Oblivion: Part Five of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  Then suddenly from the shadows to his left he heard the distinct roar of the demon, and half turning in time to see the yellow of its glowing eyes he was tackled off of the roof. His bow fell from his hands and was lost in the darkness that consumed his mind. For a moment it felt as if he were floating through oblivion, nothing seemed to hinder his passing through the realm of emptiness, and slowly felt it creeping in upon him, emptying his conciseness of all that had been and would ever be.

  And then he hit the ground.

  Eladrid opened his eyes and found that he was lying on his back, looking up at the stars gleaming through the treetops. All seemed peaceful and content, save for one thing.

  Helen was gone.

  He tried to twist himself onto his side, but the muscles in his body were unresponsive. All he could move were his fingers, and even that sent waves of pain coursing through his body. He growled angrily, frustrated, afraid that he had failed again… and then a shadow fell upon him, and he saw again the yellow eyes of the demon.

  “Pitiful ranger,” Gorroth said to him. “I would pity you if pity or sorrow were a trait of mine, but alas they are not.”

  Eladrid could see the smoldering smile in his eyes, the lie. He felt his blood run hot through his veins, could feel his own heart beating rapidly, powered by the hatred and the anger that swelled inside of him.

  “Yes, feel the warmth of hate,” he demon mused at him, “Isn’t it a comfort in this time of hopelessness? Something to give you power to overcome hope itself?”

  “Where is Helen?” Eladrid said behind gritted teeth, pointedly ignoring the demon.

  “Oh, you mean the human?” Gorroth asked innocently. He smiled again. “She is safe. Safe from hope. Hope that has torn your spirit this night. But do not fear, you shall see her again. Yes, you will see all of your friends again, one last time, when blood and horror rain down upon this earth. The time of reckoning is nigh at hand!”

  And with that the demon departed, vanishing into the shadows. Eladrid managed to lift his head, and he saw that he was no longer in the city of Stonewood, but was rather in an unknown space encircled about by trees through which he saw only twinkling stars.

  “This place is oblivion!” he heard a terrible voice wail on an unfelt wind, and a shiver ran down his spine. There were hot tears on his face.

  32

  The Fortress of Darkness

  Neth’tek dreamt of a dungeon, with many winding passages and corridors that would intersect and crisscross, leading one through a labyrinth of a well-designed network of tunnels that seemed to lead one on and on forever. He found himself standing in the middle of it, trying to decide between three separate passages that twisted into shadows. He felt anxious to make his decision quickly, as if pressured by the approach of someone or something behind him, though he wasn’t sure what. He thought he heard footsteps echoing up from the passage behind him, and looking back he saw a shadow coming into the white light of the corridor.

  It was Dril’ead.

  Neth’tek felt the urge to run, though he didn’t know why, and couldn’t see clearly the face of his brother to possibly discern his motive. But he felt the urge, and the urge was strong, so strong that he couldn’t ignore it. And so he ran, not taking note to which of the passages he chose, and kept turning corner after corner – right, left, right, left, and then left again before turning right and continuing down a long narrow passageway.

  It was here that he checked over his shoulder, but saw no sign of Dril behind him. Looking forward again he saw a wooden door set into the stonework of the wall. Curious, he began to walk toward it, slowly, as if an opposing force were trying to hold his legs in place. And then he heard it. A scream, so loud and so terrible that the echo shook the stones beneath his feet, shook his very bones, and he felt a cold chill run down his spine. It pierced his ears with such force that he stumbled down to his knees, pressing his hands over them to block out the sound of it.

  And then he thought that he could discern a word hidden behind the shriek, a name called out in ultimate despair and agony. It was his name.

  “Neth’tek!” the person screamed from behind the door.

  He opened his eyes as he looked up, slowly uncovering his ears. That voice was familiar, though he was certain he hadn’t heard it for over a decade. And indeed he hadn’t, though when it screamed again he finally put a face to the sound, and an awful realization came over him… it was Gefiny!

  “Neth’tek please!” she screamed in agony, “Please, please, please!”

