The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  Sharka motioned for Kiriana to help her with setting out everyone’s bed rolls.

  As they worked, she turned to Kiriana and said, “You would have made a great orc.”

  “Uh... thank you?”

  “You are brave, and you are clever.”

  Kiriana offered a half smile. “I was just lucky that I had those charges.”

  “You were more than lucky, you were incredible. Any orc would be proud to fight alongside a fearless warrior like you.”

  Kiriana forced another half smile. Fearless? I lack many things, but fear isn’t one of them.

  6

  Night of the Living Dead

  Fourteen gems were created in all. Two each of ruby, sapphire, topaz, emerald, amethyst, onyx, and diamond. He bestowed them upon us, the ruling council of the Seraphim Order. But these precious gemstones were far more than beautiful gifts, they were tools that would enable us to perform the Father’s will, ruling over the angels and protecting creation.

  The Elder Stones were powerful conduits made by the Father. While unique gifts were hidden within each different type of stone, they all shared common characteristics. The first was that each stone would form a partial barrier between the wielder and the magics. This barrier dampened the effects that the magics had on those who would wield it. This, we found, was incredibly important, because the potency of an Elder Stone fueled by the magics was quite incredible; it could not be left unchecked. In this way, it allowed the Father to share a sliver of his power with his children. We came to name this aspect, the gatekeeper...

  War in the Heavens, Jazren of the Seraphim Order

  ARI LOOKED AT KIRIANA and smiled. The tiny flecks of yellow in the midst of his otherwise brown eyes sparkled every time a ray of sunlight poked through the trees. His dark hair was tied back in the traditional manner and his rugged jawline was covered with the stubbly effects of being on assignment for three days. The dimples grew deeper as his grin grew.

  His smile never faded. It was frozen in her mind, as if frozen in time, long after his body turned cold. Kiriana looked down at his body as it lay on the ground before her. Blackened Zenari arrows riddled his lean frame. The color faded from his clothes, his face, from—everything. Bright red blood was the only color painted on the otherwise monochrome canvas, and that blood—his blood—was upon her hands. With her hands dripping, she looked up to the heavens to cry.

  The gray canopy spun above her with a dizzying effect. She opened her mouth to scream, but the voice was once more stolen from her lips. The storm inside her loosed a torrent. Tears fell forever. Without a voice, she cried. Once again, she was broken, alone, and guilty for the nine hundred and eighty-second time.

  The pounding of her own pulse woke her to a violently beating heart. Her breasts rose with each uneasy breath. Sweat formed in the palms of her now clammy hands. Kiriana sat up in the dark, wrapping her arms around her bent knees, and pulled her legs in close. She let her head fall forward, burying her face in her knees. The dream was over, but the nightmare continued. Her lower lip quivered and quiet sobs rocked her body. Privately she wept, as she sat on the cold stone floor of that dwarven keep.

  Ari, I know you can’t forgive me, but know that I never meant to hurt you, or your sister. And the tears continued to pour.

  Kiriana handled it all as well as anyone could. The floodgates would burst forth, and in silent ceremony she would mourn them. Years had passed, but the pain of losing Ari and his sister Elri were still all too real. Then in the most peculiar manner, she would abruptly cease crying after ten minutes. Not nine or eleven, but at ten minutes exactly. Her breathing would calm, the sobs would end, and the tears would stop flowing. Then with an abrupt sweep of her right thumb, she would wipe away the evidence from her right eye, before doing the same to the left. She capped it all off with a final gesture as she ran her slender fingers through her thick scarlet tresses. Then she would lay back down, roll her hips and fall asleep on her side with her head resting upon her arm. Her mechanical mannerisms were like clockwork. She had no idea though, that even under the veil of night, she was being watched.

  Each night she was roused by the same night terrors, each night she cried, and in the darkness he watched. Tonight, the cycle continued. Theros hadn’t known this human woman long, but he felt he knew her now. He understood her torment, for it was like his own.

  Unlike her, Theros did not find the relief of tears. At least, he presumed that it provided her some relief. No, the great orc couldn’t cry anymore. And sometimes he tried, he really did—but there was nothing there. The well was empty. His body literally ached from the pain he felt from the loss of Ogron. He wished he could cry, in hopes of releasing some of the pain that seemed trapped inside.

  In those waking hours he watched his brother say goodbye, again and again, in hopes of stirring up enough pain that the tears would have no choice but to come. His vision became blurry. That all too familiar discomfort would find its way into the back of his throat and place a heavy weight upon his heart. His voice would be stolen from him. His body groaned in anticipation, but the tears just wouldn’t let go. They never did. Every night she experienced the pain, but also the release. He hungered for that release. He admired her ability to handle it, but he envied her too.

  A quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. “Lovely isn’t she?”

  Startled he jolted upright, his head scanning side to side.

  “... and not just by orc standards. That natural beauty is not common among any of the peoples... stunning really.”

  Theros looked around again, but he was the only one awake.

  Okay, I really need to get some sleep, he thought.

  “Hair finer than silk. Her eyes sparkle like emeralds. And the sensual femininity of her shape—those hips and those br—”

  Woah, that’s enough, snapped the orc in response to the internal dialog.

