the only form of direction that we have to go off of. If you think you know who it is, that’s well enough.”

  “All I have is a name,” said Vexor. “His face, I can only assume after all this time, has undoubtedly changed from what I remember. Neth’tek Vulzdagg.”

  Duoreod felt a shiver run down his spine at the mention of the name, although he had never heard it spoken before. He looked up at Vexor, still standing in the shadows, but The Fallen neither spoke nor moved in the least. He was suddenly aware of the lack of noise from the waves crashing and seagulls crying, which had been dulled in his mind. And then from the side there came a light, low but bright enough to illuminate the room that had been dark, and a man stepped out of the light and came to stand between them.

  “This is right, Duoreod son of Drelus,” said the bright specter. “But I’m afraid you’re running out of time. After all, time is of the essence, and every moment you spend here gives the enemy more time to grow in strength and number. A call has already been sent out to her many servants, and they are gathering at the fortress of Grindle to launch an assault upon the Silver City and Valdorin. However, this is right. Neth’tek Vulzdagg is fighting his own battle as we speak, being prepared in all ways to defeat this enemy. It is only a matter of time until the real fighting begins.”

  The being turned around and walked back toward the light it had stepped from, but Duoreod stood from his seat and put his hand out to it. “Muari the Beloved, one moment please!” he said.

  The specter stopped, but did not turn around. It waited for him to speak.

  “Why do you show yourself to me now?” he said, “What have I done to deserve your presence and guidance?”

  Muari turned and looked at him then. “Do you know why I am called the Beloved?” he asked.

  “Because we love you, and you are beloved by the First Born,” Duoreod replied.

  “I was first to love,” said Muari, “and I will be last. This is my promise, and never have I withheld such love from you nor ever will.” He turned, stepped into the light, and was gone.

  Vexor came out of his shadow and stepped into the middle of the room where Muari had been standing, looking Duoreod up and down with a puzzled expression. “You feeling well?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?” Duoreod said, not realizing Vexor had begun moving again. Time seemed to have frozen during the instance of Muari’s entrance. “Forgive me, yes. I am feeling alright.”

  “Good,” said Vexor, and he knelt and lifted a board from the floor, revealing a hidden compartment. He pulled a cloak of sleek purple fabric from the floor and tossed it to the side, uncovering a bow and quiver of arrows. “Our road will be long and dangerous, and we’ll need
the blessings of all skill that we have to make it across Aldabaar alive.”

  “Indeed, I believe so,” said Duoreod. “You are agreeing to help me, then?”

  Vexor stood, fastening his cloak round his neck and slinging his quiver over one shoulder. He held his bow, stringing it and testing its weight as he pulled back on the string a few times. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “After all, I’ve been trying to get out of this dung heap for years. Now, with the company of the king of the Adya, no one will dare stand in my way.”

  “We will be hunted,” Duoreod warned him.

  “No,” said Vexor, “We will be hunting.” He grinned mischievously.

  24

  When the Blood Moon Rises

  It was cold, and getting colder, as Neth’tek and his small company walked from Evenstar and the valley of Fourth Hold. Although it was still early in the morning, the sun barely over the points of the Eastern Reaches, it felt as if it were late in the evening and the sun were setting. The world was a dull grey, and the wind stole the warmth from their bodies. No one spoke, Neth’tek leading them along the shore of the Noramy Euxa in no particular direction. He knew he had to find the unholy place of Black Water as the dark ranger had instructed him, but he had no clue as to where he might start looking.

  They stopped to rest for a time on the south side of the lake, in the shadow of the trees under the Southern Points. Hakal and his men sat with Neth’tek, Helen and Dril’ead, neither of them saying a word for the time being. And then Neth’tek looked up at Hakal, his face showing obvious fatigue.

  “Why did you join us?” he asked.

  Hakal laughed, chuckling to himself and looking to his companions, who shook their heads and laughed in return. “Well, we are men of the road,” he said, “of exploration and adventure! And besides, we had outstayed our time in Evenstar. That man, Rollon, I had spoken with him on a few occasions. He’s a liar, you see. He tried to cheat me a few times. I’ll not side with him for any reason, be it wealth or glory.”

  Neth’tek nodded. “Well spoken, friend,” he replied. “Where do you and your companions come from, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Well,” said Hakal, “I and my brother here, Jakal, came out of Heinsfar during the war. We lived as hunters in the wild, selling skins and meat to merchants on the road between Valdorin and the Silver City. We’d been all over Aldabaar before deciding to come east into Narthanger, and see what work there was to find around these parts.”

  “Any success?” Neth’tek asked him.

  “Well, we’re about to find that out, aren’t we?” he said with a wry smile.

  “What he means is that we’re hoping to gain some profit from traveling with ye,” Jakal added with a similar smile, and Neth’tek couldn’t help grin.

  “Unfortunately I can’t make any promises to you. But what about your other friend,” he said, looking at the man who hadn’t spoken yet, “What brought you to Evenstar?”

  “Oh,” Hakal said, “we picked him up in Evenstar. Doesn’t say much, but seemed interested to follow us out here.”

  Neth’tek looked from Hakal and back at the man who he spoke of, sitting still with his hands folded in front of him, staring at the ground with a blank expression. “Does he have a name?” Neth’tek asked.

  “Mope,” said Hakal. “Strange, I know. But it is the only word he says, so we figured we’d call him that. Isn’t that right, Mope?”

  The man, mope, looked up slowly. His eyes moved from each face in the circle before settling on Neth’tek, and The Fallen felt a cold chill in his nerves.

