The top left corner appeared to be devoted to The Black Hand’s more recent activity, referencing sighted movements up and down the country between Grey Stone and The Arid Lands.
“These are all the places we’ve been,” Vighon pointed out. “Look. Dunwich, The Iron Valley, The White Vale. There’s even a sketch of that old pillar we found in The Lonely Wastes…”
Galanör circled behind them. “This is just one of many, I suspect. Knowing Hadavad, he probably has a hundred walls like this.”
“I’m confused,” Alijah admitted. “How do you know Hadavad?”
Galanör offered a knowing smile. “We’re all looking for the same thing, aren’t we? There are only a handful of people who know that The First Kingdom even existed and even fewer who know of its connection to The Black Hand. They pose a threat. Knowing about The First Kingdom might give us answers or clues as to how we dismantle their cult for good.”
Alijah narrowed his eyes. “That didn’t exactly answer my question.”
“I suppose it didn’t. But, if Hadavad has chosen to keep certain things from you, I can only imagine it was requested of him.”
In Vighon’s eyes, that answer only begged more questions, a lot more questions. “Requested of him? Who’s giving the old man orders?”
Alijah thumbed at Vighon. “What he said.”
Galanör held his hands up. “We all have our parts to play. But, rest assured, we are all fighting for the sake of the realm.”
“Fighting for the realm?” Vighon echoed, looking to Alijah with an amused smile of his own. “What’s he talking about? You must have us confused with the Dragorn. We’re more like… treasure hunters!”
Galanör narrowed his brow, looking from Vighon to Alijah questioningly.
Alijah shrugged. “He’s not really a listener…”
“Hang about…”
Vighon’s words were cut off by the elf. “Then now is the time to pay attention.” Galanör’s tone had taken a firmer edge. “Hadavad was supposed to meet the three of us here. He’s been late before, but never this late. Given his last errand, however, I fear he will never arrive.”
Hearing it put so bluntly was shocking to Vighon, but he could see from Alijah’s animated movements that it was much harder for his friend to hear.
“He can’t be dead…” Alijah was wearing out the mat under his feet. “He was… he was just…”
Galanör took a step closer, focusing the half-elf. “You never really know where he is, do you? When he’s not with you, that is. He sends you here or there while he travels another route.”
“There’s a whole kingdom that existed before any of this,” Alijah replied, sweeping his hand around the room as if it were the whole world. “We have to split up to cover more ground and uncover as much as we can as fast as we can.”
“True,” Galanör agreed. “It’s also to ensure that you never have the whole picture, should you be captured by The Black Hand. We few are the only ones who oppose them. We cannot afford to have our plans unravel.”
It was clear to see that Alijah had been slapped in the face by this news. Where Vighon was used to being out of the loop, and pleasantly so, Alijah believed he was at the heart of their investigations, alongside Hadavad.
“But you know where he’s been,” Vighon said, catching onto the elf’s arrogant nature. “Don’t you?”
Galanör walked through the middle of them and pointed at the corner concerning the movements of The Black Hand. “I’ve spent most of my time trying to locate their leader, The Crow. Since Hadavad killed the last one ten years ago, this new Crow has pulled back on a lot of their activities, shutting down operations in all six kingdoms. This made them harder to keep track of for a while, but six years ago they came together in greater numbers than ever before.” Galanör poked his finger into the map, highlighting The Arid Lands. “I followed them as far as Syla’s Gate before they disappeared into The Undying Mountains.”
“We’ve noticed an increase in their numbers of late,” Alijah chipped in. “Why are they coming together more?”
“We don’t know,” Galanör admitted. “This new Crow would appear to have a more singular objective than those before him. It was travelling in such numbers, however, that ultimately helped to find them.”
“Is that where Hadavad is?” Vighon asked. “Has he gone to find The Crow?”
