The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  Theros interjected, “It allows them to operate freely, right under people’s noses, while gaining political and financial support from those same citizens.”

  “Brilliant,” admitted Nal’drin.

  “Yes, but and not as uncommon as you’d think,” remarked Kiriana.

  “I guess it’s not really a secret society after all,” quipped Dominar as he tugged on his gray beard.

  “So, what more do you know about this Rhazesh Council?” asked Theros.

  “Not much else, because it seems they died off back in—7379. Heavens be, this must have been their last battle. They must have died down here!” said Kiriana as a strange rush of worry and excitement overcame her. She had spent so many years studying away—and hating it. She rarely saw the point in it, but Grandmaster Duncan’s teachings were coming alive to her. For once they mattered.

  “Then I think it is time to find out what happened to JR and RT,” said Theros as his anxious hands squeezed his maces’ leather wrapped grips.

  “Agreed,” nodded Sharka while moving towards the door.

  Dominar was the last of the five to depart the scribe’s quarters. As the group moved back to the street, their torchlight spilled out into the cavernous subterranean city. The dwarven craftsmanship was on display once more, and he was enjoying every minute of it. The meticulously chiseled and sculpted architecture was all around them. The hard lines and angular shapes that made up each shop and dwelling was a work of art. It was common knowledge that dwarves took great pride in their work. It didn’t matter if they were jewelers or masons, they demanded perfection. Dominar understood this well, he had spent nearly forty years perfecting the art of blacksmithing.

  Anyone who knew Dominar understood this too, and they didn’t have to look very far to find it. Their eyes had only to fall on his own light-mail armor or his hefty war hammer. The non-traditional twisting shape and linking of his mail armor spoke to his skill, as did the manner in which he secured the head of his mallet to the haft, adding great durability. Neither were particularly flashy, not compared to some of his other works, but their craftsmanship was unmistakable. His true art was on full display just a few feet away though. The half-pauldron that draped over Theros’s left shoulder bore the engraved image of a wolf’s head, Swift’s head. The twin hammers that hung from his belt still echoed the magic of the artisan’s hands. The massive heads were formed of pure molded iron. Every side of their rugged surface was marked with intricately etched runes, etched by Dominar’s own steady hands all those many years ago when their friendship began.

  As they walked, Dominar’s eyes fell back on his friend. He watched as Theros slowly traced the dwarven runework. It wasn’t a conscious act on Theros’part, not any more at least. Yes, his fingers often found their way to those hammers, and then the engraving. Old habits die hard, they say. It was true. And all these years later, he still traced the words, words of friendship.

  Nal’drin noticed the dwarf fondly observing the orc. It took him a moment, but he was able to follow Dom’s eyes to see what it was that made him smile.

  “You made those for him, right?” he asked.

  “Aye, many, many years ago,” he said with a smile

  “So, what do the runes say?” asked Nal’drin, in his nosy and unabashedly blunt manner.

  “Oh, I don’t know, my boy, I probably shouldn’t—” said Dominar with a grin and a hint of mischief in his voice.

  “Come on,” insisted Nal’drin with a playful nudge.

  “Very well,” said Dom with an exaggerated sigh. “It reads—Theros Hammer, orc of the Agremnall Hills, friend of Dwarves, enemy of cats.”

  Dominar was pleased with himself and let out a laugh as Theros shot him a frown. Nal’drin just looked at Dom for a moment and then shook his head.

  “Yeah, we need to work on your jokes,” Nal’drin quipped.

  “Huh?” said Dom with sincerity.

  Before Nal’drin could tease the old dwarf any more, a sound caught their attention. Clacking and clattering from a nearby alleyway froze them in their tracks. The sound was like the sharp smack of a cane’s tip upon the stone street. The cane clacked down several times in rapid succession, then it paused, as if its owner was pondering its next move. Pondering the ambush, calculating its odds. Another strike upon the stone echoed out, then two more, followed by another pause—the assailant still hiding in the shadows.

  Nal’drin jumped in front of Kiriana, raising his blade as he settled into a defensive stance.

