The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  “It was long before my time, but during Duroc’s brief reign, the Hand of Horus grew very suspicious of the king. I don’t know how they knew, but our records are pretty clear that the king was practicing sorcery. So the Hand was already on high alert, but apparently the magical energy that was being released here began to grow at a rapid rate, then everything went dark,” shared Dramar before turning and studying the hard, square lines of the dwarven architecture.

  “Wait, how did the Hand know that magical energy was being released?” asked Kiriana.

  The centaur cocked his head to the side and turned to her with a smile. “Now, now, Mistress Kiriana, do you really think I am going to share all of our secrets with you? We have our ways. Besides, it’s unimportant.”

  “Very well, but you still haven’t answered my question,” prodded Theros, the sharp lines on his face hinted that his patience was coming to its end.

  “The acceleration of the magics,” answered Dramar as if the answer was obvious.

  “The acceleration of the magics?” asked Nal’drin with a confused look.

  Dominar said, “Dramar, you have to understand, we’re no sorcerers. Talk so we can understand, my friend, no sorcerer-speak.”

  Dramar nodded with grace, “My apologies. At a very basic level, the magics are a source of energy. A person who wields the magics learns to developed stores or—wells of energy. These wells have a finite amount of magical energy they can store. Even the most skilled user of the magics is therefore limited to what they can do at any given time. So naturally, there is only so much magical energy that could be released by any one person during a given amount of time.”

  Theros nodded with understanding, “So when you say acceleration of magics, you’re really talking about amplification?”

  Well,” Dramar said with a frown, “not really. Yes the end results are amplified, but all magic is limited by time, among other things. So at its core, the only way to have amplification is to have an acceleration of either time or magic. There is much more than that, but it can get rather complicated.”

  “So the Elder Stones can be used to accelerate the magics?” asked Kiriana.

  “Well, I don’t think anyone fully understands what the Elder Stones are capable of, but yes it was believed that one of their properties allowed for the acceleration of magic—and time,” answered the centaur warrior.

  “How on Aurion do you accelerate time?” asked Dominar as he tugged on his thick gray beard.

  “I have no idea,” said Dramar with a smile. “I’ve given you all I can.”

  “And we thank you for that Dramar. The centaur continue to be trusted friends and allies,” said Theros.

  “The same can be said of orcs and men—and dwarves,” he said with a smile. “Now, shall we get to the business at hand?”

  “Ah, yes!” said Theros as he remembered the purpose of their meeting.

  “Oh, and what’s that?” asked Dominar with a raised eyebrow.

  “The mounts are going with him,” added Theros.

  “Oh, good thinkin’. I suppose that’ll be a lot better than draggin’ ‘em underground with us,” admitted the dwarf with a nod.

  “All right, let’s unload them so we can be off,” directed Theros.

  The crew worked quickly to get all of their belongings. The packs and loose possessions were neatly piled on the frozen floor of the mountain pass, just outside the dark entrance to the abandoned city. They said goodbye to Dramar and their horses, then they turned to face the shadowed ruins where their mission awaited.

  4

  Descending into Darkness

  Those who understand the magics realize that although the Father is not bound by time, we are in a fashion. Perhaps not the way that the other sons and daughters of the Father are, but we are still bound by it nonetheless. I think it is by no small accident that it is so. See, the magics, the essence of his power, flows from the Father into his creation as a whole. The vast ocean of his power surges throughout all of the Eversphere. Yet it is synchronous: like the tide it ebbs and flows as it is drawn and spent. The magics are like a cup of water, before you can drink it a second time, it must be filled once more. As the flow of the magics shift, we sometimes find that we must wait. In light of this, the Seraphim have found new meaning for the terms high-tide and low-tide.