  “What?—So you are going to tell me that you haven’t noticed her? Don’t lie to me Theros Hammerfist, you are as much a man as any of us,” prodded the voice. “You are not blind to her womanhood, and its shapely appeal.”

  The orc did not argue, instead he stole another glance at Kiriana from across the room. He could still see her, even in the darkness. She was turned toward him, resting with her eyes closed. He studied her face for a moment, but his eyes wandered down her neck toward her shoulder. Then he rode the slope down her side and back up past her waist as his eyes climbed over her hips.

  “We call that a gem, my friend. A ruby to be precise,” whispered the voice.

  What? A ruby—, questioned Theros in his mind.

  “Indeed, the rarest and most precious of all natural gemstones, a most coveted possession,” said the voice.

  A possession? Is that how you see her? That’s enough out of you, mentally snarled the orc.

  “What’s the problem? Oh noble Theros, spare me the holier than thou bit. Like so many others, she begs to be coveted, to be a prized possession. Just look at her, she was made for it. The only question is whose will she be. Hmm, oh yes... perhaps the young king without a kingdom. He doesn’t even try to hide his infatuation—” said the voice before being interrupted.

  “Silence,” uttered the orc, vocalizing his conversation for the first time.

  “What’s that big guy?” mumbled the half-awake Nal’drin.

  Once Theros realized his conversation wasn’t silent anymore, he shut his mouth so as to not wake anyone else. After a moment of quiet, Nal’drin drifted back off to sleep, and no one was the wiser. He was relieved because it meant he wouldn’t have to explain himself. The voice didn’t return, and as the silence of the night resumed he finally felt like he would be able to drift off to sleep. His eyelids grew heavy, so with the last ounce of waking strength the orc looked upon the pale face of the human woman once more, and then he fell asleep.

  “WAKE UP!”

  Startled awake, Theros bolted upright. Tired eyes scanned the dark cavern. He saw nothing but sleeping compa
nions and a smoldering fire. He stilled his breathing, and strained to hear anything beyond his rapidly beating heart. Nothing.

  “It seems that I have your attention. Good.”

  I’m losing my mind.

  “Not hardly, I need you and you need me.”

  Evidently I need more sleep.

  “Theros, more rest and a clear head won’t break our link. Our fates are bound together.”

  Our fates? I don’t even know who you are.

  “Of course you do, don’t be ridiculous. I’m the reason you’re here. I invited you.”

  Duroc?

  “None other.”

  How are you in my mind?

  “Once you entered my domain, I offered a mind-link. You accepted.”

  I accepted? That’s a bit presumptive.

  “I spoke, you answered.”

  So if I ignore you, you go away?

  “Not exactly, but a one-sided conversation would prove awful lonely, and I’ve had plenty of loneliness.”

  I don’t care how lonely you are, I don’t like you in my head.

  “Don’t worry, I can’t read your mind if that’s what your worried about.”

  That’s funny. What about our little conversation a few hours ago...

  Duroc laughed. “So I was right?”

  Your little temptation game won’t work on me, mind reader.

  “I’m not a mind reader. You’re a man, and I know how we think.”

  Everyone has their struggles, but that one isn’t mine. Hey, if you’re not a mind reader, how do you know where I am or what I’m looking at?

  “While I am quite limited in my current state, I can observe many of the things that happen in my domain.”

  So you are spying on us.

  “This is a dangerous place. Having me serve as a guide is in both of our best interests.”

  Spy.

  “Semantics, Hammerfist.”

  Why do you need me?

  “I’ve been waiting a long time for someone I could trust. Something inside me told me that the time had come. So I started releasing my power in hopes of being discovered.”

  So you wanted us to come.

  “As I said, I invited you.” Duroc sighed. “When I first began releasing my power, I knowingly accepted certain risks. One of those risks was attracting the wrong kind of attention, and to that end, I’ve succeeded.”

  The goblins.

  “The goblins. King Groknahl to be precise. He has felt the power.”

  And he wants it for himself.

  “My power is too great. It cannot fall into the hands of goblins. Normally, I’d handle it alone. No goblin army in all of Aurion would be of concern to me, but in my current state I...”

  So you brought us here to fight the goblin army for you?

  “Not exactly.”

  What are you hoping that we do for you then?

  “Get to me before the goblin king does, or the world as you know it will cease to exist.”

  But why me?

  “Not a great listener, I see. I tire of repeating myself, so please pay closer attention. As I said, I need someone I can trust. As much as it may surprise you, people like you are hard to come by these days. That is why I began releasing my magic out into the world. To serve as a beacon. And in time, the winds of magic whispered a name... Theros Hammerfist.”

  I’m going to need more than that.

  “In time, my friend. My power is fading and the link is breaking.”

  Will you tell the others?

  “No. It is not—”

  Not what? Duroc, I didn’t hear the last part. Duroc?

  The link was broken.

