Oblivion: Part Five of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  He saw the green smoke begin to spiral out of the satchel, but instead of enveloping the area in front of him it circled around him, and he felt a deep sleep coming over his mind.

  Neth’tek, oh how I’m sorry!

  Epilogue

  “Like a mighty warrior. His shield was dense, his sword was bright, and his feet, armored in the glory of his ancient ancestors, beat the earth where the monsters carelessly trod. Like a mighty warrior was his cry, echoing from mountain peak to steppes below, a thunder rattling the underworld where dark things dwell, and in all his glory and might he came upon the footsteps of Oblivion, where fate would then meet him.

  No fear! he cried with sword and shield held high, and the sunlight beam smote their faces like a cascade of fire, and the very fortifications trembled beneath his thunderous voice. No fear and no flight, we here have come in place of darkness with light! Those who stand against us shall fall, and those who fall shall never rise to meet the glory and the might that has consumed them! And the foundations were shattered upon the mountainside, crashing into ruin in the deep caverns far below, in the world where dark things dwell. And in its fall the hero was lost...”

  Doomstriker lifts the hammer of Restoration.

  Book Three

  Homeward Bound

  When I walked from Evenstar, I thought I walked from my home. But when I walked from Dril’ead, I realized what home really was. I thought that being held in his arms for the first time in a decade was enough for me to know, but having to continue on this road without him, a road that has become my home, I realize just how homeless I am. My home was taken from me once again, and this time I knew it in my heart. For as much as I’d like to think it’d be as the first, and he’d come charging back in to save me from this awful monster that is grief, I know that he cannot come. The wall that separates the living from the dead is too high for us to climb, and so I must go on living, with what few friends I have left by my sides.

  I tend to think that if I had taken Ezila’s advice, followed Dril’ead’s intuition that we should not go to Black Water, he’d still be with me. But I must remind myself time and time again, there was nothing in my power that I could have done. I saved his life and he saved mine, and all of ours, by giving up his own to Doomstriker’s fury. In the end, I like to think that I’ll see just how great his sacrifice was.

  So I cling to my swords, my source of deliverance from this beast that hunts me. I am the hunted and the hunter, chased by tormentors and also striking fear into their hearts as well. It is an endless battle between me and the forces of darkness that have come to exist in this world, and I do not give up the fight just as I know Dril’ead would not. I fight, waiting for the day I will be overpowered by my foes, or when at last I may lay my head to rest as I give up my last breath, and join those of the basilisk in the halls of my forefathers, in whose company I will not look ashamed.

  It is where Dril’ead is that I long to be, in his mighty company.

  But I must look away from my past, even from my future, and see where I stand among friends. Many have them have gone their separate ways by now, living in some far off country I know not, or returning to old homes to take up their labors where they left them. Some have gone the road Dril’ead took, having fallen to the enemy that threatened this world, but never once losing faith in what we fought for. My heroes, one and all!

  Once again, the proof that my search for home will never end is revealed to me. I am ever homeward bound, on a road through snow and ice, rain and sunlight, sorrow and grief, joy and relief. I am not ashamed of this, in fact I am beginning to feel the adventure fill me with energy and a source of life. After all, this is not the end, but merely the beginning.

  As one life ends, so another begins.

  ~ Neth’tek Vulzdagg

  26

  Dark Ranger Occupation

  “You have failed me, Gorroth,” she said in a powerful voice, one that wrung in the ears of those kneeling before her majesty, the Shadow Queen. They stood in the courtyard of Grindle, hundreds of dark rangers kneeling at the bottom of the steps before her, along with horgs and werewolves, even goblins and trolls from the mountain caves. All the pawns of The Watcher were gathered to obey their queen.

  Gorroth flinched at the words, like a beaten dog curls away from its masters displeased voice.