  With each plea he felt his strength drain from him, all of his energy and will to live pulled from his body as if used to feed the intensity of the scream. The passageway began to shake because of it. He felt the tremor go back and forth beneath him, always emanating from that door. Finally he gathered enough willpower to crawl to the door, fighting back everything that his mind used to hold him back – fear, pain and memories… Dril’ead!

  He looked up and saw Dril coming down the hallway in front of him, opposite the way he had been previously.

  “Dril’ead!” Neth’tek cried at him, “Dril’ead, please, you have to help Gefiny!”

  Dril’s face was still concealed by the cowl of his purple cloak. Only his mouth and chin visible, though they displayed no sign of emotion. He continued toward him, both swords in either hand, his stride even and firm. It was clear he was his goal.

  “Dril’ead?” Neth’tek asked, his voice quivering in weakness and fear, “What are you doing?”

  Run, Neth’tek.

  Neth’tek glanced behind him. That was Dril’s voice, but it did not come from

  his personage. He looked back at his brother. Dril kept moving at the same speed, even and smooth, and a sinister feeling came over him.

  Neth’tek, please run!

  “Gefiny,” he shouted at him, “You have to help Gefiny!”

  Dril did not relent.

  The compulsion to flee became so urgent that Neth’tek found himself rolling onto his feet and making his way back the way he had come, stumbling into the walls as he lost his balance in his effort to turn the corner. He could still hear the screams of his sister behind him, her suffering haunting his flight fast fading.

  When he came back to the corridor, he turned to the right and passed into the passage there, running with all the speed his legs could manage. A tunnel separated to the left, but as Neth’tek came upon it and peered into its shadow he saw Dril’ead running up it after him.

  What manor of sorcery is this? Neth’tek demanded.

  He continued on his way, though Dril would appear in front of him on some paths that he chose, forcing him to continue on a different certain route, as if leading him to a destination. Sweat began to bead on Neth’tek’s forehead, and his legs became ever weaker by the minute. But when he stopped to rest and look behind, he saw Dril there, urging him on with his ominous presence. He would move again, ever stumbling further and further into the maze of tunnels until he knew he had no way of knowing how to return to the passage he had begun on, if he had the chance of even returning there.

  But it did not matter. He soon stumbled upon a corridor with no more passages for him to continue through, and was forced to stop at its opening, uncertain, and then glance over his shoulder to see if Dril were still there. He was, and was coming ever nearer. Looking forward again, he saw two persons lying on their backs in the middle of the corridor, unmoving as if they were dead.

  Although he hadn’t seen either of them for years, he recognized them immediately. “Mother? Father?” he asked aloud, surprised by their appearance. However, they did not respond. They were dead.

  “Neth’tek,” he heard Dril say to him from behind, and turning he saw his brother down on his knees, a black arrow sticking from his chest. “What have you done?” he demanded angrily, almost remorsefully.

  Neth’tek opened his mouth in shock. He meant to say something, but Dril’ead fell onto his back. Suddenly he felt the eyes of some unknown being on
him from the corridor, and turning he saw a figure cloaked in black with a cowl pulled over his face. However, the being lifted its head and Neth’tek saw beneath the hood the face of a wolf.

  The maw of the beast curled into a cruel smile, and he laughed.

  It was then that he awoke from his dream, sweat dripping from his forehead and soaking his clothes, freezing his skin. He shivered, looking around, and realized it wasn’t yet dawn. The others lay about him in the outskirts of the forest, the fire no more than cold embers glowing softly in the blackness of the night. He breathed out once, closing his eyes to calm himself, and then looked up at the sky.

  His body convulsed, the nerves unsettled.

  “You dreamt of your family,” Ezila’s voice said from the darkness, a statement rather than a question.

  Neth’tek didn’t answer immediately. Instead he focused his attention on the breeze quietly passing through the branches of the pines, a whisper that calmed his senses. Finally he breathed and said, “Yes.”