  “You’re gonna want to move,” came a feminine, but hard voice. “I’m a big girl, I’ve got this.”

  He turned his head and found a lovely face and two crossbows, both locked and loaded, inches from his back.

  “Eyyie!” he muttered as he hopped back out of the way.

  She said nothing else, and the hint of a smile crept into the edge of her lips, but not before he turned away. Despite his foolish and nearly fatal attempt at chivalry, Kiriana was indeed locked in. Her eyes were fixed upon the darkness where their unseen enemy lurked. Her fingers gently found the triggers.

  Theros moved closer to the darkened path, both hammers clutched, muscles twitching with anticipation. Then the clacking started up again in a flurry of rapid strikes against the stone. The figure burst from the shadows.

  Light revealed the assassin. The hardened green shell of the skreldeng rose and fell in an arch, like a great crustacean hunchback. The source of the clacking was made apparent. The six dagger-tipped spindles the creature walked on clacked upon the city street. The sightless critter scanned the terrain with several long antennae. The skreldeng felt around in a wide hundred and eighty-degree arc, then it skittered off in another direction, clacking all the way.

  The crew burst out laughing. The tension melted away. They were ready for battle, but every day that you didn’t have to fight was a good day.

  Theros allowed his muscled frame to relax and he hung the hammers back on his thick leather belt. He reached a hand out and patted Nal’drin on the back. Nal’drin looked back at the orc with a puzzled look.

  Theros’ face grew dark, hard lines formed, his eyes narrowed as he eyed the young man. Then he said, “I just wanted to thank you for keeping Kiriana safe.”

  Theros maintained his stone face until he walked past Nal’drin, so he could hide his large grin. The group laughed once more. Nal’drin had done the gentlemanly thing, yet he still ended up as the butt of the joke. In response, he pouted dramatically.

  Sharka said, “Aww, I think we should stop teasing you so much.”

  “I dunno, he’s kinda cute like this,” said Kiriana with a demure smile, then she gave him a playful punch in the shoulder and walked after the others.

  First I get ignored. Then she laughs at me. Then she almost compliments me. Then she punches me. What the hell? Are all women like this? His thoughts carried on like this for a moment—and then everything went dark.

  A piercing screech reverberated through the cavern as a second creature bolted from the shadows. The massive thing, which sort of resembled a giant armored mantis, towered over Nal’drin’s motionless body. Four legs spread wide to hold its gray chitinous body atop its prey. The creature’s long forelegs were lined with tibial spines and at their ends, where it seemed claws should be, were instead large rounded club-like appendages. Blood was dripping off one of them, Nal’drin’s blood. The creature cocked its long, triangular head to the side as it analyzed the rest of its prey. The flickering light of the torch glimmered upon the faceted surface of the creature’s teardrop-shaped eyes. The monstrosity opened its barbed maw and released a series of clacking sounds, eerily similar to the skreldeng, as if to mock them.”

  “Noo!” yelled Dominar.

  “It was a trap,” noted Kiriana with disbelief.

  “What in creation is that?” yelled Dominar as prepared his hammer to strike.

  “Nastris, cousin to the Nial!” shouted Sharka.

  “What do we do?” asked Dominar.


  “Kill it,” growled Theros.

  The orc behemoth charged forward, with dwarven iron and fury. The nastris shrieked as it reared back onto its mid and hind legs. At close to nine feet tall, the creature even towered over the giant orc. Theros’ courage did not falter. Instead, he roared in the face of his enemy, and attacked with force.

  The nastris absorbed the first blow with one of its clubbed arms, but it couldn’t stop the second one. The monster’s body trembled under the force of the body blow, but its armored scales withstood the impact.

  Sharka had already reached Theros’ side. She squatted down to get her arms around Nal’drin. Once she was able to get her arms around his motionless body, she began to drag him away from the fight. The nastris wailed at the sight. Its leg shot forward and slammed down on the young king’s chest, slamming his body to the ground. Sharka stumbled. Nal’drin’s limp body pinned her legs down. She tried to squirm free, but the nastris was too strong. She pulled her daggers free and began to slash at its leg, but they were useless against its exoskeleton.