  “But it does not matter,” she said, waving her hand toward the demon dismissively, “The Fallen will come to me now. I can already feel the darkness begin to work on the hearts of his companions; first despair, and then agony as they tear each other apart in fear... Alastra, I trust the human settlement is in my hands?”

  Alastra Swildagg bowed before her mistress, looking diminished by the shadow of the Queen of Shadows. “Our rangers have secured the valley,” she replied in her bowed position, “None shall depart the land without my knowledge.”

  “My knowledge, you mean,” said the Shadow Queen, correcting her with obvious disillusion. She looked up and at the sky, storm clouds blocking out the light of the moon and the stars, and the glow of red light that emanated from her giving the frost covered fortress an eerie look and feeling. “The world will be mine. It is mine. With the blood of the Vulzdagg brothers on our hands, The Watcher will grant us power beyond our foes. There is no hope for them. All shall become Oblivion, and Doomstriker will tear the world apart in order to make way for our ascension.”

  She looked back to Gorroth, still kneeling before his queen. “First, however, we must attack The Fallen’s heart,” she said, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “I have heard rumor of a human child among his friends...”

  *****

  A light glowed in the shadows beneath the Bolgin Mountains, where Grindle lay in the darkness of night. It was a red light, dull and ominous. Vexor and Duoreod watched from atop their mounts, hidden in the scattered trees and underbrush some twenty miles from the farthest mountains eastward. And yet it was visible, like a beacon to warn the world of the power awakening.

  Duoreod looked on with a mixture of sorrow and distain, recalling the men he had left to guard the fortress. “Hope fades as oblivion is drawn about us,” he said to Vexor, “and my own heart begins to fail me. I fear our efforts are in vain, that none of the promises of Muari will come to pass. But I am a fool to fear so. Such is my sin, I think.”

  “What do you suppose it means?” Vexor Hulmir asked him.

  Duoreod looked at his companion and frowned. “I don’t know,” he replied. “All I can fear is the worst, and the worst is what I fear.”

  He kicked Whiteshadow forward and Vexor followed behind him on a chestnut brown horse, still watching that red glow even as they passed eastward. They followed no particular road, knowing that traversing the populated paths of the world would bring unwanted attention and possibly the eyes of the enemy upon them. The only living creatures that stirred in the wilderness outside the Silver City in this region of the country were foxes and deer, even some wild cats that prowled about unseen, save for their eyes flashing in the darkness.

  These things The Fallen and the Adya did not fear, knowing them to be the creations of the First Born and not the twisted workmanships of The Watcher in his High Tower. Eventually their journey brought them to the Shadow Valley of Swaldar, even the edge of the dark forest of Furnost to the south and Stonewood to the east. Quite a contrast, the dark trees of Furnost giving off an eerie smell while Stonewood remained green and lush and beautiful.

  “Where do we go from here?” Vexor asked Duoreod.

  Duoreod, not answering his companion immediately, was looking southeast at an obvious clearing between the two forests that spanned about two miles in width. He pointed that way, one hand holding the reins of Whiteshadow. “To avoid trespassing on the woodland region, I’d suggest we go that way,” he said. “It will bring us about the woods and on the northern side of the Southern Points.”

  “Are the woodlanders so unfriendly?” Vexor asked.

  “No,” said Duoreod, “but
they do not trust anyone. Not even their own kin, as it seems at times. In these times of darkness and doubt, all creatures may be subject to servants of the enemy.”

  Vexor nodded. “I understand,” he said.

  They kicked their horses forward and headed southeast as Duoreod indicated, passing right beside the Shadow Valley and in view of the enemies’ ever watchful servants.

  *****

  Minarch entered Evenstar just as he had when visiting Neth’tek and Dril’ead, only this time he was accompanied by a hundred of his fellow dark rangers, all clad in black cloaks with their hoods pulled over their faces. People stood to the side, out of their way and watching with wonder and confusion. They went straightway to the barons keep, rangers parting this way and that to stand guard as it were up and down the street, two posted at either gate, while Minarch and four others strode to the threshold of the keep.

