The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series)

by Wyckoff, Brae

  “Are you sure about this entry point, Dulgin?” Spilf asked.

  “No, it was over three-hundred and fifty years ago when my brother told me. He was known to be wrong before, so we enter at our own risk.”

  The Ordakians looked at each other, shocked at the mention of a sibling he’d never told them about. “You have a brother?” Bridazak questioned. “Where is he?”

  “Had a brother. He went off on a damned crusade to Kerrith Ravine with a thousand other good clerics from across the land. They were never seen again. My brother, El’Korr of the Hammergold Clan, will be forever remembered for trying to restore the Lost Kingdom.” Dulgin’s voice trailed off as he thought of his brother. He had been a great Dwarven warrior who deserved a burial worthy of his caliber. The last time he saw El’Korr was at their father’s passing, just before the elder brother left on his crusade. The deaths of these two Dwarves had altered his attitude, he recognized; he’d grown more cynical, and more stubborn than ever. He glanced at the only thing he retained from his past—his father’s axe; an heirloom meant to be passed down in the lineage of his family, but now only a symbol of what was. His home was long destroyed and any remaining Dwarves had scattered across the land as they escaped the wrath of the Reegs, the shadow demons that came out of Kerrith Ravine.

  Spilf released the lock, snapping Dulgin out of his thoughts of the past, and the dull grey, metal portal hissed open. A gust of putrid smelling air escaped to meet the three intruders, air so strong that it pushed them to the ground. On their rear ends, hands covering their faces, they looked at each other in bewilderment. They slowly edged their way over to peer down the dark tunnel. After a moment, the faint sounds of scuffling and whispers below reached their ears.

  “Maybe it’s rats,” suggested Bridazak with a shrug.

  Dulgin stared at him with irritation, “I don’t think so, my friend. Rats don’t whisper.”

  Spilf unslung his pack and pulled out a torch, a flint, and a piece of steel. Within seconds a large spark ignited the oil-dipped piece of wood and he tossed it into the black hole. Landing twenty feet below, it revealed the disgusting sight of piled and decaying bodies. Dulgin glared at Bridazak.

  “Alright, alright, I’m going,” he surrendered.

  “Remember, this was your idea in the first place,” the Dwarf countered.

  “That smell is rank. Are we sure we want to go down there?” Spilf pleaded.

  “It’s called the smell of adventure. Now get your Daky-ass down there!”

  One by one, the three friends climbed down the cold, metal rungs. Their movement echoed throughout; the creaking of leather, the tap of boots on metal, and then soft padding of bare feet on stone as they reached the bottom. Picking up the torch to get a better look around, Bridazak snapped his head in one direction where he heard more scuffling sounds in the distance. Dulgin followed his change in stance and quipped sarcastically, “Maybe it’s those rats you were talking about.”

  “Too big to be rats,” Spilf responded.

  “Maybe it’s really big rats, coming to ask you for some fresh meat. Looks like they could use it,” Dulgin continued his joking.

  They surveyed the carcasses that were strewn about. Humans, Orcs, and Goblins. Thirty decayed bodies that bore signs of battle: slash marks and punctured armor.

  “The sounds are coming from the north passageway,” whispered Bridazak. The echo of his childlike voice glided smoothly down the dark corridors.

  There were four tunnels leading away from this main junction. Bridazak moved toward the source of the sound, and the light from the Ordakian’s torch faded as they went deeper into danger. The aroma of rotting flesh dwindled and the corridor slowly transformed into a cleaner, dryer habitat. Bridazak and Spilf were walking a little ahead of the gruff Dwarf. The stocky redhead intermittently walked backward, watching for any surprises. He had done this several times without any problems, but finally bumped into Bridazak who had stopped walking for some unknown reason.

  “What is wrong now?” Dulgin harshly whispered.

  “Look at the torch.”

  They gazed at the twisting fire and watched it flutter and move to the left. An air source was coming out of the right wall. Simultaneously, they spoke softly, “Secret door.”

