The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  Kiriana thought, Change is an interesting thing. Every marksman knows this. The flight of every arrow and bolt is forever altered by a single degree of change. That tiny adjustment can spell life or death. In life even the tiniest changes can have the same effect. Grand Master Duncan showed us how to strengthen our mind and bodies through diligent training and eating well. Every slayer in the Brotherhood knows that a disciplined mind and body are together the deadliest weapon, yet even the slightest change to a routine could throw off a skilled fighter.

  Change was probably the one thing that Duncan prepared me for the most. Under him, my training constantly evolved. For the longest time I thought I just wasn’t good enough. He pushed me harder and further than anyone else. I didn’t understand what he was doing. He did though. The constant change made my mind sharper than any blade I’d ever handle. It made me the best... he made me the best.

  I’ve gotten comfortable with change, which is a strange thing to say I’m sure. But this change that my spirit is calling for is not small micro adjustments, it is not the drifting of a marksman’s target. It is large and radical and unknown... and it scares me. Why am I following this orc, who I don’t even know, headlong on some mysterious adventure that has nothing to do with me? It’s madness. That has to be it. I must have lost my damned mind to follow this stranger into some forgotten tomb that even dwarves don’t touch. You know it’s bad if dwarves won’t go. But I have to, even if I don’t know why.

  For some reason, Kiriana did trust the orc chieftain. She really had no reason to either, she hardly knew him, but something about him resonated within her. Yes he was a ferocious warrior, she had seen that much in the battle back in Jasprita, but it was something else. He spoke little, but contemplated much. His words and actions alike were deliberate and calculated. Kiriana would have been hard pressed to explain why she followed this orc, but she was compelled to. They all were it seemed. So when he said it was time to go, they heeded his words. There were no questions or quarrels, they just followed his lead—even into the blinding snow.

  The surviving Hammerfist was remarkable indeed. His stature alone rendered most speechless, and his prowess in battle was an already growing legend. But he had changed: everything had changed. The Great Lion from his vision had come, and Aneri’On broke the dragon’s stranglehold on the land. The war was over and the people were freed from the Law of Blood, but none of it brought his brother back.

  It had been two months, and with each passing night he watched his brother die again, and again, and again. Sometimes he heard Ogron cry out to him saying, “Brother, save me,” or “Help me brother!” His mind played cruel tricks on him. He saw the late King Tiereon laugh as he drove the blade through Ogron’s body. The worst were the ones where Aneri’On simply watched his brother suffer. In those nightmares Ogron begged Aneri’On to have mercy and to spare his life, but the Frelsarine silently watched him die. Every time Theros awoke, he tried to push away the lies. He couldn’t tell if they were getting stronger or if he was getting weaker, but it was becoming harder to separate truth from deception. These things he kept to himself though, as he suffered in silence.

  Sharka knew him better than anyone else, and she saw his struggle. Not in his words or his actions, but she could see it in his eyes. Those large blue eyes had become seas of sorrow, and it broke her heart.

  She loved him; she always had, even before the awakening of womanhood all those years ago. She wanted to comfort him, to take his mind off of his pain, even if just for a time. The orc customs would never allow it though. Those with chieftain blood in their veins were forbidden from being with anyone from another tribe, and he came from a long line of chieftains. She had already given her heart to him though, even if he couldn’t take it. She knew he felt the same way, but she also knew his sense of honor and duty would never allow him to violate their customs. It was a lonely life, one seemingly cursed by fate.

  Over three weeks had passed since they departed Jasprita, and the conditions had not improved at all. The odds that were stacked against them were not swayed by their lamentations. The snow would keep falling and the winds would still howl, and howl they did. Or so they thought.

  Kiriana said, “The worst blasts of the wind are out of the north!”

  Dominar shouted back, “Just figuring that out my dear?”

  The old dwarf wasn’t the only one giving her a puzzled look, they the other three did too. But he missed her point, they all did. It wasn’t until another surging wail reached its crescendo that they realized their error. The wailing came from the east. Swift recognized it immediately and began howling.

  Mistress Kiriana screamed, “That’s no wind, we are being hunted!”

  Her frosted red locks whipped through the air as she pulled out her trusty repeaters. With two barrels full of bolts, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. The five peered through the swirling snow as they tried to scan the dark horizon, just waiting for their attackers to burst through the wintry veil.

  Theros unexpectedly charged forward screaming, “Vraeks!”

  A pack of eleven burst into view. It’s hard to know which pit of hell these creatures must have spawned from, but they were wretched things. The beasts’ bodies largely resembled the great panthers of Aurion. Four muscled legs held their sleek bodies just a few feet off the ground with long tails trailing behind them. The ultra-fine hairs upon their body exposed their hides’ natural slate-like hue. But it was the business end of the beast that made them so fearsome. The beasts’ broad skulls stretched forward nearly two feet upon their elongated necks. Somehow the absurdly over-sized ears held their dome-like shape fast against their skull. Unforgiving daggers filled the wide maws, revealing their toothy disposition. Making matters worse were the handful of nasty tendrils snaking forth from either side of the beasts’ mouths. They barbed tendrils resembled meat hooks, and they flailed about every which way.