  While it is true that often the key limiting factor in utilizing the magics is tied to this, but we must not ignore the toll that it takes on the soul. As the magics are an extension of the Father, more specifically his will, it only makes sense that the magics become an extension of your own will too. This is something that is not so much a problem for the seraphim, but all of the Father’s children are not the same. The human will, for example, is quite resilient, but it too can crack and crumble when pushed beyond those limits. There are other effects too, including the physical stress and strain that comes with over-exertion. Even though our bodies are...different, we can still feel these effects too, under certain circumstances.

  War in the Heavens, Jazren of the Seraphim Order

  WHILE THE CRAFTSMANSHIP was marvelous, neither entrance looked particularly inviting to the five. Darkness seemed to reach far beyond the stretching silhouette of shadow.Even without setting foot inside the mountain, they could hear the harrowing whispers of the fallen king’s keep as a wind blew in the caverns below.The hushed voice of Duroc’s Refuge teased their ears as the haunting cackles of twisted laughter echoed in the pass. Their bodies shook as chills raced down their spines. Every hair stood on end, and then came the voice.

  The soft and eerie whisper cried, “Help... me!”

  The five looked back and forth at each other, unsure of what was happening.

  Dominar turned to Theros and said, “I’m not that damn old, I know you all heard that too... right?”

  “We heard it too,” answered the Master Slayer with a grim expression.

  Then the voice spoke again. This time it only tickled one pair of ears though.

  “Theros... help me.”

  The orc responded immediately as he rummaged through his supplies for a torch and his striking stone.

  “What are you doing?” asked Sharka.

  The big orc did not respond, instead he took the items over to the wall’s rock face where he attempted to light the torch. Ignoring their questions, he repeatedly struck his stone against the canyon walls until he was able to get it lit.

  “What’s going on big guy?” inquired Nal’drin.

  “He’s calling for help,” answered the chieftain.

  Sharka asked, “Who’s calling for help?”

  “I don’t know,” and without further delay Theros tucked the striking stone back in his sack. The sack was closed up and thrown upon his back, and then he descended into the keep through the Northern gate.

  “What has gotten into him?” Nal’drin asked.

  “I don’t know, but he won’t face it alone,” promised the old dwarf as he hurried in after his friend.

  Sharka did not wait for an invitation either. Once her pack was on her back she darted after them, with Kiriana on her heels. Then without warning, Nal’drin was the only one left standing outside of the keep. That is when he realized he did not have a torch of his own to light, so he had better get a move on or risk being left behind, or worse, being lost. The reluctant young royal sprang into hot pursuit of his friends, and with that all five companions had stepped through the portal of darkness into the shadowy world under the mountain.

  Theros quickly found an unlit torch on a nearby wall that he was able to light. The second lit torch helped fill the abandoned hall with warm light. The team found themselves in a surprisingly large outer hallway. The high ceiling was supported by six massive pillars carved in the likeness of dwarven warriors. Each statue stood at least eight feet tall, and was fashioned in fine white marble. Each offered a different depiction of a dwarven warrior. Some bore great weapons like a hammer or an axe, while others offered a defensive sword and bo
ard stance. The artful sculpting of their armor and weapons was spectacular.

  “Aye, I never thought I’d live to see this place. Just to see these alone was worth the wait,” remarked Dominar as he marveled at the stonework and the architecture of the hall.

  They couldn’t take their eyes off the statues. Gorgeous gray veins stretched across the carved champions’ pale complexions. They were truly pieces of art, yet they were so intricately detailed and lifelike that they almost seemed out of place in this time-forgotten keep.

  Dominar could be seen rubbing his eyes as he stared at the nearest pillars.

  “You okay Dom?” asked Kiriana.

  “Aye, torchlight must be playing tricks on these old eyes,” he answered.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Oh, pay no mind to me. I thought I saw it move,” said the old dwarf as he dismissed the silly notion.

  “You did,” confirmed Theros as he set aside his torch and pulled the massive two-handed mace from his back.

  Dom started, “Imposs—”

  Then the silence of the cavern was erased by the creaking and groaning of rock and rubble, as the stone giants’ faces turned toward them. The dwarven sentinels abandoned their posts, as they stepped down from their pedestals. The six marble dwarves towered over the companions, and they began to close in on them.

