The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  “Where do we go from here?” asked the orc woman.

  “We just search until we find another way-stone?” guessed Nal’drin.

  “Yup, but not yet. I almost forgot something,” replied Dom as he fished through his coat’s pockets until he pulled out a shiny little disc.

  “What is that?” asked Nal’drin.

  “That my boy, is a compass, and it might be the only thing that keeps us from getting lost down here,” added Dominar.

  “How is that going to help us down here?” asked Sharka.

  “If we can identify which direction to go to find the stairs up for each level, and we record it, we can be assured we will find our way out. For example these stairs appear to be on the—northern end. The hard part will be keeping our bearings as we traverse this maze,” admitted the graybeard.

  So the team carefully explored each passage that they came to, marking down each major landmark. Dominar moved through the stone corridors with a gentle ease and patience that didn’t come naturally to youth. He understood that they all wanted to camp for the night, but he just couldn’t bring himself to rush. Instead his calloused fingers slid over the intricately carved surfaces of stone from one end of each hall to the other.

  Nal’drin said, “This hasn’t exactly been a picnic so far, but Dom, you haven’t stopped smiling since we got here.”

  “And I’ll probably be grinning in my sleep too, my boy!”

  “Being here—in this place, this seems good for you,” said Kiriana.

  “Aye.”

  “It reminds you of Dar Mar’kren,” said Nal’drin.

  “Every stone. No one works ‘em like dwarves,” said Dom before turning and saying, “No offense, of course.”

  Nal’drin didn’t say any more. He simply smiled at his friend, allowing the old boy to enjoy his leisurely pace. The pace was indeed slower than the others might have chosen, but they were making steady progress into the maze.

  “Whew, is it just me or is it actually getting hotter in here?” asked Nal’drin.

  “I thought it was just me,” muttered Kiriana.

  Theros stopped in his tracks. “Yeah, this is a good time to shed some of these layers.”

  With the group shedding some of their outer garments, Dominar spoke up. “It’s marvelous isn’t it?”

  “What?” asked Sharka.

  “The temperature down here!”

  “How’d we go from snow and frozen earth that we can’t even dig in, to it being warm enough to ditch the furs?” asked Nal’drin

  Dominar smiled. “Yes, the ground’s surface may be frozen, but you only have to get a few feet below that to find warmth, and the further you descend, the warmer it gets... gradually, of course.”

  “That doesn’t seem right... we all know there’s nothing quite as refreshing as freshly drawn water from a deep well, or an underground spring,” countered Nal’drin.

  “Mountain water is. And yes, fresh well water is refreshing, especially during the hotter months, as is coming underground. It’s because the temperature underground remains constant, depending on your depth.”

  “So you’re saying while the rest of us surface dwellers struggle to fight the heat and the cold all year long, the dwarves have got it made in the shade,” said Nal’drin.

  “Yep.”

  “Who’d a thunk it, dwarves outsmarting us all.”

  “Right again,” said Dominar.

  Nal’drin gave the big orc a nudge and said, “You guys really gotta stop judging people,” then he turned and winked at Sharka.

  Theros just grunted, while the others laughed.

  AFTER WHAT SEEMED LIKE hours of making their way through halls, an underground city finally began to unfold before them in the faint blue light of thousands of crystals. The vastness of the subterranean village was impressive, if not unexpected. Even Dominar could not have expected what he saw down here. Row upon row of stacked dwarven dwellings stretched from one end of the valley-like cavern to the other.

  The dwarf tugged on his own beard and exclaimed, “By Bafingbauld’s beard, there must have been thousands of dwarves down here!”

  “It just makes the treachery all the worse,” added Nal’drin as he looked from house to house.

  “Treachery? Do you really think that one man could have wiped out an entire empire?” asked Sharka.

  “Talus believed as much,” answered Theros.

  “Well, no one really knows what happened down here though right? I mean—the stories could be just that?” asked Kiriana.