  These creatures were designed by the creator to stalk the shores of the Northern Seas, where they preyed upon sea lions and such. They were the ultimate predator in that realm, but they were equally dangerous outside it, and they were out to prove it. The pack of vraeks set upon the chieftain.

  First one, then a second vraek leapt through the snow filled air. They were met violently with the piercing bite of Kiriana’s barrage. A handful of bolts ripped through the first beast. Its bolt-riddled body writhed in pain as it tumbled to the snow. Her shots failed to reach the second beast though. The creature descended upon Theros, only to be met with the frozen head of the large stone maul. A sickening snap and crack signaled the beast’s end as its head and neck snapped backward. Two vraek’s now rested upon the frozen ground, but the surging wave of ferocity had only just begun.

  The next monster on the hunt lunged for the orc, barely missing him to the left. Then, just as Theros went to turn his attention to the others, pain erupted on his left side. He was twisted backward toward the pain, and ripped to the ground. His huge body slammed down on the unyielding turf. He barely had time to identify the serpentine tendrils that snared him before the vraek was upon him. Theros jerked the barbed hooks from his shoulder and ribs, but not before the claws of the beast slashed his upper thigh. The shredded fur and leather garments drank up the orc’s blood.

  The beast shrieked and howled as it snapped at him. Then it was sent tumbling off him as a bolt of silver lightning struck the beast’s side. The vraek was sent crashing to the ground. The snarling wolf viciously tore at the beast’s side. A loud yelp and silence immediately followed. Swift saved his master’s life, but the valiant wolf was no match for a vraek. One merciless snap of the vraek’s jaws and it was over.

  An impassioned roar exploded from the depths of the orc as he surged forward. Rage and fury guided his hands as he struck with terrifying ferocity. In an instant the beast was slain. Sweat and slobber oozed from the orc’s face and he charged headlong into the fray.

  Dominar rushed into battle with his dwarven mallet. The overzealous
dwarf mistimed his swing though and missed his mark. The vraek lunged past his attack and drove the dwarf to the snowy ground. Brilliant powder puffed out in all directions as the beast thrashed about. Again and again the creature attempted to disembowel ole Dom with claw and fang. It was a good day to be a dwarf though. The traditional chain mail, which happened to have been crafted by his own hands, was the only thing that prevented his guts from being spilled across the snow. The vraek’s terrible fangs couldn’t pierce his armored core. The beast thrashed about angrily. Dom tried to bring the hammer down on the beast, but with the beast was in too close so he couldn’t. Fortunately for Dom, Theros was on the warpath. The beast’s body broke under his devastating strokes.

  Nal’drin was not to be left out of the fight. Still atop his horse, the young king rushed to battle. His sword seemed to be given a life of its own as it hacked and slashed at the nearby vraeks before finding its way deep into the back of one. A fatal blow down through the beast’s ribcage sent it crashing to the ground. There was one problem though; the blade was stuck. Nal’drin couldn’t remove it from the dead beast. The vagabond king dismounted, but he still couldn’t break the big sword free. Another beast closed in on him. Desperation set in as the jaws of the snarling beast descended upon him.

  The beast was intercepted, and driven to the ground. A shrill yelp echoed across the plain and then the body of the hellcat jerked and twitched. In its last stand, the vraek raked its claws through the arm of its assailant. Then its bleeding body squirmed for a moment before becoming still. Sharka rolled through the snow, leaving a trail of blood in her wake, before rising back to her feet. Her wounded arm didn’t slow her down as she darted toward the next kill. Kiriana fired another salvo of bolts into the pack of beasts as they finished off the last of the pack.

  The fight was over. Crimson marred the once immaculate landscape. And there, in their midst, lay the lifeless body of one of their own. Theros’ dear companion Swift rested upon the frozen terrain. The fur of his once beautiful gray coat was now caked and matted with his drying blood. The wolf had been a great companion, and now he was gone. In one final act of loyalty, Swift had given up his own life to protect his friend. Theros knelt in the bloody snow next to his friend’s body as the dagger of another loss was buried deep into his heart.

  “Oh no,” cried Kiriana, her heart sinking.

  Sharka gently placed a hand on Theros’s muscled shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

  The others bowed their eyes, as they paid their respects to their fallen companion. In the midst of the silence, Dominar retrieved a shovel from his pack and began to clear away the snow. It took a moment, but the frozen ground yielded to the dwarf’s efforts. As Theros silently mourned Swift’s death, Dom prepared the earth to receive him. No more words were spoken for a time. The hole was dug in silence. Theros stood up, the wolf’s lifeless body hung in his massive arms as he turned toward the grave. The hulking orc gently laid his friend to rest in the cold earth, where he said goodbye for the last time. Theros rose to his feet, his furs and leathers smeared with blood. He turned and walked away from the others before the dirt covered Swift’s body.

  He had seen so much death, so much loss. So many orcs had died. King Tiereon died. Lokar died. Aneri’On died. Ogron died—and now Swift joined them. Yet no tears came, not this day. How much longer could he hold it together? It was a question he secretly asked himself. It was a question they all asked, but no one dared to voice, but they worried, and rightfully so.