  Sharka realized their predicament as she looked at her stone adversaries and then down at the daggers in her grasp. She shoved the daggers back in their sheaths.

  “Quickly, one of your hammers!” demanded the female orc.

  Theros responded in a flash as he handed her one of his maces. Then he turned and handed the hammer’s twin to Kiriana.

  Nal’drin’s eyes shifted from the slowly approaching enemies to his sword and then back to Theros and said, “What about me?”

  Theros turned and gave him the old what do you want me to do about it look followed by a nasally grunt.

  Nal’drin started to panic, so he then turned to Dominar next. Aware of the situation, Dominar’s eyes darted from the young man, to his own club, and back to Nal’drin again but he had nothing to offer.

  So with raised eyebrows and a sheepish look the dwarf said, “Sorry bub.”

  “Ah, crap,” groaned Nal’drin as he prepared for battle.

  “Tis a pity to smash such stonework,” admitted the dwarf as he readied his weapon.

  “It’d be a bigger pity to be smashed ourselves,” quipped Mistress Kiriana as she held the heavy iron mace with two hands.

  “Aye,” said ole Dom with a very agreeable look upon his face and a nod of his head.

  Theros was done though; he had had enough of the small talk. With a frightening roar, the beast-like warrior swung his great maul into action. The iron face of the hammer drove through the hardened shield of the nearest attacker. The stone surface of the guardian’s defenses exploded on impact. Bits and fragments of marble flew in every direction and a powdery cloud of white dust spread through the air. Between the orc’s war-cry and the blast from his hammer strike, the others were startled into action.

  Dominar wasted little time in bringing his hammer down upon a nearby enemy. His blow shattered the tip of the sentinel’s sword. The marble warrior swung at Dom with the jagged remnants of his stone blade. The blow would have landed were it not for Nal’drin’s quickness. He parried the attack with his own blade, sparing his friend’s life.

  Sharka and Kiriana did not have the sheer brute force of their counterparts, so they both took a more defensive approach. Kiriana’s supreme agility allowed to her lunge away from the first attack, and with a diving tumble she rolled past the second. Then, while still on the ground, she spun with uncanny quickness, bringing the mace through the back of one of the statues’ ankles. The lower leg of the sentinel was destroyed by the dwarven iron. The stone guardian lost its balance and crashed down upon its busted leg.

  As the statue fell, it wildly swung its large battle hammer. Theros was too close, and the marble mallet pounded him squarely in the middle of his back. The wind was completely forced from his lungs and the hulking orc was sent stumbling into the animated statue before him. The stone dwarf brought its busted shield arm down upon Theros’ back violently. The already staggered orc was pounded to the stone floor, where he gasped for air and fumbled for the weapon that had tumbled from his hands.

  Sharka’s heart skipped a beat as she watched him groping about helplessly. She turned away from her own battle, and dashed across the room towards him. She realized that she wasn’t quick enough to get there in time as she watched the marble dwarf prepare his axe. So with all of her strength, she heaved the hammer. It wasn’t a deadly shot, but the shock of the blunt projectile rocked the statue. The stone dwarf swayed as it tried to regain its balance.

  It gave her enough time to reach Theros. Her hammer was gone though, so now she had to improvise. So she leapt through the air and drove both of her boots into the white marble chest of the dwarf. The already off-kilter guardian was sent stumbling backwards. The sentinel crashed into the stone walls of the chamber, sending cracks splintering through his torso. The statue groaned at its own demise, as its broken body fell into pieces.

  On the other side of the room, Nal’drin lifted his sword high above his head to defend against yet another blow. As the sentinel’s attack was parried, its midsection was left exposed. Dominar took the opportunity to give the statue an impartation of dwarven iron. The runic head of the bludgeon broke through the assailant’s marble core. Chunks of solid marble erupted from the back of the stone guardian and shot through the hall. The remains of the sculpted dwarf crashed to the floor where it crumpled into pieces.

