The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  Sharka smiled when Kiriana gave her a puzzled look. “For a marksman, you sure are blind,” she said with a laugh.

  “Where, I don’t see it?” said Kiriana as her eyes retraced the room around her.

  Sharka laughed.

  “What?” asked the master slayer.

  “He took it for you,” said Sharka with a smile, revealing her two ivory fangs.

  “Who?” said Kiriana.

  “Nal’drin,” said Sharka.

  Kiriana furrowed her brow and gave a looked that indicated she wasn’t sure if she was mad or not. “I don’t need his help. I’m as capable as any man. I can carry my own pack. I’m a master slayer for goodness sake!”

  “Kiri, relax,” said Sharka warmly.

  Kiriana studied the orc woman for a moment without responding. While she was confused about Nal’drin taking her pack, she was equally confused about the woman that stood before her. Sharka was an enigma to her. This was a fierce orc warrior, tested and proven in battle, ferocious in the face of any enemies. Kiriana had not only heard tales of Sharka’s battles in the war effort, but she had seen some of it first hand in the final battle against Slayvin. She was a fearless fighter. Off the battlefield, she was generally reserved if not downright submissive, allowing others to take the lead, usually without question. And now, now she was warm and gentle. Who are you? Kiriana screamed silently.

  When Kiriana’s glare didn’t soften, Sharka asked, “You really don’t get it do you?”

  “Get what?” snapped Kiriana, her frustration flaring.

  “The boy,” said Sharka as she threw her hands up in the air. “He’s crazy about you.”

  “What? No! No, he’s just—what, no,” said the beautiful woman, her expression a rush of disbelief and a dash of denial. She stood there silently for a moment. “Really? No!”

  Sharka laughed so hard that she snorted. Soon the two ladies were both laughing. Dominar popped his head back in the room to check on them, and he found them wiping the tears from their eyes.

  “What, are you two back here tellin’ jokes?” asked Dom, with a smile hidden somewhere under his scruffy beard.

  “Yeah, I told Kiri—here the one about the girl who was too blind to see the boy swooning over her,” quipped Sharka.

  “Oh, that one! Heh, gets me everytime,” said Dominar with a hoot, as he shot a wink at Kiriana.

  Then before she knew it, Dominar was gone and Sharka after him. Kiriana stood there stunned for a moment as she tried to process all the new information. She was not interested, but for some reason she found herself smiling.

  TWO TORCHES LIT THE way as they descended further into the depths of Duroc’s Refuge. Despite the riddles, the traps, the goblin raiders, and the whole mystery of what actually happened down here, the journey had smoothed out a bit. Thus far, each way-stone, however riddled, did indeed lead them onto the next one. At this point they were searching for the sixth marker. The fifth marker had told them that it would be waiting for them at the entrance of the mercantile district. They hadn’t found many clues so far as to what had happened down here, but they were getting closer to the heart of the city. They also hadn’t had to fight in three days and aside from a good bath, they lacked nothing. The fascination and wonder that the exploration provided was enough to make the journey worthwhile to some of them, particularly Dominar.

  They had not reached any particular destination yet. Instead, they found themselves on a large stone stair that descended some untold depth into the darkness below. The stair was wide, about five yards across, and appeared to have been carved directly into the stone itself and was free standing. There were no walls or rails, just the cavernous dark that stretched far beyond the reach of any torch’s light.

  “What happened to all those fancy glowing crystals?” asked Kiriana.

  “I don’t know, my dear; do watch your step,” cautioned Dominar as he realized the peril of such a passage.

  The others took heed as they observed the nothingness on both sides of the stair.

  “The size of this place, it’s—remarkable,” said Theros as he tried to study the expanse of the shadowy cavern.

  “Dom, do you think it was always this dark?” asked Nal’drin.

  “No. I’ve no doubt of the presence of lanterns and braziers, even here, I just don’t know where we might find them,” admitted Dominar as he continuously studied the craftsmanship of his kind.

  Few words were spoken beyond that point. The five took Dom’s advice to heart, and instead of talking focused their attention on their footing. They descended in this manner for several minutes before an end was in sight. The warm light of their torches danced ahead of them, revealing what appeared to be a large stone walkway, at least thirty yards in wide. Initially it was hard to tell if it was just a landing or something more, but its sheer size alone made it far more inviting than the stair.

  Once they finally reached the stone floor at the end of the stair, they were relieved to realize it was indeed the end, at least for now. The light of their torches couldn’t reveal too much, but a shadowy structure in the distance ahead of them caught their attention.

  Theros pointed to the structure, “Look, it’s probably another way-stone.”

  “We’re about to find out,” said Dom while he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  The group rushed toward the shadowy structure to find out that it was more than just a way-stone.

  “Aha! It’s about time,” said Dom. “Let me have your torch.”

  Nal’drin handed over his torch. Dominar took it with him as he went up to the stone carving. Ignoring the intricate carvings upon its surface, which would provide them guidance, he instead peeked at the top of the sculpted stone that sat atop the obelisk.

  “Perfect!” exclaimed the dwarf before carefully lowering the flaming torch head into the sculpture.