  “I don’t know what it was you saw,” she said slowly, “but I can feel the increase of emotion involved in them... They are getting worse, aren’t they?”

  Neth’tek paused in thought, considering what he had seen. “Before, when I dreamed in the halls of my homeland, I used to see Dril’ead pursuing me through endless corridors. I never knew if he were trying to save me or destroy me. I never saw the end of it. But tonight…” He stopped suddenly, his words choking in his throat as he was struck with the sorrow and grief of it all, and looked up at the green eyes of the spirit flashing in the darkness across from him. “Ezila, I watched him die again. Gorroth killed him.”

  “Gorroth will kill many before the end of this,” she replied.

  “But did he save me?”

  “Gorroth does nothing save it is to uphold the work of his overseers,” Ezila answered sternly. “Think that he has punished you for remaining good when the rest of your kind has ever been evil.”

  “I’ve known good souls among my people,” Neth’tek replied.

  “Of course you have. How else would you have known this way of life? They have received fair treatment from the enemy just as you have.”

  Neth’tek looked down at his cold hands clutching and drew his cloak round his shoulders, breathing out a vapor of steam. “Am I meant to wade through shallow water?” he asked softly.

  “Better shallow than deep,” Ezila replied, and her voice faded as she turned to mist and drifted away on that same breeze.

  After that, Neth’tek’s sat upright, his mind overwhelmed with thoughts that he could not lay it to rest. But the others slept soundlessly, rolling back and forth on their sides. He collected bits of bark and leaves and built them into a pile in their makeshift fire pit, and ignited the brushwood with the flint and steel that the hunters carried with them, and slowly built it up into a blaze just large enough to give him heat and light until the sun rose.

  When it finally began to peak over the eastern horizon of treetops, Duoreod awoke and sat up, looking around as if getting his bearings.

  “Have you been awake for long?” asked the Adian king.

  Neth’tek shrugged, poking at the burning embers with a stick. “We should go before the sun is up,” he said. “The dim light could be an advantage. Not bright enough to reveal us, and not yet dark enough to be in their favor.”

  Duoreod nodded, looking around at the others. “I believe you,” he said, “but I’d hate to wake them.”

  “The time for rest will come after the darkness is dispelled,” said Neth’tek. “Come, get them up.”

  He stood, touching Vexor’s shoulder where he slept just beside the fire. The Fallen opened his eyes and looked around, confused. Duoreod tapped Hakal and Jakal, and Jakal woke Mope with a gentle nudge.

  “Gather your things,” said Neth’tek, “we eat what we have and break camp as soon as possible.”

  They gathered their bedrolls, tying them in bundles that they stuffed into sacks. Hakal broke out the strips of meat from the deer they caught the day before, and started roasting them over the fire. They drank of their water as they waited for the meat to cook, and after an hour or so, the sun halfway over the tops of the trees, Hakal handed out the jerky to each of them.

  Hoisting their bags and satchels over their shoulders, the company started off. Neth’tek watched as Duoreod and Vexor untied their horses from the trees and let them go into the wilderness northward. Guessing by the way the two of them looked as they watched their animals go, and turn about to follow them into the woods of the Shadow Valley, he understood that the beasts were far more intelligent then he could assume. They knew their way home.

  Do I know my way? Neth’tek wondered as he walked at the head of the line that they formed, passing silently through the forest like a funeral procession. There is no home for me now, no place to return to or even hope to fight for. There is no purpose that guides my heart. So why do I continue to fight? Dril is dead, so perhaps I seek vengeance. This much is true. I seek to right the wrongs of my enemies. I seek to redeem my name, my people. Unto oblivion I go.

  *****

  It was midday when they came to the northern edge of Furnost forest. It was clear the lack of life dwelling in that valley, no bird or rabbit, not the tiniest insect fluttering in the air or crawling on the bark of the trees. The valley before them was wide and open, a snowfield under the shadow of the Bolgin Mountains, and on the far end of it, tucked away in the corner of the mountains, was their destination.