  As he admired Dom’s handiwork, Nal’drin was struck from behind. The young king was knocked to the floor, where a shield toting dwarf began to pummel him. He twisted his body to avoid the blows of the sentinel’s stone boots, but he couldn’t escape them. The shots rocked his body. Dominar charged to his aid, but the guardian smote him with the backhanded shield bash. Dom never saw it coming. The concussive blow dropped the stout little fighter.

  On the other end of the room Sharka found herself cornered by one of the remaining stone golems. She was deploying every evasive maneuver she could as she danced out of the reach of her attacker. Her counter attacks were frequent but of little effect, but she had to keep its attention away from Theros.

  As Kiriana finished obliterating the fallen statue, she recognized that Nal’drin was in danger. She darted across the room and swung the hammer into the small of the sentinel’s back. After a second blow, she finally got the marble guardian’s attention. He retaliated with a backhanded swipe of his stone cudgel. She was a mirage though, seen but untouched as she bent low below the first attack. Then she tumbled away from the cudgel’s second swath. Before the rock goliath could turn around, she was driving the face of the iron mallet into its back again and again.

  Although her strikes were not as powerful as those of Dom or Theros, she swung with everything she had. Three rapid blows later and the cracks spread throughout the stone core. The stone dwarf tried to face his attacker, but the twisting action proved to be his undoing as his mid-section crumbled and he fell to the floor.

  As Kiriana was digging herself out of the remains of the dismantled guardian. Nal’drin was trying to recover from the stomping he just took and Dominar was still trying to shake away the cobwebs. The dwarf’s world had finally stopped spinning, but the ground refused to stay still beneath his trembling hands and knees. It was then that one of the remaining stone guardians seized the opportunity to crush the dwarf. With long, jarring strides the nearest golem made his way to Dominar. The monstrosity raised is massive earthen foot high into the air, before driving it down upon the defenseless dwarf.

  The life of a friend would not be so easily extinguished though. Theros who had been reeling from the blows he’d taken, became a living bolt of lightning. Leaping an impossible distance from across the room, he struck with th
underous power. The cold white glow of the hammer’s massive head was a comet in the candle-lit darkness of the hall. As the iron face of the hammer burrowed through the sentinel’s marble face, it seemed as if time itself stopped and stared, forgetting to blink. Instead it stood still for a heart’s beat, and then with a great flash of brilliant light came the explosion. White light eradicated the darkness of the tomb like hall. The reverberation of the blast rang out, knocking everyone back several feet before they crashed to the ground.

  Then, as fast as it came, the light and sound was gone. The candle-lit darkness returned, momentarily blinding them as their eyes tried to adjust. In their blindness, only the fading sounds of rushing wind and crumbling rock remained. Soon the sound of the wind died down and their sight returned. As they looked around from one to another, they saw that the dwarven guardians were no more. They had been reduced to dust and rubble, all of them, yet the five of them had survived. By some strange hand of fate, all of them had been spared, even good old Dominar.

  5

  A Spark in the Dark

  The people are growing restless. The sickness is spreading. My advisers are telling me that it’s not that it spreads fast, in fact it moves suspiciously slow. The problem is that the sickness also progresses very slowly. Our records indicate that a person can expect to be feeling the effects of the malady for over a hundred days in most cases. Fortunately, even with this thing lingering for nearly eight months, only about five percent of the population has been sick at any one time.

  We haven’t been able to identify the source. Fortunately, it hasn’t proven fatal yet in any but the elderly, but I fear that it is only a matter of time, especially with the extended duration of this particular malady. Naturally, we thought it could be in the water supply or the food. However, the sickness continued to spread weeks after we switched to a different water supply. We tried to see if there were any commonalities between the people that have fallen ill. The doctors made records of all the foods that were eaten by the sick, but there has been no identifiable pattern.