  The sculpture seemed to come to life as the bowl’s contents ignited with the flash of new fire. The warm light of the brazier chased away the darkness, exposing the path that they had taken to reach this point. The stone stairway behind them seemed to loom ominously, almost daring them to try to return. It also exposed more dwarven craftsmanship just a short distance away.

  The traditional blocky architecture seemed to almost exclusively use square and rectangular geometries in all aspects of their building. These buildings also appeared to not only be significantly larger than the ones they had seen upstairs, but they were—nicer. The intricacies upon the faces of the stonework were somehow more detailed than those they had already seen.

  “This is fascinating. Duroc built this place much like the kingdoms of old. In the eastern dwarven kingdoms, what you would often find is that you had a common layout or design for the kingdom. There would be three main districts. There would be a district for the poor, a district for the merchants, and a proper city district,” explained Dominar.

  “I didn’t realize the dwarves had classes, much less such segregation,” remarked Nal’drin with disappointment.

  “My kind are not without their faults,” said Dominar with a sigh.

  “Nal’drin, all people have some form of social hierarchy, and it often leads to segregations. Some are just more discreet about it,” said Theros as he glanced longingly at Sharka. “The elves have kings, and their lineage. Then you have the royal guard, which only consists of those with a royal bloodline, once removed for the King’s immediate kin, and then there is a wide gulf between them and the rest of the elves. Dwarves have commoners, merchants, and royalty.”

  “What about orcs?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Our social strata is simple. Each tribe has its own chief, the confederation appoints a single chieftain to unite and lead the tribes,” answered Theros, his brilliant blue eyes shining in the light of the fires.

  “That’s just leadership structure, not really stratification,” argued Nal’drin.

  “Those in the chief’s bloodline are held to certain standards and customs. Segregation
also exists between the tribes themselves,” said Sharka.

  Nal’drin pursed his lips as he thought. “The tribes just don’t like each other, I fail to see how that’s segregation though.”

  Though it was indeed a sore subject for Theros and Sharka, they didn’t object to his questions. They understood that he was just unaware of their social issues, and he was naturally inquisitive.

  Dominar spoke up, “The tribes are indeed segregated my dear boy.”

  “But during the war against the dragon, it was one force of orcs right? I don’t recall seeing a dozen different platoons of orcs in the final battle. Plus, you mentioned the confederation, so it can’t be that bad,” reasoned Nal’drin.

  Sharka answered, “During the dragon’s attack on our homeland, many orcs died—from all the tribes. Our people were forced to put their prejudices aside, or die. Yes, the confederation existed before the war, but it was always a contentious and uneasy truce at best. Were it not for the fear of Ogron, the alliance would have crumbled long before the war. That alliance, however, was the only means of protection that some of the weaker tribes had.”

  Nal’drin nodded as he began to understand, but you could see the wheels turning in his sharp young mind. “Well there’s one thing that I still don’t get though. If your people were able to put aside their differences for the war, why would they go back to the old ways?”

  Theros answered for the first time, “We honor the law.”

  “What is the law?” Nal’drin asked.

  “In everything, honor the tribe,” replied Theros, the words rolling off his tongue without hesitation or thought.

  “Okay, am I the only one who’s confused here?” said Nal’drin with a half laugh.

  Theros calmly said, “To understand the law is to understand our way of life, our history. In the days of old, the tribes were scattered and isolated. The tribe was everything; the tribe was survival. So everything you did in life was to strengthen your tribe.”

  Theros continued to study the dwarven architecture that stood before them as he talked, “When the goblins came, the scattered orc tribes were vulnerable. They fought bravely, but the goblin forces were just too much for the weaker tribes. Until a champion arose. Korang Gromgore lead his small band of warriors against attacking goblin forces several times, each time thwarting their assault. He saved weaker tribes that would have otherwise been devoured by the goblin empire.”

  Theros took a deep breath as he continued to look back and forth at the way-stone and the mercantile district that awaited them. He looked back up at the darkened ruins that lay ahead of him and pointed, saying, “This way.”

  Dominar looked down at the way-stone one more time before nodding in agreement with the orc’s assessment. “Even underground, your sense of direction is uncanny.”

  “So, with each of Korang’s victories, his numbers swelled. Soon he was roving the countryside with over two-hundred orc raiders. More importantly, he taught the orcs that if they could combine their strength, that they could stand against anything. So the wise tribes relocated to the Agremnall foothills, where they could stand together during the Goblin Wars. Though the tribes remained independent, they fought together against their common enemy. For a time, they were united under a single banner, the banner of the Gromgore tribe.”

  “There isn’t a Gromgore tribe—anymore,” said Nal’drin aloud as the sudden realization sunk in.

  Theros glanced at the young king who walked beside him. “You are right. With Korang’s leadership and sheer force of will, the orcs were finally able to fight back. Eventually they inflicted enough losses on the enemy forces that Grorglum, the goblin king, was forced to end the war. It was the greatest victory the orcs had ever experienced, but it came at a great cost. Many tribes were entirely wiped out. It was there, on his deathbed, that he uttered the words that would never die. As the lifeblood drained from his broken body, Korang said, “We have done it, the tribe is safe. It must never come to this again. Our people must remember that the tribe is everything, so in everything, honor the tribe. So the chiefs of the surviving tribes honored their fallen orc champion. They agreed to make a single law in his memory, and the tribes would honor it.”