Galanör twisted his mouth, clearly unsure just how much he was permitted to divulge. “After The Black Hand returned from The Undying Mountains, they started showing up in Grey Stone, in The Ice Vales. They were taking beggars and criminals and marching them up to the peaks of Vengora. They have been up those mountains for years, digging at the rock.”
“Digging for what?” Vighon pressed.
Alijah shook his head with revelation in his eyes. “Not digging. Excavating…”
Galanör nodded his head. “Just as we have been doing. Hadavad has been posing as a beggar on the streets of Grey Stone. The last I heard, he had been taken up the mountain with the others. He should have come back by now, regardless of what he found or didn’t find.”
“Was The Crow up there?” Alijah asked with a grave tone.
“We believe so,” Galanör replied.
Alijah turned away from them and Vighon could see the internal struggle within his friend. Hadavad was the one who had given Alijah another path to follow, a path that allowed him to be of service in a way he had always failed to be in the past. He didn’t have the level head of an ambassador, the honour of a Graycoat or whatever it was that made one a Dragorn and able to bond with a dragon. Even if Vighon didn’t know exactly what they were always doing, he knew that Alijah did, and his friend believed it to be for the greater good.
“Why weren’t you up there with him?” Vighon asked the elf.
Galanör could have taken offence at the direct question, but his tone was practical in response. “Hadavad sent you into The Wild Moores to locate one of the caves belonging to The Echoes. I was to be here in case he couldn’t be, so that whatever you might find could be connected to the larger picture.” The ranger looked to Alijah. “Did you find anything?”
It took Alijah another moment to gather his thoughts and turn back to them. Vighon could see that he was hurt, not only by being left out, but also by the unknown fate of Hadavad.
Vighon didn’t believe for a second that the old mage was dead. He had seen him fight with that staff of his and knew it would take some punishment to put him down for good. He hoped…
“We found the cave,” Alijah explained as he removed the scroll from a deep pocket inside his overcoat. “And this. It was pinned inside the cave.”
Galanör took the ancient scroll and ran his nose along it, taking in the scents as well as the texture between his delicate fingers. “It’s damaged,” he commented upon unravelling it.
“It’s been inside that cave for a long time,” Alijah observed. “I’ve already started the translation.” He pulled out his little notebook from his inner jacket.
“I would see both in more detail.” Galanör held out his hand, waiting for the notebook.
That riled Vighon up something rotten but, before he could protest on Alijah’s behalf, his friend begrudgingly handed the notebook over to the ranger.
“I suggest you both eat and rest,” Galanör said, his eyes still glued to the ancient scroll.
“What are you going to do?” Alijah asked.
Galanör finally looked up. “I will see what can be learned from this. Hopefully, Hadavad will return to us by dawn.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Alijah asked, stopping the elf from walking out of the door.
“Hadavad or no Hadavad,” Galanör replied, “we will still have orders to follow. As long as you’re willing to follow them…” With that, the ranger left the locker.
Vighon could barely wait until the elf was out of sight. “What’s going on, Alijah? What orders? Whose orders have we been following all this time? I thought we were just h
elping the old man find some long lost treasures before those cult bastards did! And why did you give him your notebook?”
Alijah held up his hands as a sign of calm. “I don’t know who’s been giving Hadavad or Galanör their orders. Believe me, I would love to know. I gave him what I had because regardless of what we don’t know, he’s still right; we’re all fighting for the sake of the realm.” Alijah offered him a hard look. “They’ve been excavating Vengora, Vighon. Nothing good can come of that. The Black Hand are clearly up to something and it needs us to get in the middle of it.”
Vighon didn’t know what to do with his adrenaline. “Are we fighting a war here or something?”
“We always were, Vighon. We always were…”
9
A Crown of Horns
The king of orcs released the latches on his obsidian armour and shrugged off the smoking chestplate. He glanced over the back of his right arm and inspected the burn that had blackened his pale flesh. Karakulak relished in the pain, having waited for this moment for so long.
