The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “My Lord Crow…” Morvir bowed his head before relaying the commands.

  The Crow inspected the darkness of the cave, a source of fear for most. He was accustomed to the shadows but, in these mountains, the dark caves were home to another.

  The Crow’s wand produced a faint glow, a bi-product of the spell cast over the floating chest and, just as he had seen them six years ago, the eyes of the orcs reflected the light against the abyss. Morvir joined his side and added light from the end of his staff, pushing the guarding orcs back a step.

  Stealing a glance at the sky one last time, The Crow stepped into the cave. The orcs of The Under Realm might be somewhat unpredictable at times, but they were allies none-the-less. The same could not be said of the Dragorn.

  In its foul tongue, one of the orcs said, “King Karakulak has been waiting for you for some time, Wizard.”

  Learning their language had become a necessity over the last six years, since many of The Black Hand had been left in The Under Realm to assist with uncovering the ancient tunnels. Translating spinners were good when conversing with a single orc, but catching what everyone else was saying around them had proven enlightening, often saving a mage from a disgruntled or starving orc.

  “Your every word delays me further,” The Crow calmly replied in their guttural language.

  They journeyed deeper into The Undying Mountains for what must have been many hours before they came across a dwelling of orc-make. Judging by the sigil of the broken skull stamped into the stone, they were entering a cavern that belonged to the Bone Breakers tribe. They were the first tribe to bend the knee at Karakulak’s feet, thanks mostly to The Crow’s knowledge of ancient passageways that gave the Born Horde a great advantage.

  The space inside the cavern appeared to be massive, as if the orcs had hollowed out the mountains themselves. The Crow was sure to keep the chest floating out in front of him, more than aware of the interest displayed by the passing orcs. For a society that valued bones, they would consider the contents of this chest to be the greatest of treasures.

  A foul odour that competed with rotten death assaulted his nose, leading him to the pack of creatures to his right looking down on them from a flat ridge. The monsters sneered and pawed at the ground with one of their six feet. They were somewhere between a giant wolf and a lizard, each saddled and mounted with an orc.

  “Don’t mind them!” the king of orcs yelled from atop the ridge, pushing his way between the beasts. “Their bark is worse than their bite!”

  The Crow bowed his head. “I am sure we are safe in your presence, King Karakulak.”

  The mighty orc laughed. “I was talking to them!” He thumbed at the six-legged beasts, rousing laughter from the rest of the cavern. “The Garks are my greatest hunters, bred by the Grim Stalkers!”

  It was a testament to his rule that the cavern, belonging to the Bone Breakers, had Karakulak of the Born Horde and orcs from the Grim Stalkers all under one roof. Six years ago, he would have been torn limb from limb for coming anywhere near their dwelling.

  The king stepped off the ridge and landed easily on his feet in front of the chest. It was a drop that would have killed any man, though perhaps that was the point Karakulak intended.

  Noting the king’s interest in the chest, The Crow gripped his wand a little tighter. It would be a devastating blow to the cause should he be required to kill Karakulak at such a critical stage. Still, no one was to interfere with the contents inside the chest; they hadn’t spent six years excavating Vengora just to have the bones spent like coins in The Under Realm.

  The king led them into a smaller cave, draped in the Born Horde’s banners of many fists gripping a double-sided axe. The Crow flicked his wand over his shoulder and cast a spell that shut the wooden doors behind him. He heard the satisfying sound of a whimpering Morvir before he and the rest of their caravan were locked out and left with the orcs.

  “So this is it?” Karakulak asked, unimpressed with the simple chest. “This is why we have delayed attacking Neverdark?”

  The Crow raised an eyebrow into the shape of a question. “Even now, after all we’ve done together, you doubt the results of my magic?”

  Karakulak, now away from his kin, held back the typical orc response, refraining from beating his chest or boasting of their might. The king was smarter than his brothers and sisters. He knew real power when he saw it.