  7

  Father Time

  My advisers were right to worry about this, this thing. I don’t know whether I should call it a sickness or a disease, but their concern was warranted. My people are dying now. At first it was only the elderly. We thought that their aging bodies were just too weak to fight the sickness; however this thing has begun claiming the lives of others. It makes no sense to my scholarly mind, how the behavior of a sickness could change so drastically over such a short period of time. My mind wrestles with this. The only conclusion that I can reasonably reach is that the sickness’s behavior never changed, rather we just had too small a sample size. It is difficult, but I am trying to make myself to believe that. The implications of the alternative explanation are too frightening to bear.

  From the personal journal of Duroc Stonebrow

  THE SMELL OF THE CAMPFIRE filled the stone cavern, and warmth began to follow. The campfire had surely burned out, but young flames lapped at the fresh pile of wood on the coals. He could always count on Nal’drin’s early morning routine. Dominar took in the aroma with a deep breath, then he groaned a bit as he rolled over on the unforgiving stone floor. He had a blanket underneath him, but it made little, if any, difference. His bones ached. He’d asked for this adventure though; at least that’s what he kept telling himself. After a minute or so old Dom was able to get himself up off the ground.

  He stood there, barefoot, with his toes naturally grasping at the worn blanket underfoot. Dom’s expression was a puzzled one. His brows were furrowed and his mouth and nose were all scrunched up as if he just eaten a patch of sour kwips. He looked about as he tugged on his long gray beard. It clearly didn’t accomplish whatever it was he had hoped for, so his stubby little fingers found their way down around his round little potbelly. He looked down on the mound that his hands rested upon and made another sour face. Dominar turned his hips first to the left a bit before rocking them back to the right, and then with startling suddenness he jerked his hips to the left again. The bones and joints in his back snapped and cracked with a chilling grossness that few would care to hear again. The dwarf’s resolute face was unchanging though, as he took one final slow twist to each side. He must have been pleased with his newfound range of motion, as a smile cracked his stone face for the first time that morning.

  “Ah, yep, that’s about right.”

  “Better?” asked Kiriana as she rolled up her pack.

  Dominar was prepared to answer as he bent down to slip his boots on, but those old bones disagreed with him. The discomfort in his lower back shot down through his right buttocks and down his leg. He held his breath and his tongue until the pain passed, and then he stood back upright.

  He sighed with relief. “Yup, better.”

  He placed one hand on his lower back before squatting down to pack up his things.

  “You gonna be alright, Dom?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Without a doubt, my boy,” answered the brazen dwarf.

  “Good, because we need you,” added the young man with a smile.

  Dominar smiled back. It was good to feel needed, to feel wanted. But that didn’t change anything. Saying that he was ‘without a doubt’ going to be alright was less than truthful.

  He hoped against hope that they believed him, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. For most people, particularly dwarves, and most of all, men, this bit of dishonesty would arise from a place of pride. No one wants to admit that they might be the weak link or that they were a shadow of their former selves.

  That simply wasn’t the issue with Dominar. It was true that he had been physically in decline. He didn’t discuss it, but the dwarf’s strength began to wane over a year ago, well before the black dragon ever set his sights on Dar Mar’Kren. Of course Dominar fought valiantly in the battles of Tempour and Jasprita, but it took everything he had and the recovery was slow. No one could deny the effect of his age, not even him, but his motives for not admitting it were not based on pride.

  In battle, trust is everything. He understood that. He couldn’t risk letting his friends go into battle if they did not trust him. If they thought they needed to look out for him, it could steal their focus, costing them life or limb. Dominar couldn’t let that happen. No, he would go into battle and give everything he had before he would have them feel the need to protect him in battle.
>
  So the grandfatherly figure prayed in silence. Father, I need your help. I’m old and these bones know it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come on this mission, but here I am. You know that it is my every desire to return to Gretchen and the girls, but my friends need me... I don’t know how or why, but they do, I can sense it. And they need to know that I’ve got their backs. Lord I need you to fill my bones and marrow with strength. Lead me, and when necessary, guide my hammer. Oh, and Lord, please help him.

  Dom’s prayer ended, but his mind stayed on his brooding friend. Even when serious concerns for his own safety stared him in the face, he couldn’t help but think about the well-being of his friend. Their friendship had seen many adventures through the years, and they had been in some ugly situations, but the orc always seemed to maintain such a level head. He always had helped Dom see things from another perspective, when it seemed everything had gone to pot.

  Unlike the dwarves, orcs were not religious—at least not anymore. In recent years, their faith had been tied only to the sharpness of their cleavers. Yet for a man that had no discernible faith in those days, Theros had always given Dom a reason to believe. Perhaps it didn’t directly reinforce his belief in his own faith or the words of his holy book, but it gave Dom belief still. Belief that despite everything that this life could throw at you, that there was still good in this world if only you looked for it. Because of his friend, Dominar looked for that good—and found it every day. That is why it hurt to see his friend so hurt, so broken.

  Nal’drin said, “You okay Dom?”

  “He’s praying,” said Sharka.

  “Oh, right.” Nal’drin fell silent for a moment, then said, “To who though? Aneri’On? I still don’t understand the whole God and man thing.”

  Nal’drin looked around for answers. Sharka looked up right as his eyes settled on her.