  Kiriana dashed forward to help free Sharka and Nal’drin, while Dominar barreled forward into battle. He delivered a momentous blow to the leg that was extended forward, pinning his friends down. The blow sent a shockwave of force through the armored leg, but it withstood the blow. He had missed the joint. Dominar pulled his maul back once again and crashed it into the creature’s leg. This time he hit his mark.

  The nastris wailed as its joint shattered. The creature lurched as its weight shifted dramatically on its unnaturally bent leg. It wailed once more and clacked in rage. Dominar tried to move out of the way, but it was too fast. The club-like appendage crashed into his left side. He heard a crack and the sharp pain pierced his side. Dom clutched at his side, but the pain sent him reeling.

  The nastris turned back to Theros, but the orc was gone. Displaying surprising agility, he tumbled under the huge creature. Then he went to work on its legs. The nastris’ weight shifted once more as Theros rendered one of its hind legs useless. The deafening shrieks continued and the armored monster flailed about savagely.

  Kiriana was able to free Sharka, and together they pulled the king’s body away from the nastris. She didn’t wait any longer. The Master Slayer lifted her twin repeaters off the stone floor and pointed them toward their assailant and she pulled the triggers. Her instruments of destruction cried thewp a dozen times in rapid succession as a hail of bolts were launched. The darting bolts spiraled through the dank and musty air without reservation. Steel-bladed arrow heads plunged deep into the soft tissue of the creature’s large eyes. The wailing and flailing lasted a moment longer. Then it stopped. The nastris was dead.

  “Ughh,” groaned Dominar as he lay crumpled against a nearby building, clutching his ribs.

  While Theros worked his way out from underneath the nastris’ carcass, Sharka turned back to Nal’drin’s still body. Sharka crouched down and placed her ear to his chest.

  “He’s alive!” she said.

  “Hopefully that thing just knocked him out,” said Kiriana as Sharka fumbled through her pack.

  Theros pulled himself free and made his way over to Dominar. “Are they broken?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I think I heard a crack,” admitted Dom.

  “Hopefully the rib is just separated or fractured,” said Theros as he helped Dom remove his chain mail and tunic.

  “Ahhh!” yelped Dom as the pain stabbed deep into his side.

  “Sorry, but I need to at least take a look,” said Theros.

  Dom didn’t speak as he tried to swallow down the pain. He simply nodded in agreement, slowly lifting his left arm out of the way.

  Theros examined the dwarf’s side. It was already bruising. His pale skin grew red as the blood flooded the tissue. The orc gently traced Dom’s ribs with a large gray finger. Dom winced in pain at even the slightest touch. Theros didn’t stop though. He had to try to get a feel for the extent of the injury. A blow like that could have easily broken the ribs, but the bigger concern was the possibility of a collapsed or punctured lung.

  Meanwhile, Sharka found what she was looking for. She pulled out a small glass vial filled with an amber liquid.

  “What is that?” asked Kiriana.

  “Ember sap,” she answered as she pulled the cork free, and began to wave the vial near the unconscious king’s nose. He awoke in a fit of coughing.

  The potent aroma overwhelmed Kiriana’s senses. She began to wave the burning vapors away as she coughed. Sharka wasn’t taken by surprise, she had been exposed to it during the siege of Storm Vale. Kiriana hadn’t, she had no idea what to expect. Even still, tears rolled down both of the womens’ cheeks as the vapors overwhelmed them.

  Sharka helped Nal’drin roll onto his side as his lungs spasmed at the touch of the ember sap vapors. He continued to cough for a moment, but the sap had done its job. Sharka stoppered the vial and returned it to its place in her pack.

  “Ugh, gods, what in blazes is that stuff?” demanded Nal’drin once he could speak.

  “Ember sap,” said Sharka with a smile.

  “Why would you do that to me?” he said with a scowl.

  “Because nap time was over,” she said before turning to Theros and Dom. “How is he?”