  Dominar scratched his head then said, “I dunno. Dwarves and magic just don’t mix. We’ve never had a taste for magic. It’s unpredictable and wild. It’s why we prefer the earth, and rock, and stone. They’re stable, dependable, safe.”

  “Yeah, except for earthquakes and landslides,” muttered Nal’drin.

  Theros turned to Dominar and said, “Old friend, that may be true for most of your kind, but not all. Duroc dabbled in forbidden things, things that gave him power. And after what we just battled, I don’t think that this source of power is gone,” said Theros.

  “Then I fear we are in more trouble than we bargained for.”

  Kiriana nodded, “Hopefully we will find some clues, some evidence as to what happened down here, before we run into whomever or whatever did this.”

  “That’s great and all, but you guys seem to be overlooking something,” interjected Nal’drin.

  Without a word the group stopped and turned back to the young king.

  “Okay, so we have just started exploring this city, which we are already estimating could have been the home to thousands of dwarves. A number which could prove to be many, many times that number, when we actually see the extent of this kingdom, but there is one small problem,” said Nal’drin with a pause.

  “What are you trying to say?” asked Kiriana.

  “If there were thousands of dwarves down here, and they were annihilated, why does it look like this place was deserted? Other than the carvings and the buildings, this place is empty! If a massacre happened down here, wouldn’t we see it?” he asked.

  “It’s a fine point, my lad,” admitted Dominar. “But I’ve a feeling that we’ve seen scant little of this place so far.”

  The team took their time moving through the underground halls. They were quite sure that they had not reached the heart of the keep as they were only on the second level, and most traditional dwarven cities were known to dig hundreds of meters down into the earth. If Duroc’s Refuge was anything like the homes of the great dwarves of the East, they were only scratching the surface.

  We’ve got miles to go, I’m sure of it. I know it will be a while before we see the light of day again, I just hope we do—see it again, thought Dominar.

  Then, just like that, the dwarf pushed the thoughts from his mind as he turned his focus to the task at hand—navigating this maze. The wide corridor that he’d been leading them down had bent around to the left, and then sharply wound back to the right. Dom rounded the hairpin turn, and came to a stop. The corridor that had carried them for the past hour had reached its end. Dom and his friends now stared at two diverging paths. The two paths before him were both stairwells, with the one on the left going up, and the one on the right going down.

  “Which way?” asked Nal’drin.

  Dom studied the two paths, but said nothing for a moment.

  The team huddled around the diverging paths, searching for clues in the scarcely lit paths, both upward and downward. Their eyes and fingers alike sought out clues among the masterful stonework and carvings.

  Kiriana said, “Do any of these markings mean anything to you Dom?”

  Lost in thought, Dominar didn’t answer.

  “Yo, Dom you gonna help us out here?” said Nal’drin.

  Theros nudged the dwarf and said, “Dom, you okay?”

  “Ahh, yes, I’ve got it,” shouted Dom, startling his friend, then followed the outburst by saying nothing.

 
Nal’drin broke the silence, “Okay. Long dramatic pause, we get it. Mind sharing?”

  “Oh, yes. It seems there’s much that I’ve forgotten over the years, but these side by side stairwells is an old but, and my understanding is, still fairly common tradition in dwarven architecture. One you’re likely to find in most cities.”

  “It’s just two stairwells, you’d find that in all sorts of architecture, from all cultures,” said Theros.

  “Ah ha, but that’s where you are wrong, and thus the tradition,” said Dom, the excitement growing in his voice. “There’s an age old saying among the dwarves that you must first hit rock bottom, before you can appreciate the rise to the top.”

  “Awful pessimistic,” muttered Nal’drin.

  Theros said, “So we go down?”

  “Aye.”

  “Let’s move then, because we still have some ground to cover before we make camp for the night.”

  The still beaming Dominar nodded to Theros, before turning and making his way down the stairwell to their right. Nal’drin and Kiriana followed, with Sharka and Theros at the back.