  Within minutes, they had discovered and opened the elusive portal by pushing it in on one side. It was a swivel set-up that was well crafted. The torchlight did not penetrate the magical darkness beyond.

  “It smells even worse in there!” Spilf stepped back, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve.

  From the darkness a voice echoed back, “I would be saying the same to you, little-one.” The hidden voice sounded scratchy. They backed away, waiting; they could not see through the magical barrier, so no one moved. The voice crackled again, “Why are you here? You are not welcome, so your answer had better be to my liking.”

  Bridazak looked at his friends and Spilf nudged him to respond. “We are here to see Oculus.”

  “I am her loyal servant.”

  Bridazak was suddenly able to see outlines of creatures inside the darkness. At least four pairs of eyes glowed red, looking down on them. He was uncertain how he was able to see through the magic. He wished he could sense their intentions and an impression came just as quickly as he thought the question. “They plan to kill you.”

  “We are sorry to have bothered you. We meant no disrespect,” Bridazak stated promptly and started to tug at his friends to move back away with him. They were surprised at the statement and the action, but trusted his leading.

  “I have not permitted you to leave,” the creature responded in a threatening, raspy tone.

  “We don’t need permission, whoever you are,” Dulgin retorted.

  The conversation was meant to keep their defenses down, but now Bridazak moved quickly to pull forth his short bow and notch an arrow, as he knew that Dulgin’s chime was not diplomatic enough to hold them back any longer.

  They rushed the group from the darkness. Claws sprang out of paws attached to shaggy, light brown fur. A hateful expression of rage was on their distorted rodent faces. These were giant rats.

  Bridazak’s shot unerringly hit his first opponent between its eyes. Without hesitation he quickly pulled out another arrow and struck the second rat in the chest with deadly accuracy. It slammed it into the cold stone floor. Dulgin pulled out a throwing axe and hurled it toward his mark. The vile thing fell dead with the hatchet buried in its head. Five other sewer scented creatures engaged the combatants.

  Spilf was knocked to the floor by one of the beasts as it launched itself at him. He was able to pull out his snake head dagger and slice its back foot as it jumped upon him. It snarled at Spilf in disgust and then lunged again. The Dak rolled to avoid the grapple and then quickly swung his blade back to hit the thing squarely in its gut. It screeched and tried in vain to stop the blood that poured out. The magic of Spilf’s dagger had unleashed its venom. A gurgled last breath was heard as the poison took over.

  With lightning speed, Bridazak released a volley of arrows. One dropped, then another. Dulgin had just delivered a punishing blow with his huge battle axe to drop one more. He wielded his weapon masterfully, as if it were an extension of his hands. It slammed into the last one, breaking and severing the backbone of the creature. A blood-curdled yelp resounded, and then there was silence.

  “I got four and all you could do was take out three?” Bridazak scoffed over at Dulgin.

  “Ah shut your mouth, ya blundering fool!” Dulgin was pulling his throwing axe out of the dead carcass.

  “I got one,” chimed Spilf, after picking himself up off the floor. “Or, at least my magical dagger got one.”

  “I told you that them rats wanted to talk with ya, didn’t I?” Dulgin teased Spilf.

  All three chuckled at the comment.

  “How did you know, Bridazak? How did you know they were going to attack us?” Spilf asked.

  “I was able to see an outline of th
em somehow. I can’t explain it”

  The magical darkness had disappeared, and down the new corridor was an iron door twice the average human size. Ancient and mysterious, the shadowed entryway loomed before them. Cautiously, the three adventurers approached. Bridazak nodded toward Spilf, “Check it out.”

  “You got it, boss.” He brought out his rusty picks once again and inspected the locking mechanism. “It’s all clear.” Spilf then pulled open the great iron door with surprising ease. Almost too easy, they all thought, as it glided with little effort.