Blood had been spilled. Be it his or the enemy’s, the king didn’t care. The war would soon begin and he, Karakulak, chieftain of the Born Horde, Bone Lord of The Under Realm, and king of the orcs would claim all of Neverdark.
The healers interrupted his thoughts and attempted to rub a soothing balm into his burn, only to find Karakulak’s hand in their face, pushing them away. Compared to others he had fared much better. The tunnels of The Under Realm now resounded with the pained growls of his tribe. The smell of burning skin stung his nostrils and he cursed all dragon-kind in Gordomo’s name.
Vuruk, his war chief, called over the din, “Any who cannot walk or hold their weapon will meet Gordomo this day!”
“No!” The king slammed his hand into Vuruk’s chest, halting the others from thrusting their spears into the injured. “When this war truly begins, we will not have time to treat our injured. Until then, I want as many orcs under my command as possible.” Karakulak could see that his war chief disagreed, so he gripped the edge of his armour and pulled him in.
“Vuruk, you fought by my side when the Steel Caste waged war against our tribe, you led our assault against the Bone Breakers’ underkeep, and by your axe the Born Horde has found victory many times against the monsters of The Under Realm.
“But this is a war unlike any we have seen. Our ancestors lost everything trying to take Neverdark. If we do not think, Brother, we will perish as they did. That is how we will win this war. Not with our mettle, not with The Crow’s magic, and not by throwing away lives needlessly. We will win because we are smarter than those who dwell under the sky fire.”
Vuruk bowed his head, giving Karakulak a glimpse of the orc’s horns. The left one had been scorched halfway down by dragon’s breath and continued down the back of his head and across his shoulder. Still, the war chief displayed no sign of discomfort; it would simply become another scar to add to the canvas of his body.
The king pushed Vuruk away and strode off, choosing the northern tunnel that would take all of them beyond The Arid Lands. Orcs of every size were running back and forth with mining tools, resources, and supplies to keep the tribes fed and watered. They had been burrowing through the ancient tunnels for six years, exploring the network forged by their ancestors.
“My king!” came the call from up ahead.
Karakulak narrowed his vision and pierced the pitch black to see Grundi, one of the few orcs he had come to trust who had not been one of the Born Horde.
The cripple, as most of their kin called him, limped down the tunnel with his signature hunch and scrawny left leg. The king knew better than to judge one of his subjects on their physical strength alone, however, and had found many ways of exploiting the orc’s intellect.
Something his enemies would soon come to fear.
“Grundi, the enemy saw our horns and fled!” Karakulak clapped a hand on the short orc’s shoulder and continued his stride.
“Very good, my King!” Grundi turned about as quickly as his leg would allow and trailed his lord. “We have almost established clear routes to the north, Sire. The wizards of The Black Hand have shown us a new tunnel that will lead to the most northern city in the north; the humans call it Namdhor.”
“Why do I feel you are holding back, Grundi?”
The shorter orc ground his staff into the tunnel floor as he dragged his scrawny left leg. “The tunnels they have found are inaccessible, Sire.”
“Most of the ancient tunnels have been inaccessible, Grundi. That is why we have been digging for so long. Do you need more supplies for your wrath powder?”
Grundi came to an abrupt stop in a small cavern where the tunnels branched. “We have plenty of wrath powder, Sire. The problem lies with those expected to move the debris…”
Karakulak finally halted his stride and turned to face the orc. “The Big Bastards…” The king paced the cavern with his fists clenched. “Those over-fed beasts should know their place by now.”
“Chieftain Barghak had word sent to his tribe in the farthest tunnels,” Grundi explained. “They aren’t to pick up another boulder until their demands are met.”
A low growl rumbled out of Karakulak’s throat. “The days of the Big Bastards being his tribe were over years ago. They are all mine, now.” The king felt as if he could rip the giant orc’s head off with his bare hands, but Grundi’s words sank in and gave him pause. “Barghak sent word? He isn’t in the north?”
Grundi tilted his head to better see his master. “No, Sire. Chieftain Barghak resides in the spider cavern.” The crippled orc gestured to the tunnel on the right.