  “Dom, help me understand the dwarven line of thought. So you guys incorporate all your little riddles and sayings into the architecture and design of your cities, for help in fending off invaders?” asked Nal’drin, for once leaving most of the sarcasm out. “I mean, wouldn’t an enemy know these tricks just by studying you guys?”

  “It’s not about protection,” interjected Sharka. “Sure the misdirection could be beneficial, but it’s about their culture. It’s about preserving that identity of who they were, who they are, and making sure it is not lost in who they become. The world is rapidly changing around us, forcing us all to reconsider our way of life. It always has and it always will. Often those changes are necessary, and sometimes they are even good—but it doesn’t mean that we can’t still remember the past. These little riddles and engravings collectively serve as those reminders... much like the famed writings of the Gorn Tor Elbath that once adorned the beautiful walls of Dar Mar’kren.”

  “Aye,” replied Dom with an appreciative smile.

  No other words were needed. Sharka’s rare, but profound words left everyone else in contemplative silence. In dim light and peaceful silence, the five descended the long stairway.

  Dominar and his companions exited the stairwell to find themselves stepping out into a massive hall that seemed to stretch for a hundred yards. Two rows of colonnades split the rooms into thirds, and in the center stood four bronze statues. The walls and the ceiling, a few dozen feet above, were embedded with giant crystals. The surprisingly sophisticated array of patterns and shapes were gorgeous. The crystals themselves filled the room with the pallor of a pale blue. The illumination that came form within seemed to pulsate in a harmonized silent rhythm.

  They moved forward cautiously, no one daring to speak as they started to get a good look at the statues before them. Four bronzed beasts sat upright, facing each other with their eyes made of blood red gems. The fearsome beasts resembled overly muscled hounds with strangely equine shaped hind haunches.

  Nal'drin turned to his companions and asked, “What in creation are those things?”

  Dominar said, “My boy, I believe those are called maug beasts.”

  “Maug beasts? What are maug beasts? I've never heard of such things. Are they from dwarven mythology?” asked Nal'drin.

  The giant bronze maug beasts now towered over them as they drew close. Atop their pedestals, the beasts alone had to be six or seven feet tall. The muscled beasts that resembled giant dogs, stared down with imperious gazes like indomitable guardians of the vast mountain keep. Their massive jaws were lined with sword-like teeth. Their chests and shoulders were sculpted with tightly packed muscles. Dominar knew a bit of the history, but even he had never seen anything like the great beasts before them. He was relieved that his first encounter with the hounds of the old world was with ones formed from stone and metal.

  “Well, I’d never heard any tales of the dwarves having maug beasts, so I find it strange that King Duroc Stonebrow would have statues in honor of such beasts. My understanding is that maug beasts were guardians or perhaps pets of the Orgerond, a people who inhabited the northern stretches of the Old World—rivals of my kin. It is said that the maug beasts, like the Orgerond, were territorial and fiercely loyal, and ferocious in battle. So it comes as no surprise that someone chose to put them to use. I never suspected it to be done among my kind though,” answered Dom.

  Nal'drin asked, “What do you think they actually are?”

  “Well,” said Dominar, “It appears that they are some sort of large hound. I'm not sure what they might be mixed with, with the flattened faces, that the short blocky ears, and that squared-off head. That jawline is pretty unmistakable, like a lot of hounds that you'll find all across both continents. I’m just not sure what it got bread with to give it the bulk, and those weird back legs.”

  Nal'drin replied, “Well, maybe they just exaggerated it in the sculpting. I mean, it's not uncommon for people to exaggerate things. It’s not like every philosopher, soldier, and emperor has sculpted abs and chiseled glutes, am I right?”

  “Kids got a point,” said Theros with a chuckle.

  “Aye, it's true. It could be the case here too... But I suspect there's more truth to these than we know,” said Dominar.

  “What makes you say that?” asked Kiriana.

  “I don't know. I can't quite put my finger on it,” admitted Dom. “There's just something—real—about these things.”

  “Please don't tell me you think we're going to have to fight these damn things too,” grimaced Nal'drin.