  Beyond, a short corridor ultimately brought them to a large room on the left. It was an enormous chamber, with the only shadowy illumination coming from their torchlight. They could hear the sound of water splashing deeper within, and as they cautiously entered, the source was revealed. In the center of the room, a stone statue portrayed a hideous, frightening creature, the likes of which were otherwise found only in nightmares. A round boulder shaped beast, ten feet in diameter, with a gaping maw and an eye the size of a large wagon wheel, magically hovered above the pool. Several tentacle eye-stalks protruded from the top. A strange red liquid poured out of its mouth into a basin below. It floated above the reddish pool, casting a menacing stare in their direction.

  “What is that?” questioned the Dwarven fighter.

  “That is the legendary Great Eye of the Deep. A statue of whom we seek—Oculus. It’s a good thing that this is not real, otherwise we would probably be dead by now,” Spilf explained, grasping at his dagger again.

  They crept into the chamber to search the area in hopes of finding another secret door, keeping a wary eye on the stone figure.

  “Tell me Bridazak, what do you think that red liquid is in that fountain?” the Dwarf hesitantly asked.

  “Probably just your ordinary everyday blood sucked from the lives of innocent people.”

  “Great, just what I needed to hear.”

  As the three searched the confines of the room, a loud thundering voice crackled to life around them. Bridazak instinctively drew forth his bow, as did Dulgin with his battle axe. They scanned the area to try and pinpoint the threat.

  “Who dares to enter my domain?” The deep voice bellowed.

  Bridazak hesitated before speaking up, “I’m Bridazak and these are my friends. We seek an audience with The Great Oculus.”

  The voice thundered once more, “Two Ordakians and a Dwarf, in a place they should not be. Many seek my voice, but find only fated death. What has brought you to the door of oblivion?”

  “A mystery, one that came from my dream. We seek your help, oh Great One,” said the Ordakian.

  “Show me what has turned from a dream into reality.”

  Bridazak produced the ornate box in his small hands, and began to speak, “We don’t know what the writing—”

  “Silence!” The ground shook under their feet. “I know what you seek, but you must answer my riddle. If you are correct, then I will reveal to you the meaning of this gift. If you fail, then you will be sent to the grave. There will be no rest inside the gates of the netherworld, your soul will thirst for death again for all eternity and generations forthcoming will never know you existed.”

  “What about my friends?”

  “You came here together as one accord and you will live or die in the same manner. Your riddle is this, little-one:

  Rigid but born to perfection

  I wonder who brought me my blissful conception

  I am gazed upon by many lonely eyes

  Standing there to be portrayed with lies

  There are questions that surround me

  Thinking, feeling, hearing, I can see

  No movement comes from within

  I am forsaken because I lack earthly skin

  So true is my heart without a beat

  Now I drink the rainwater, tasting bittersweet

  Crafted by art in life’s forgiving hand

  Brought from afar to this known fatherland

  Trying to find the meaning of my existence

  A voice comes here and there showing the eminence

  The task performed in drought of the grandmaster

  Born in stillness could have been my disaster

  Braving the depth of a complex web

  Weaved and woven in the delight of the ebb

  Now and forever in eternal agony’s darkness

  Never to move to touch, only to feel a sweet caress.

  Of what do I speak?”

  Dulgin contemplated the intricate riddle and then asked, “Can you repeat the saying once more?”

  “You have until the end of the torch light you hold,” the creature responded. Silence overtook the room once again, interrupted only by the sound of the fountain splashing into the pool.

  “Do something Bridazak, the torch has only a few minutes remaining.”

  “I’m trying to think. Born. Emotions, no movement. I can’t recall everything it said. I wish I could see it.” The sounds in the room around him began to fade as the Ordakian strained to grasp something in his mind.

  He saw the round rock sculpture illuminated with a soft light. His body felt raptured inside a somnolent vision. The outlined effigy slowly came alive, and the once-still representation of Oculus moved to face him. Then it suddenly ended, snapping him back into reality. The sounds of the room returned, Dulgin and Spilf were yelling at him to find out what was wrong. He could see the torch on its last chokes of breath.

  “Bridazak, there is no time!” Spilf’s words echoed.

  “The light—it was showing me the answer. That’s it. I’ve got it. Great One of the Deep, the answer to this riddle lies before me. It is a statue,” Bridazak’s words faded at the same time as the fire in his hand.