  The guards crossed their spears in front of them to stop their passage. “Weapons aren’t allowed beyond this point,” one spoke to them.

  “We’re on business of the queen herself,” said Minarch black bow. “Stand aside or you shall be removed.”

  “Queen?” the other guard demanded, “What queen? We know no such person!”

  Minarch nodded to his companions, and the dark rangers grabbed either of the guards and their spears and thrust them aside. The guards tried to get back onto their feet, but the rangers knocked them to the ground and held daggers at their throats. Minarch and two remaining rangers passed beyond the doors.

  Rollon looked up from the barons throne, sitting while conversing with three men of the town. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded with a scowl, “Where are my guards!”

  “No need to fear,” said Minarch, “we come with good news in this time. The Shadow Queen has come into the world, and she has accepted this settlement as a position with which her servants might work in this quarter of the land. From this day forward, you serve her and will do as she commands. I am her spokesperson for the time being.”

  “How dare you utter such words in the hall of the baron!” one of the men shouted, and he drew a dagger from his belt and looked as if he were about to fall upon Minarch and his rangers.

  The ranger to Minarch’s left whipped his bow up and fired an arrow at the dagger, knocking it from the mans hand and flinging it across the room. The four men turned and watched the dagger and arrow hit the wall, their expressions stunned.

  “Perhaps I have been misunderstood,” Minarch said coolly. “Rangers, if you will be so kind as to remove this man from the throne of the queen...”

  On command of a wave of his hand, two rangers stepped forward, pushing the three confused men out of the way, and seized Rollon where he sat on the throne. He protested, trying to pull free of their firm grip, but was thrust to the floor at the foot of the throne and in front of Minarch.

  “The queen has need of you,” said Minarch, smiling at the man at his feet.

  27

  Mournful Reckoning

  Having fled from the shadow of the valley of Black Water, Helen and the three huntsmen found themselves wandering on the western side of the Southern Points, the mountains making up the southern and western border of Narthanger. There was no sign of Neth’tek, or the woodlander. They had fled without thought after seeing Dril’ead fall in the arms of Eladrid, fear and dismay taking them and carrying them across the land. But they kept going. They knew they couldn’t return to Evenstar, even if they would be able to find their way back to the settlements, not with Rollon taking charge over the people.

  At one point, Helen fell to the earth, weeping because of the horrors of the valley behind them, and afraid of what may have happened to Neth’tek. She feared, as well as the hunters, that he had met a similar fate as Dril’ead.

  Jakal knelt beside her where she leaned against the side of a rock, the sun already gone down over the tops of the trees of the forest of Furnost, filling the west horizon. It was a dark place, he knew, and they stayed as far from its trees as they could.

  “We should set traps and see what game we can catch here,” said Jakal to Hakal.

  “Look around,” said Hakal with obvious dismay, waving his arms as if dismissing the thought of it, “there isn’t any life here! Nothing that can feed our hungry bodies or nourish our wounds, if we have any.”

  “We should at least try,” said Jakal, “and have some hope in that, if nothing else.”

  “You hope,” said Hakal, “and I’ll look for a way to get us out of here.”

  Jakal shook his head and looked down at Helen as she cried. “I’m sorry,” he said in a softer voice.

  Next to Helen there appeared a pillar of green smoke floating up from the ground, and slowly she looked up and watched it spiral around the stones underfoot. The hunters, even Mope, looked as if they were frozen in place by the sight of it, and did not even blink.

  It evaporated, then, leaving Neth’tek standing on the uneven earth. He staggered and fell backward, landing on his backside and holding his head in one hand. “I... I don’t remember... What has happened?” He looked up and at the four of them standing or kneeling around him. His eyes narrowed, realizing one out of the six that had been his companions were missing. “Dril’ead... Where is my brother?”