  “Got anything to say, friend?” Neth’tek asked him.

  “Mope,” said the man, and then hesitantly he added, “Friend.”

  “Well then, we have that settled,” said Neth’tek. Clearly this man wasn’t intelligent. “Lets get moving.”

  They stood and started off through the trees, walking south away from the lake and the mountains, and the valley of Fourth Hold. Helen came up next to Neth’tek, grabbing him by the arm to get his attention.

  “Neth’tek, I’ve never seen that man before,” she whispered.

  “Who, Mope?” he asked, “Neither have I. A strange fellow, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, very strange. You’d think the people would talk more about a man like him.”

  “Unless they’re a respecter of persons and don’t speak on the matters of others,” Neth’tek replied. “Perhaps his parents kept him locked in a basement for that reason, selling him to these huntsmen to either be rid of him or for the hope that maybe he’d learn a thing or two from them.”

  “Perhaps,” said Helen, “but I just have this feeling...”

  “You’ll find that there are a lot of strange things to behold in this world, Helen. When you live in the shadows long enough, you learn to see through them. You see things, and you hear things. But above all, you feel things. What you’re feeling can’t be anything more than your mind wrapping itself around a new ideal. After all, I’ve not met a man like him for all the years of my existence.”

  Helen nodded, understanding. “You sound like my father when you speak,” she said.

  Neth’tek looked at her as they walked, surprised, and then faced forward again. “I try to say things that I think Skifel would say, I guess. He was, as I like to think, a father and a role model to me like Dril’ead.”

  “Was Dril’ead your mentor?” she asked. “I mean, did he teach you how to fight the way you do?”

  “You’re talking about the Horg tunnels,” Neth’tek replied. “I haven’t heard you speak of that experience since bringing you out of that place.”

  Helen did not say anything in response to that, and Neth’tek felt suddenly foolish for bringing it up, and he bit his lip. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to say that. But to answer your question... Yes, Dril’ead taught me all I know concerning combat.”

  They walked on in silence the rest of the day, though Neth’tek could hear Dril’ead and the two huntsmen conversing behind him on varying topics. It sounded as though Hakal and Jakal kept trying to persuade Dril into telling them about the Shadow Realms, and of the dark ways of The Fallen Adya; but Dril’ead stubbornly refused and eventually the men stopped prying him.

  They stopped twice more to rest and eat what food they had brought out of Evenstar; Hakal, Jakal and Mope heading off to set traps and then gather them when they were to start off again. Neth’tek and Dril took turns going with them, one or both of them remaining at their designated place of rest with Helen to keep watch on their nonexistent road, and they would teach them, as well as Mope, how to properly lay bait upon the mechanical traps.

  It was very interesting, and Neth’tek was beginning to understand and even lay some himself.

  It was nearing dusk when Neth’tek put up his hand for them to halt. He stared into the area before him, a flat prairie dotted with trees of all varieties and undergrowth. But something had caught his eye in the distance, a dark figure moving in and out from behind the trees, and it was clear that they were no longer alone.

  “What do you see?” Dril’ead asked him, coming forward and standing beside him.

  Neth’tek’s hand went to his sword, partially drawing it from the scabbard. “The dark ranger is among us,” he said, eyes narrowing as they focused ahead of them in the fading light.

  The sunset was beautiful, even magnificent; a bright orange and pink light illuminating the clouds in the west. But for some reason it felt cold, as if the image were blocked by a blanket of ice and dark clouds. The air smelled musty, and the trees looked aged and appeared unkempt, cobwebs and long vines hanging from their boughs.

  Minarch black bow stepped out of shadows of the trees to their right, casually walking across the thin snow with his hood pulled over his face. “Welcome, travelers, to the country of the Shadow Queen,” he said coolly, looking up at them from under his cowl. “I see you have received our message and have not come too early nor too late, but are rather expected
at this hour. Please, if you will, follow me.”

  He turned around, sweeping his cloak up and walked back into the shadows of the trees he had come from. But Neth’tek and Dril’ead did not follow right away, and exchanged concerned glances.

  “I don’t like it,” said Dril’ead.

  “Neither do I,” said Neth’tek. “Just remember what we came for. The Shadow Queen will either depart this land and leave us in peace, or die by our blades.”

  “You underestimate the power of the shadows, brother,” said Dril’ead. “She will not go without a fight.”

  “She will die, then,” said Neth’tek, and Dril could see how his expression hardened and his hands grasped the hilts of his blades.

  “So be it,” Dril said, and started after the dark ranger.

  They went in accordance, though Neth’tek stopped Helen as she moved to follow behind the three hunters. “No, Helen, I don’t think it wise that you come with us,” he said.

  “I have every right to follow you,” she said, brow furrowing into a scowl.

  “You have no means to defend yourself if things turn for the worse,” he said.

  “I have this,” said Helen, and she produced a lean dagger from her trousers.

  Neth’tek smiled fondly. “Please, that will not suffice,” he said. “Wait for us here, and I promise to return for you.”

  “What right do you have to tell me what to do, Neth’tek?” she demanded, her tone sharp and angry. “You may sound like my father, but you are not him.”

  “I can’t allow you to be harmed, Helen,” said Neth’tek. “Please, stay behind. I’m asking nicely.”

  “I will do as I choose,” she said, and pushed passed him. “I do not ask for your protection, and neither do I need it!”

  Neth’tek watched her head after the others, an empty pit filling his stomach. ‘I don’t like it,’ he heard Dril’ead’s words repeat in his mind, ‘You underestimate the power of the shadows, brother.’