  “My people will never accept magic, no matter how many victories we claim with it. When Neverdark is in ruins, I could build a tower to the sky fire in Gordomo’s name, but if my kin were to feel I valued magic over strength, I would be… replaced.”

  The Crow examined the end of his wand. “Magic can be a weapon or a tool, much in the same way your wrath powder works. There are those in Neverdark who will wield magic against you, good king. Your people will come to appreciate magic when the first spells are cast and dragons are raining fire down on them.”

  The king slumped into the throne that had no doubt belonged to the chieftain of the Bone Breakers. “Thousands of years fighting amongst ourselves has dulled the minds of orcs. We have forgotten what it means to claim real victory over our enemies, our real enemies. I need my people to taste the blood of elves, dwarves, and your humans, Wizard. Only then will they embrace all that is required to defeat our foe and take Neverdark.”

  The Crow pulled his thick collar of feathers in around his neck, feeling the cool air of The Under Realm. “The orc was bred for war and so war they crave. With this,” he indicated the chest, “it can truly begin.”

  Karakulak examined the chest. “We have produced enough wrath powder to level Neverdark, forged more weapons than we have orcs, supplied every region of The Under Realm with our kin, but now that you possess that tiny chest, the war can begin…”

  The Crow calculated his words, never foolish enough to believe Karakulak was as dumb and brutish as he made out to be. The Fates had brought them together for a reason, and it wasn’t because the orc could swing a blade better than most. The king was curious by nature, and curiosity often led to intelligence.

  “You wouldn’t have wanted to start the war before I complete this spell. Especially since you recently challenged the Dragorn and their pets, gaining their attention…” The Crow let his comment linger in the air, allowing the revelation to sink in.

  “How do you know of this?” the king replied, sitting forward on his throne.

  “I see all, king of orcs,” he responded ominously.

  The king tilted his head of horns. “You mean your little mages have been spying on us.”

  The Crow conducted his orchestra of lies with ease. “One day, good king, you will see my power for the advantage it is. On that day, you will stand as king of Verda, atop a mountain of bones, a king of kings!”

  Karakulak tilted his head, taking in the leader of The Black Hand. “I see a change in you, Wizard. I see something your followers do not.” The orc stood up slowly, deliberately. “With an audience, all I hear is, Kaliban this and the great Kaliban that…” Karakulak’s dark eyes bored into him. “When there is but you and I, I only hear of your indomitable power, Lord Crow.”

  The Crow pursed his lips. “And I would counsel care, King Karakulak. If you continue to use such large words your own people may begin to suspect that I am influencing you, even controlling you…”

  Karakulak let free a rumbling growl from deep in his throat. “You mock the orc?”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” The Crow purred. “But I see an intelligence in your eyes, an intelligence I saw six years ago when first we met. It sets you apart from your kin and rightly so. You are fit to rule. But do not concern yourself with my faith nor the source of my power. Know only that it serves you.”

  That soothed Karakulak enough to take his seat again. “Why are you here, now?” he asked. “We were expecting you at Paldora’s Fall.”

  “The skies are being patrolled by the Dragorn that you baited.” The Crow lifted his hand, silencing the ki
ng’s rebuttal. “Thankfully, all is going to plan. The Dragorn can’t stop what happens next, nothing can. I am here to ensure that you have held up your end of the bargain.”

  All the frustration and anger was drained from Karakulak’s angled face and replaced with a sly smile. “I enjoyed hunting your beast of the sky! Judging by the nests we found, it had been in The Undying Mountains for some time. Still, it succumbed to our efforts. The orcs celebrated that day! My people hadn’t hunted dragons for an Age.”

  “Two actually…” The Crow waved away the king’s questioning gaze, too tired to get into the details of history and the passage of time that orcs knew nothing about. “I want to see it,” he demanded.

  Karakulak picked up his rectangular blade and sheathed it on his back. “Follow me, Wizard.”