  Dominar said, “Down here my boy, I think anything’s possible.”

  With Theros in the lead, the companions moved forward passing between the four bronze statues. As they moved into the quad between them, something stirred in that place. A charge of power, perhaps magic surged through the air. A grating and groaning sound of metal on metal filled the cavern with an ear-piercing echo.

  With deep and raspy breaths, four voices spoke as one. “Do you hold the key? No one sees the master without the key.”

  The companions froze. Terror hit them harder than if the whole mountain had collapsed on them. The hairs on the back of Dominar's neck stood on end. Chills ran down his spine and he turned to find the bronzed face of a living breathing maug beast staring at him. Little did he know it wasn't just the one beast that stared him down.

  The beasts’ voices growled once more. “Do you hold the key? No one sees the master without the key.”

  Stalling for time so he could think, Dom asked, “Who are you, oh great guardians of the keep?”

  In unison the four bronze guardians responded, “We are the Keepers of the Keep.”

  “That's original,” quipped Nal’drin.

  Kiriana shushed him with a jab of her elbow.

  Dominar replied, “Oh great keepers of the keep, who is your master?”

  “Too many questions,” replied the keepers.

  “But surely you would not harm those who come to honor your master, would you keepers of the keep?”

  “You play games with words, and with the lies.”

  “How have I lied to you, great keepers of the keep?” asked Dominar.

  “Because you say you come to honor the master.”

  “Why do you believe that we would not come to honor the master?” asked Dominar.

  “Because the master is dead.”

  “Who is your dead master?”

  “King Duroc Stonebrow.”

  “Are you sure he's dead?” asked Dom.

  “Too much talking. Do you hold the key?”

  “What is this key?” asked Dominar in a desperate attempt to get help with the guardians.

  He didn't know if the gambit to stall would pay off or not but it had given his counterparts an opportunity to draw their weapons and prepare for battle once more. He had no idea what they were up against, bu
t it didn’t look good. The life force of these bronze guardians had to be sustained purely by magic.

  This is going to get ugly.

  “You do not hold the key, and you have tried to trick us. We must kill you,” said the hounds with calm voices, full of indifference.

  Nal’drin, thinking on his feet, said, “Hold on just a minute! There's got to be another way. Aren't guardians and keepers or whatever you want to call yourselves supposed to have other alternatives? Isn't that the way this thing works? Aren't you supposed to offer us some noble quest or trial, or maybe you just see into our souls or something creepy? That way you know that we really are the good guys, and you know, you don't have to kill us?”

  “Yeah, or or how about a riddle?” interjected Kiriana.

  Dominar nodded and said, “Yeah, yeah, that's a good one! What about a riddle? We like riddles!”

  Theros clenched his teeth and shook his head as he pulled his hammers free from their holsters on his belt. He prepared for battle. He and his companions were doomed.

  The four guardians groaned in response, “Riddles, we like riddles. Here is our riddle.”

  Sixteen legs and eight eyes

  Finders of truth and haters of lies

  Hardened shell and sharper fangs

  Upon their judgment your fate hangs

  Bones will be shattered limbs will be torn

  For the keeping of the oath that was sworn

  And from their mouths your blood it must pour

  As the time for games and tricks and lies is no more

  As the staccato rhythm of their exhilarated cadence rose to a fever pitch the guardians surged with power and energy that could only come from potent sorcery. The guardians began to rise from their pedestals as Dominar spoke.

  Dominar answered, “It is you, the keepers of the keep. The answer to the riddle is you, the four guardians. The four keepers of the keep, the four bronzed maug beasts. You are the ones with sixteen legs and eight eyes. You were the finders of truth and the haters of lies. You are the hardened shells and the sharper fangs, and it is upon your judgment that our fate now hangs. It is you who’d cause our bones to be shattered and our limbs to be torn, in the keeping of the oath that was sworn. It is from your mouths that our blood might pour, as you deem the time for games and tricks and lies is no more.”