Karakulak roared in anger, letting some of the pain from his burn into his rage. A sharp whistle had his six-legged Gark bounding up behind him, its hideous face drooling from the flaps that contained the many rows of teeth.
Without another word to Grundi, Karakulak straddled his mount. The beast carried him through the tunnels for many miles without the need to stop, its speed and stamina unmatched by most of the creatures in The Under Realm.
Located under the heart of The Arid Lands, the spider cavern was vast and pitted with burrows and dotted with purple crystals. The crystals emitted a soft glow that baited creatures of The Under Realm into the cavern, putting them at the mercy of the spiders hiding in their burrows.
Those same spiders served the orcs now. Those that had resisted were still pinned to the cavern walls…
“Barghak!” the king bellowed, deliberately leaving out the chieftain’s title. “Barghak, get your fat arse out here!”
Karakulak marched into the cavern, blinking hard to adjust his eyes in the soft glow. Giant spiders, skulking between the crystals that protruded from the ground, cowered away from his powerful frame. The orcs, who had been using the cavern as a camp for the surrounding tunnels, bowed their heads and cleared the king’s path.
One of the chieftain’s enormous hands wrapped around the head of a crystal as he pulled himself up with the obligatory grunts. His girth alone was often enough to dissuade most orcs from challenging him, but King Karakulak was not most orcs.
“My king calls and so I rise,” Barghak said dryly, towering over Karakulak.
The king couldn’t help but notice the belly that had removed all shape from the chieftain’s abdomen. The Big Bastards were known not only for their great height, but also the muscle they carried. It seemed Barghak had indulged in the pleasures of his position for too long.
“New tunnels have been found in the north, yet your boys refuse to lift a single rock. Explain this to me as if your life depended on it.”
Barghak stepped back in mock-surprise. “You threaten me, king? I think only of my tribe while you send them into the unknown. My boys are on the frontline of the expansion. They’ve been attacked by every monster that calls The Under Realm home.”
“As chieftain, I would expect you to see to the survival of your tribe,” Karakulak replied, nodding his horned head, “but as king, I must
not only see to the survival of our race, but also to the glory of our god. By ruling over Neverdark, so too will the indomitable Gordomo!”
“You use big words, little king,” Barghak spat. With both hands, the large orc adjusted his impressive necklace of bones, rattling his bracelets of smaller bones.
Karakulak pulled free the newly-forged, rectangular blade from his back. “I use a big sword too.”
The cavern fell silent. Even the giant spiders sensed the tension in their masters and remained as still as the dead. Barghak looked down at the blade in his king’s hand and glanced over the orcs who were present for the display. Karakulak smiled, all too aware that the chieftain of the Big Bastards was standing without allies.
Barghak took a moment to consider his next words. “These humans,” he began with a lighter tone, “they claim six kingdoms…”
“So The Black Hand say,” Karakulak replied, going along with the inevitable demands.
“The Big Bastards want a whole kingdom’s worth of bones!”
“There are nine tribes of orc and six kingdoms of man. If I grant you one I will have to grant them all one and there aren’t enough to go around, even with the elves and the dwarves. This will lead to rebellion and in-fighting that will see us returned to the old ways.”
“You mean before you were king? I remember those days well.”
Karakulak had heard enough. The longer he allowed Barghak to talk down to him this way, the weaker he appeared. The king could not be seen to be weak.
“You want bones, Chieftain Barghak? Then you shall have bones…” The king turned away from the overly large orc and met the eyes of his kin. “Bring me his firstborn!”
Barghak stepped forward with an expression of genuine surprise this time. There was nothing he could do, however, to stop the group of orcs running from the cavern and heading north. Karakulak spun around and pointed his flat, rectangular blade at the chieftain, an action that saw the big orc take a step back. Barghak was met by the clicking hisses of the giant spiders that closed in from behind.
The Fall of Neverdark Page 11