  They left the private chamber and continued in the dark until they had left the Bone Breakers’ cavern behind. Trailed by the caravan of mages from The Black Hand, the king led them through empty tunnels for some time. Only when they came across rows of orcs guarding the ancient stone did The Crow believe that they had reached their destination.

  “Keep your lights low,” Karakulak ordered the mages.

  With the chest still floating out in front of him, The Crow dipped his wand to the ground, noting the fierce orcs pressing themselves into the walls and averting their eyes. It was by far their greatest weakness, alongside their less-than-average intelligence.

  Two massive orcs, tattooed with the sigil of the Big Bastards - an image of an orc defaecating on a mountain - pulled hard on the heavy doors. The resounding creak of the wood echoed throughout the chamber beyond. The Crow followed the king and stepped onto a platform of rock, hewn from the mountain. Beyond the platform was a vast emptiness that dropped seemingly forever. Looking up, the darkness had no end above them either.

  The two massive orcs closed the doors after Karakulak and The Crow stepped through, shutting out the mages and guards alike. The king slowly walked to the edge of the platform, his movements somehow bold and cautious at the same time.

  “Is it sleeping?” Karakulak asked aloud, eliciting a response from the previously unseen orc on the far side of the platform.

  The orc made itself known in the faint gloom of The Crow’s wand. There was nothing special about this keeper of beasts as he approached the edge of the platform, where the wizard now noticed the end of an impossibly thick chain. The orc removed a hammer from his belt and struck the metal of the chain, filling the void with the offensive sound.

  It was soon followed by the movement of more chains, somewhere deep in the hollow. The Crow lowered his wand and the chest found its rest on the ground as he made his way to the edge. The distant sound of chains grew louder and the distinct sound of bat-like wings echoed off the rocky wall. He lifted his wand and fired an orb of white light into the dark, banishing the shadows.

  “Wonderful…” he said, looking down.

  Flying steadily higher to see them was a dragon of tremendous size and coated with glistening black scales. Eventually, it stopped beating its wings and gripped to the hollow’s walls. It ascended fast and looked up at The Crow with brilliant purple eyes, blazing with hatred and hunger. Suddenly, the chains around its neck and legs were pulled taut and the dragon was halted mid-climb. A thunderous roar, unique in its sound, rippled over him and the king.

  Karakulak placed a firm hand on The Crow’s chest and forced him to take a step back before the wall of flames erupted like the fires of a volcano, eclipsing their view of the entire hollow. Both orcs could do nothing but shield their eyes, while The Crow watched the towering flames with a broad smile on his pale face. This would do, he thought.

  When the flames died away, he peered over the edge and took in the sight of the dragon again. Upon further inspection, it appeared the beast had been severely beaten and tortured, his wings poked through and a handful of scales missing. A deep gash cut across his snout and over his left eye until it met a crack in his horn. They weren’t old, either.

  “You finally caught the dragon over a year ago,” The Crow observed. “Yet he still bears injury…”

  “What does it matter?” the king asked casually. “It will die in your ritual soon enough.”

  “You know nothing of what I intend for this dragon,” The Crow quickly replied, his anger bubbling up. “You were to simply keep it until I required it. Nothing more.”

  “Until I give it to you, Wizard, the beast belongs to me—”

  The king’s next words were choked from his mouth when The Crow flexed his wrist and pointed his wand. Karakulak instinctively placed his hands around his neck, but magic was not something one could claw away at. He lifted his arm and pointed his wand downwards, commanding the orc to his knees in front of the other wretch. Karakulak’s arm dashed out and stopped the orc from defending him.

  The Crow took meaningful strides towards the spluttering king. “I have given you Illian on a plate,” he hissed in the orc’s pointed ear, ignoring the fuming orc beyond him. “From north to south and east to west, the land will belong to King Karakulak because I will it. You will know power unlike any has known for thousands of years. But…” He twisted his wand and watched the king’s eyes begin to bulge. “If you interrupt my plans I will replace you as easily as I did your father.”

  The Crow turned his back on the king and returned to the chest, leaving Karakulak free of his spell and gasping for air. The orc panted and doubled over onto all fours. So sore was his throat that he couldn’t even growl.