  “I don’t think anything is broken, but he’s going to be in pain for a while,” said Theros. “Do we have any wraps?”

  “Yes,” said Sharka as she rummaged through her pack once more.

  She pulled the cloth wrap from her pack and brought it over to them. Theros’s hands moved quickly as he wrapped Dom’s ribs.

  “Pin,” requested Theros with an outstretched hand.

  Sharka handed him the first pin. Then once it was fastened, she handed him the second. Once Theros secured the bandage, he helped Dominar pull his tunic back on.

  Dom instinctively reached over to grab his mail next, but Theros pulled it away. “I don’t think that is a good idea, my friend.”

  “Thanks, but I’d rather not get skewered by a goblin blade. I think it’d put a damper on my day,” Dom noted.

  Theros shot a sideways grin at his friend and said, “We’ll keep you safe.”

  “Oh, and a fine job you’re doing,” he said with a snicker. “No, really, I mean it.”

  Theros frowned at his friend and then said, “I’ma just let the next one eat you.”

  “Hah! The joke ‘ll be on him. I haven’t bathed in days!” said Dom triumphantly.

  “We know,” mumbled Kiriana, “we know.”

  Nal’drin finally gathered up his strength and sat up, then his eyes fell upon the corpse of the nastris. “What in blazes is that?” he said as he pointed.

  “Apparently that is a nastris,” replied Kiriana.

  “Is that what hit me?” he asked as he massaged the lump on the back of his head.

  “Yep,” Kiriana said, sweeping the crimson hair back from her face.

  “Goodness, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled quietly.

  “What?” asked Kiriana with a raised eyebrow.

  “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just thinking outloud.”

  She eyed him curiously for a moment and said, “Are you sure your head is okay?”

  “It’s pounding,” said Nal’drin as he squeezed his eyes closed.

  “You’re lucky you even have a head still. I’m surprised the nastris didn’t knock it clear off,” said Sharka nonchalantly.

  “He did get ya good my boy,” added Dominar with a groan, as Theros helped him to his feet.

  “Good, the injuries are all minor, they will heal. Now back to work. Who has an axe?” asked Theros as he looked around the group.

  “Dom, don’t you usually pack an axe?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Not this time. Didn’t think we’d be choppin’ much wood down here,” he said as he tugged on his beard.

  “Point taken. Wait, what do you need an axe for?” asked Nal’drin as he shifted his eyes back towards Theros.

&
nbsp; Theros casually nodded to the nastris and said, “Dinner.”

  11

  The Gift

  I may have found the answer. I have read of things long forgotten, things of power. It seems mad. I have only just started uncovering these secrets, but I am driven with purpose. My people are dying, but I will save them. I was asleep, but I doubt very much that it was a dream. The forked tongue of the wind tickled my ear, whispering a secret in the dark. It was just one word, a name, but within that name a fount of secret knowledge. Over and over again it whispered Qarii. What could this mean?

  I grew tired of this mystery, so I searched our ancient texts. It wasn’t until I dug into the Gorn Tor Elbath, that I found a reference to the name. There was very little information on the subject, in fact it almost seemed as if the holy text itself had an aversion to it. No clear definition was given as to what the Qarii is, but it suggests that it relates to some form or source of forbidden knowledge.

  It has been several nights since that initial revelation. I still don’t know what it means, but I hear it every night. Over and over again, it whispers to me.

  I cannot explain how or why, but something tells me that I will find everything I am looking for in the southern deserts of Antirri. I have told my father that I travel east to find the cure. It is not a lie. He has sent my brother to rule this place in my absence. Tonight I leave the shores of Darnisi, for the old world. I travel to Torminos. There I will find the answer. I will find the Qarii.

  From the personal journal of Duroc Stonebrow

  “YOU KNOW, IT ISN’T that bad,” said Nal’drin with a shrug.

  “Well, that much peppercorn will drown the taste of anything,” conceded Dom.

  “This is true,” agreed Nal’drin.

  “Good, because we will be eating it for a few more days. We can’t afford to squander our resources, especially with this setback,” Theros said, pointing to Dom’s injured ribs.