  “Is that when the Gromgore Confederation was formed?” asked Kiriana, warily examining the ruins that surrounded them as they moved further into the Merchant Quarter.

  Sharka looked to Theros first, but when he didn’t respond right away, she answered. “No. The confederation was formed much later. It was only in the last twenty years that it was even considered.”

  “Why?” asked Nal’drin, a quizzical look on his face.

  “Ironically, for a people that depend upon the tribe for survival, our people have a penchant for being territorial, and they have a great deal of pride, sometimes dangerously so. Having so many different clans living in such close proximity would ultimately lead to bloodshed unless they were united under a single banner. And that is exactly what happened. Foolish and inconsequential border disputes turned bloody, and neighbor turned against neighbor as the tribes began to fight,” said Theros with what seemed to be a growl.

  “Why didn’t any of the tribes just leave, re-settle somewhere else?” asked Kiriana, as if the solution were all too simple.

  “Perhaps it was our pride. I really don’t know,” admitted the orc as he caressed the white braid that dangled from his chin.

  Sharka said, “Sometimes it is easier to suffer than to face change.”

  The group members nodded in silent agreement.

  Theros continued telling the story as he led the team through the abandoned district. “We were killing our own people. We had to do something to stop the violence. My brother thought to remind the clans of the days of Korang and to unite them. It took a great deal of persuading. The stronger tribes balked at the idea of needing anyone else’s help or submitting to anyone else’s authority. But Ogron was wise enough to anticipate that, so he established alliances with the weaker tribes first. Soon he had the support of over half the tribes, giving him the leverage he needed to draw them all into a union. He suggested that the confederation be named after our famed champion, and there were no objections.”

  The five had now moved through the entrance corridor into the merchant district. Soon they found themselves following the city street around and to the left, moving them out of sight of the brazier they had lit. Fortunately this section of the city had large braziers strategically located throughout the Merchant District, and more importantly, the strange crystals that they had seen before, once again illuminated the ruins around them with the blue energy that pulsed inside them.

  Sharka made her way to the nearest one. It was set directly in the center of the large stone street, and it was roughly the size of a great cauldron. As she lit it, it revealed more of the crafty handiwork that was so common in this place. As they took in the wonder of the perfectly precise architecture that surrounded them, something occurred to a couple of them. Something about this place was—wrong.

  Kiriana and Sharka’s shared darkened expressions as their shared concerns arose.

  “Guys, this isn’t right,” cautioned Kiriana as she came to a stop.

  Sharka nodded in agreement as she stopped next to the redhead.

  “What is it?” asked Dominar as he glanced at the girls, then his eyes quickly darted back to their shadowy surroundings.

  “This story, this place, it just doesn’t make sense,” said Kiriana. “Just look around! This place wasn’t destroyed or invaded. There isn’t even the slightest suggestion of struggle anywhere. This place has remained unscathed.”

  With the aid of the torchlight, something caught Theros’ eye. Without saying anything, he walked across the street and ducked inside the nearest shop. Nal’drin shot Dominar a worried glance, but the old dwarf just shrugged. Then in a blink, they could see the hulking gray figure emerge from the shop with something in his grasp.

  “She’s right,” he said as he held up a ha
ndful of precious gems and jewelry. The light of the fire danced across the multi-faceted surface of the rubies and amethysts in his grasp. “This alone is enough to feed a small village for a year. You don’t leave this kind of wealth behind, and this is only the merchant district.”

  “How—how much is there,” asked Dominar with a twinkle in his eye.

  “There is more than enough for all of us, but it is best that we not disturb the king’s wealth,” said Theros flatly.

  “We should probably take a bauble or two, just for safe keeping. We don’t want to risk the goblins finding them,” suggested Dominar as his eyes remained fixed on the treasure piled in the orc’s palm.

  Theros eyed his friend, and said, “The goblins have been through here many times. If this is what they came for, they would have taken it. For now, the king’s treasure stays.” With that Theros turned to return the jewels.

  Dominar snapped, “You know there’s only one way that this expedition is going to pay for itself, Theros! If this isn’t here when we return, we are ruined. If we take just a little—“

  “No,” said Theros firmly before entering the shop and returning the goods.

  Dominar’s face was flushed with more than just disappointment, there was hint of anger there too.

  Nal’drin patted him on the back and said, “I don’t think finding treasure is going to be a problem, my friend.”

  Dom gave Nal’drin a glare and said, “What makes you think that?”

  “Well, whatever the hell happened down here—well, it was so bad that even dwarves would abandon their wealth,” said Nal’drin.

  “What do you mean?” asked Dominar.

  “It’s like Kiriana said, just look around,” replied Nal’drin as he spread out his arms, pointing to their surroundings. “Everything was left behind, everything but the dwarves. Listen, they didn’t just leave this place, they fled. There will be plenty of chances to loot and plunder, but this isn’t the time to fill our packs. We need to find out what happened down here.”