  Grindle, the fortress of stone, nearly impenetrable. And yet the Shadow Queen had taken it in one day. But here Neth’tek and Duoreod stood, with their companions, ready to face the countless numbers of monsters lurking within.

  “King Duoreod,” Neth’tek said, turning to face the Adya noble, “you know the outlay of the fortress, don’t you?”

  “Indeed,” said Duoreod, “I was able to examine it during the short period I was there.”

  “Excellent,” Neth’tek replied, and he picked up a short stick and handed it to the Adya. “Draw us a rough diagram of the fortress, the entrances, secret passages, towers and walls. Such things that we can use to our advantage.”

  Duoreod took the stick and crouched, drawing lines in the snow at their feet. “Here is the main gate,” he said, drawing a block between two thin lines, “these are the wells, and here also are the parapets. You see, the fortress was designed to be unbreakable. The only way to gain access is to open the gate, but there is a massive river between the land and those walls, making it impossible get reach it by any way other than the causeway.”

  “If it’s true,” said Vexor, “that every monster in all of Aldabaar is being summoned to the presence of the Shadow Queen, then wouldn’t the gates be left open?”

  “Highly unlikely,” Jakal put in. “Could they be so foolish?”

  Neth’tek took the stick from Duoreod and knelt beside him, drawing a thick line across the gate and walls that the king had drawn. “This is the river,” he said. “Is there any drainage from the fortress to this stream?”

  “No,” replied Duoreod, “the trolls that kept Grindle cared not for the weather. When times were harsh, they retreated into the mountain caves.”

  Vexor snapped his fingers, an idea coming to him. “Caves,” he said, “That’s it! We can enter through a cave in the mountain.”

  However, Duoreod shook his head, frowning at the rough drawing of Grindle. “I doubt we’d make it through such passages,” he said. “Who knows what is hiding in the dark recesses of the world... No, I say we find an outside route into the fortress. Perhaps a low point in the mountains would let us climb onto the parapets. I saw how the fortress was literally built into the Bolgin Mountains.”

  “Or we face the gates up front,” said Neth’tek, staring at the drawing.

  They looked at him, shocked that he even suggested the idea.

  “They’d kill us on the spot,” Hakal said matter-of-factly.

  “Not if we issu
e a challenge to the Shadow Queen,” replied Neth’tek, rising back to his feet and looking at each of them, even Mope, in turn. “If the queen is how I imagine her, since dueling Gorroth in the valley of Black Water, perhaps she’d appreciate the display of regality. It would mean the end of this sooner than we could have anticipated, perhaps even give me a chance to defeat the Shadow Queen in one battle, instead of wasting time and lives in countless scuffles.”

  They were quiet, each looking away toward the mountains or down at the drawing before them. It was apparent that they’d find no other way to get into the fortress, no matter how much they wanted to deny it.

  “It’s a long shot,” said Vexor, looking at Neth’tek with a stern expression, “but I’ve trained enough with my bow to know how to fire a long ways.”

  Duoreod stood beside them, looking toward the fortress. “I didn’t think it would end this way,” he said, “walking into the castle of my enemy with truth and honor on my side. I’ve seen much of war, war with my brother and with these monsters, but nothing like this. I see how the Shadow Queen is working us toward her end goal, to bring about the destruction of Aldabaar, even by Doomstriker’s hand – to let the world pass into oblivion. She would use us against ourselves, to try so hard that we break like water against her walls of might. But we are much stronger than that. In her pride, she has failed. This may be our moment of triumph, friends.”

  “Or our end,” said Hakal, his head bowed low.

  They looked at him with sorrowful expressions, but Jakal spoke before any could question his mind. “What my brother means,” he said, “is that we are with you to the end.”

  “Mope.”

  “Awe!” Jakal said, smiling as he put his arm over the mans shoulders, “And so is Mope! We three are with you and whatever you decide, Neth’tek.”

  Duoreod faced Neth’tek, then, and looked him in his eye. “If this is indeed The Fallen chosen by Muari the Beloved,” he said slowly, “then the Silver City is at your back.”