  They waited in anticipation, not breathing, motionless. Uncertainty surrounded them. The pitch-black room seemed like a tomb.

  “No one has ever answered this riddle, for it was created by the gods themselves.” A soft glow permeated the area as a beautiful human apparition appeared. She glided from inside the immense statue. Translucent, grey-colored, ghostlike clothing fluttered about. Her eyes emanated a hypnotic, dazzling blue light as she hovered gracefully before the group.

  “You don’t have much time, as you are being tracked by mystics,” she said without her lips moving. Her voice was powerful and soothing, and spoke within their minds.

  “Why are we being tracked?” Bridazak asked, a puzzled look on his face.

  “Listen to what I have to say. I am Kiratta, once the helper of mankind, but now forever condemned inside the creature you see before you. You must find the Lost Prophet inside the endless forest of Everwood, in order to set in motion all that must come.”

  “What are you talking about? We don’t know about anyone in Everwood,” he responded, confused.

  “Bridazak, you have been called. Now it is up to you to heed that call. Do not worry, little-one, it will unfold in due time.”

  “But what is inside this thing?” He lifted the box toward her.

  “To open this gift you will need to bare your heart to the One that has given it to you. Protect this gift at all costs, Bridazak.” She paused and then continued, “You will know you have found The Prophet when he says, ‘I will reveal my strength through weakness’.”

  “What does that mean?” Bridazak questioned.

  “It is part of the prophecy, but there is no time left to explain. Assassins have entered, and there is a mystic among them. He teleported inside my domain.”

  “There is only one entrance, how do we get out of here?” Spilf questioned.

  “There are many doors throughout Ruauck-El hidden from natural sight. Go to the town of Lonely Tear and follow the river against the current into Everwood.” She twisted her arms in movements that mesmerized the group. Elegantly, she weaved her spell to completion. Behind the adventurers, natural sunlight poured out from a magical portal. They turned and shielded their eyes from the sudden brightness.

  As she finis
hed, twenty men wielding assorted weapons and wearing black studded armor entered, and skidded to a halt when they saw the monstrous statue. Their eyes refocused and spotted the heroes on the other side of the room. Then out from behind the soldiers came the feared mystic, adorned in blood-red robes with a wooden staff as twisted as himself, bearing a human skull with sapphire gems embedded in the eye sockets on top.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” The thin, pale-faced human mage spoke confidently.

  A large roar of rage echoed throughout the room and caused the magic wielder to redirect his attention toward the statue. The strange red liquid ceased to pour from the mouth, and the loud cracking of stone pierced everyone’s ears. The workmanship of rock fell away and smashed onto the floor, revealing a fleshy chitinous hide underneath. It was moving—coming to life—screaming in anger throughout the transformation. Kiratta was forcefully pulled back into the statue. Her brief time of freedom had come to an end. “Go!” she yelled. “Oculus awakens!”

  “What dark magic is this?” the Dwarf asked.

  A crossbow bolt whistled by their heads and ushered them back to the immediate threat. Several of the troops fired at the hideous creature, their ammunition bouncing off its natural armor harmlessly. A few others hugged the wall and started to make their way toward their exit. One of the assassins was instantly burned to ashes as an eyestalk of Oculus delivered a black ray that hit the warrior directly. Flashes of red, orange, and blue colors flared in the room as the ancient beholder of the deep unleashed her fury.

  “Come on! We need to get out of here!” Spilf yelled over the screams and sounds of battle, pushing Bridazak and Dulgin to move forward. The Dwarf watched the mystic point his staff in their direction as his little friend moved them closer to the portal. A magical, dark bolt of force shot forth and the Dwarf’s instinct kicked in—time seemed to slow down as he moved to push Spilf and Bridazak out of the way of danger. The energy bolt struck him in the left side of his back as he shielded his friends. The smell of burning flesh was undeniable, and Dulgin fell forward to the ground. Bridazak and Spilf helped him to his feet, and they rushed the portal which had now started to fade away.