  “What happens next is crucial,” The Crow continued. “Without this magic,” he gestured to the chest at his feet, “your army will succumb to the might of the Dragorn.”

  Karakulak picked himself up. “If you touch me with your magic again, Wizard, I will—”

  The Crow whipped his wand up again and forced the king to the very edge of the platform. “You are far more intelligent than you let on, good king. Don’t undo all that you have gained by flattening that learning curve of yours.”

  The wizard walked the short distance to the immobilised king. “We are in this together now. Without The Black Hand, every tribe of orc will fall to the men, dwarves, and elves of Neverdark. Without your army, the world I desire can never be. Our current arrangement sees us both claiming victory. Harm my dragon again and I shall be forced to re-evaluate our relationship…” With that, The Crow lifted the chest and made for the heavy doors. “Have it taken to Paldora’s Fall,” he called over his shoulder.

  The king found his feet under his own control again and turned to face the only other orc on the platform.

  The fate of the pathetic creature had been sealed the moment The Crow attacked the king.

  Indeed, it was amusing to watch Karakulak grip the smaller orc around his chin and horns. The neck snapped with a loud crack and the king left the orc to tumble over the side.

  The Crow straightened his robes and prepared for the rabble of ignorant mages on the other side of the door. He would tell them that Kaliban’s will was coming to pass. Yes, he thought, that would pacify them for a while…

  15

  Alone in the World

  Alijah Galfrey had lost count of the number of times his life had been in the clutches of death, just waiting for that malevolent entity to close its fist and take him to whatever lay beyond, but fleeing a horde of Sandstalkers on a tiring horse was perhaps the worst way he could imagine dying.

  There would be no fighting back, no valiant stand, and nothing left of him to even light a pyre for. The monsters would rip him to pieces and devour every inch of his body. Still, he wouldn’t leave this world with a full quiver.

  The half-elf turned in his saddle and fired arrow after arrow into the Sandstalkers that reached out for Vighon, who was weighed down with Galanör’s limp form.

  The valley walls towered over them, funnelling the riders ever southward, offering no refuge from the monsters. Alijah sighted down his next arrow and let loose the shot that whistled through Vi
ghon’s flowing hair and into the Sandstalker’s nightmarish face behind him. The creature screamed and dropped to the floor, a slave to its own momentum, before being crushed under the pincer-like legs of its kin.

  Vighon drew his single-handed sword and lashed out to the sides, giving the Sandstalkers something to think about besides how exquisite he would taste. Ahead of them both, Galanör’s grey horse was the only one who would probably survive to see another day, fast as it was.

  “We can’t keep this up!” Vighon shouted.

  Alijah could feel the fatigue of his own horse between his legs. “Keep going!” he called back.

  As the rogue’s last hope began to fade, his eyes caught movement on the rock face to his left. It was so subtle that Alijah assumed he had imagined it but, a moment later, the lower half of the valley wall exploded with life.

  Vighon freed himself of more expletives than Alijah could register, but the half-elf had to agree with every one of them. Their chances of survival had been low, but faced now with a mob of cave trolls closing in from both sides of the valley was the nail in their coffin.

  The lumbering beasts closed the gap on all four of their solid limbs, using their giant hands as feet. Their skin was coated in scales of rock that allowed the trolls to blend in with their environment. It also acted as natural armour that Alijah’s arrows couldn’t pierce.

  The cave trolls roared and beat their chests in the brief moment before they waded through the chasing Sandstalkers, creating bloody chaos.

  “Weave between them!” Alijah suggested, wondering if those were to be his last words.

  Galanör’s horse disappeared in the cloud of sand and thundering trolls who, thankfully, were far more interested in the horde of Sandstalkers than the riders. Alijah guided his horse this way and that, doing his best to evade the trolls and find a way through. Thanks to the curses spewing out of Vighon’s mouth, he knew his friend wasn’t far behind.