  Helen threw her arms around his neck and held him for a moment, crying into his shoulder. confused by the sudden action, Neth’tek looked at the three hunters for an explanation. But it was Helen who spoke first.

  “He’s gone!” she cried, holding him tighter. “Neth’tek, I’m so sorry. But he’s gone.”

  Something broke in Neth’tek, then. He wasn’t certain what it was, but it felt as if a rod of cold iron were thrust through his chest and shattered his heart. That pain he had felt earlier, he knew now what it was. The cold sting of truth; the unmistakable but unbelievable truth of the horror of what happened. Dril had in fact died.

  “No,” he said, grabbing her arms and forcing her off of him. “No, it isn’t true! Tell me it isn’t true!”

  “You would have us lie to you, then?” Hakal said solemnly, frowning at him.

  Neth’tek looked around, still searching for his brother; his eyes turning red as they burned, as tears lines the brim of his eyelids. “No!” he screamed, and scrambled away from them, “How can this be?”

  They watched him spin onto his feet and dash away, vanishing behind the boulders that made up the bottom of the Southern Points. Jakal put a hand on Helen’s shoulder to comfort her, and they just sat their in the darkness of the night with nowhere left to go, and no one to guide them.

  *****

  Neth’tek Vulzdagg stared at the skyline.

  He faced the west, the cold breeze ceaselessly passing him by. He shivered, drawing his arms in and around himself, and sighed, a vapor of steam leaving his mouth. He tasted salt as another of his tears slid down his cheek and onto his cracked lip.

  Neth’tek had been crying for an hour, maybe more.

  His chest rose and fell, stinging with a tremendous pain, the sobs having driven his lungs past their point of exhaustion. But how could he stop? He missed Dril’ead too much. He couldn’t bring his thoughts from him. He couldn’t say goodbye, not to the brother who had died and come back to life in time to save him.

  A moan escaped with his breath, and he gritted his teeth together, frustrated with his own inability to stay quiet.

  Dril’ead wasn’t supposed to die again!

  Behind him, in the shadow of the mountain, was the camp of the huntsmen. He could see the firelight softly burning, an orange glow contrast to the darkness, and the silhouettes of Helen and the three others sitting around it. Neth’tek and Dril’ead had been their sense of morale, the two Fallen acting as a live example of endurance for them. They had never let them down. But, with Dril’ead gone, Neth’tek felt as if he weren’t whole. The piece of his life that had always steered him forward, the person he had fought for, saved lives for, hoped to become, was gone forever. Dril’ead, as
far as Neth’tek could tell, had abandoned him.

  Subsequently, he found himself shaking his head. “How could you,” he asked of the open night. His jaw tightened, then, and tears streamed down his face again.

  Ezila came up to him quietly, carefully, and stood a comfortable distance to his side, looking out across the landscape with an unreadable expression. For a while neither of them said a word, though Neth’tek hardly paid heed to her being there. His thoughts, for as long as he cared to think about, had been rotating around the moment earlier that day when they had been forced to leave Evenstar and Dril’ead’s death.

  Ezila closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Neth’tek Vulzdagg,” she said to him with a comforting voice.

  Neth’tek opened his mouth. “So am I,” he managed to whisper.

  “We all feel your pain,” she said, “and your insecurity.”

  “I am sorry for all of you, then,” replied Neth’tek. He sighed, closing his eyes. “I should never have come here. I should never have left the underworld. I should have refused my fathers insistence that I leave, to escape the wrath of the ones who sought our lives, only to face worse consequences here. It would have been better for everyone; all those in my city would have died that much sooner, and the people of this world would never have had to face my wrath. I should have died down there, in Vulzdagg, with those brave soldiers... They found their glory.”

  They were silent for a while longer. Neth’tek waited for Ezila’s response; her attempt, as usual, to bring him from his upset mood. But he was sure there was no word she could utter that would strike a spark of hope in his shattered soul.