  3

  Welcoming Party

  I don’t always pay that much attention to the concerns of my medical advisors. I have enough on my plate; besides sometimes I think they forget that their job is to eliminate health concerns, not invent them. Everything is an epidemic to them. I think they just like hearing themselves talk.

  That being said, this sickness is a peculiar one. This does not appear to be spread via a contagion like common viruses. Rather the sickness is scattered amongst the population in a seemingly random distribution. Both young and the old, men and women have been afflicted. I still don’t think it is much cause for alarm; we are talking about roughly one percent of the population.

  From the personal journal of Duroc Stonebrow

  THEY STRUGGLED TO BREATHE as the frigid air ravaged their lungs. The journey had been miserable enough in these conditions. The last thing they needed was to have to fight their way across Darnisi. As frustrating and heartbreaking a start as this might be, it was important for them to keep perspective.

  “Helluva trip so far,” groaned Nal’drin.

  “Hey, we’ve got meat now!” exclaimed the dwarf optimistically.

  “Vraeks are some of the deadliest predators in all of Aurion. We are fortunate to be alive,” was Sharka’s response.

  “I’ve never even heard of vraeks before,” admitted Kiriana.

  “Where did they come from?” asked the old dwarf.

  Sharka answered, “You haven’t heard of them before because they’re not from these parts. Vraeks live in a region north of the Highland Pass, known as the Tide Shelf. They’ve been seen as far away as the eastern outskirts of Storm Vale, but never down here in the flats.”

  “Harsh winter, maybe prey is scarce?” suggested Dominar.

  Theros answered with fire in his voice, “This was no hunting party... it was a kill squad.”

  No one said anything for a few minutes as they tried to piece together everything that had just happened and been said.

  Kiriana’s voice broke the silence. “Who could command such beasts?”

  “Vraeks have no natural master,” answered Sharka.

  Dominar interjected, “Then who could master them... un-naturally?”

  “That’s a question that will be answered,” growled Theros, “and sooner, rather than later. But for now, we must make shelter and get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

  Dominar grunted in agreement and the conversation died off as the five began to setup camp. It didn’t take long at all. The routine had been established by now. Kiriana and Nal’drin worked to clear the snow in a large circle upon the ground. The circle was about three and a half yards across, and it was where Theros and Sharka would put up shelter. It was a traditional orc hut. The pliable wood of the banu trees that they brought with them would be threaded through the holes in the thick beast hide. Weaving the poles through the hide in this manner would essentially stitch the tent together with the very rods that would support the structure. The two orcs could have done this in their sleep. They worked quickly, and in a matter of minutes the shelter was erected. It wasn’t an ideal shelter considering the conditions, but without a deep base of snow, it was the best they could get. Sharka went to fetch one of the remaining sacks of firewood that was loaded onto her hrall. As she did that and prepared the small fire in the tent, the others all worked to pack as much snow up against the tent as possible. Any insulation it would provide would be welcomed, but it was more important to help the shelter to withstand the buffet of wind that was sure to come, because they had no other way to anchor to the frozen ground.

  Without the right tools for the job, moving of the snow was inefficient at best. Even still, they were able to form a small mound of snow encircling the tent. It did the trick. The orc dwellings were not much to look at by human and dwarven standards, but after withstanding yet another night of endless wind, Kiriana and the others were believers.

  Aside from the battering of the winter elements, the night was uneventful, at least to the waking world. The same couldn’t be said of the dream world. The orc chieftain was haunted each night and the light of dawn did not chase it away. Every day he rose, carrying the burden of his brother’s lost life and possibly his soul. But the size and weight of his burdens couldn’t shorten his trip. It was time to prepare for the final leg of the journey.

  As Theros opened his heavy eyes, he found Sharka still lying at his side. He slowly pulled back the fur covers, exposing her shoulder and arm. His eyes
sought out the large bandage that wrapped her left arm. Now dried blood colored the part of the bandage just above her elbow. The vraek’s claws drew a lot of blood, but in the end it was just a flesh wound. Sharka would retain full use of her arm as it healed, as long as they could stave off infection.

  Theros ran his gray fingers over her sage green skin. He always preferred the tone of her skin to his own. His skin tone should have been a thing of pride, after all his tribe made it their namesake in honor of the mighty and honorable Hammerfist brothers. It was the skin tone he alone shared with his brother, a family trait rarely passed down through the generations. Yet it was just another reminder that he was different. Had he just been another orc, a regular greenskin without the restrictions placed on one with such a lineage—he could have it all.

  Fate is cruel.

  Kiriana had taken the final watch of the night. She had finished her patrol, and she returned to the campsite to find Nal’drin building a campfire for breakfast. The young man was an early riser, and this had become his routine. So Kiriana gave him a nod and went to the tent to wake up the other three. As the others clambered from the tent they quickly realized that both the snow and the wind had stopped. It was a cold but clear morning with blue skies stretching out before them. The sun was a timid child, carefully peaking over the horizon. They could barely feel the warmth of his teasing embrace, but it gave them hope. While they would gladly accept the more hospitable weather, they were none too amused that it only chose to show up as they neared their destination.