The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  “Ahh!”

  Nal’drin and Dominar had been under the effects of the stone as well and had only just recovered enough to reach their friend. They both shook their heads in disbelief at everything that they had just witnessed.

  “How?” Nal’drin asked. His question was simple, direct, and surprisingly bereft of any sarcasm or jocularity.

  Duroc whispered, “Pick up the stone.”

  Theros ignored both voices and simply studied the once glowing, now dark stone that was only lit by pale light given off by the crystals high overhead.

  Nal’drin continued, “First you lead us through the city, as if you knew where you were going. You bring us here, to the king’s palace, and then you just so happen to know exactly where to find some mysterious and powerful weapon. One that just happens to be an axe and not an ordinary axe, that ya know... chops up wood, nooooo it just happened to be one that cuts through stone, of course! Oh yeah, and then ya slew the giant, just for good measure, I suppose.”

  Theros stared at the gem in silence.

  “Pick it up,” said the king in a calm voice.

  Nal’drin’s frustration boiled over and he yelled, “What in the seven halls of damnation is going on?”

  “Easy lad,” warned Dominar. “We’ve all got questions. Let’s give him a minute.”

  The king’s calm but insistent voice spoke again, “You will need to collect all the keys to free me. This is one of them.”

  Theros took a deep breath, then he reluctantly grabbed the gem and stood up. He held it up before his companions who now stood by his side. Their eyes grew wide as they finally got a look at the object of his intense focus.

  “This, my friends, is one of the Elder Stones,” Theros said.

  “Woah, it’s huge,” said Nal’drin.

  “It’s also dangerous,” admitted Dominar warily.

  “In the wrong hands, yes, but we have it now,” said the orc with a slight smile.

  Nal’drin’s suspicious eyes shifted from the stone back to Theros. “It was Duroc, wasn’t it?”

  Dominar stepped in and said, “There’s a lot that we don’t have answers for right now. Let’s just be thankful that we have the gem and that no one died retrieving it.”

  “It was Duroc. He just saved our lives. Now, speaking of no one dying, where are the girls?” Theros asked as worry washed over his face.

  “Probably the same place they were the last time you asked,” replied Nal’drin.

  Theros gave him a look full of bad intentions. Nal’drin realized that his pushing and prodding was growing dangerous. He scrambled to right his ship.

  “We better get back to the library,” said the young king as he surveyed the path of destruction that Krom Krom had paved through the abandoned city. “Sharka had a wound on her shoulder. It will need tending.”

  Theros’s head snapped around quickly to Nal’drin. “How bad?”

  “I don’t know. One of the goblins bit her shoulder, till she jammed one of those daggers through his skull. She’s a heckuva fighter, she really is,” said Nal’drin.

  “Was there more?” demanded Theros with a stern voice and hard eyes.

  “No, I got her outta the fight before anything else happened,” said Nal’drin

  “Aye, the lad did good, and not a moment too soon. Without his help, Sharka and I would have both entered the long rest tonight,” said Dominar with a nod.

  “I’m pretty sure she could have taken care of herself. Both of those women put me to shame on the battlefield,” admitted Nal’drin his handsome face revealing insecurities for the first time.

  “I’ve no doubt they’ve put many a man to shame in that regard. They are remarkable indeed,” said the agreeable dwarf.

  The orc tucked the large gemstone inside the small leather satchel that hung from the back of his belt, then said, “In our culture, there are few distinctions made between men and women. Men hunt, women hunt, men fight, and women fight. It is the way of our people.”

  “As the old adage goes, if you bring up a girl in the way of the sword, when she is old she will not depart from it,” said Dominar with a chuckle. “Or some such thing...”

  Theros cracked the briefest of smiles then he turned back toward the direction they had come and began walking.

  “Theros, we can make straight for the library from here, it would prevent us from having to go out and around,” suggested Nal’drin.

  “I know, but my hammers are down there,” said the orc, pointing down the street.

  “Very well,” said Nal’drin.

  The trio left the king’s palace as they made their roundabout way back to the library. Theros remained quiet while the ever-chatty Nal’drin began discussing the finer things in life, primarily figuring out what Dominar planned to whip up for dinner.

  “You’ve done well, son, I knew I was right to have hope in you,” whispered the king’s voice.

  Son? Does that mean you’ll put an axe through my head when you’re done with me? Violently snapped Theros in his mind.

  “How could you think that?” said the soft, pained voice.

  He called you father.

  “That much is true. I have loved Krom Krom since the beginning, but without my guiding hand he had grown dangerous. I could not suffer to see you or your friends murdered at his hands. I will mourn him, but do you honestly think that this life that he had was even a life anymore? Do you think it was not misery for him? When he was given sentience, he became more than a tool or a guardian; he became a living being, one that was required to find significance through relationships and purpose. That was taken long ago, snatched away from him when our home was attacked and I was imprisoned. Thus ensued his madness. His fate grieves my heart, as a father I know I must see past my loss and see that he is finally free,” said Duroc somberly, his voice near cracking.

  I’m sorry, Theros silently whispered.

  “Me too,” said Duroc.

  Was it Krom Krom that defeated the council?

  “No, but he delayed them from entering the palace. It bought me the time I needed to prepare for their final assault,” answered Duroc before the link was broken.

  As they walked down the debris laden street, the chit chat continued. The topic never changed, it simply shifted from one entree to another or perhaps back to hors d’oeuvres. Theros rarely joined these conversations, but they did bring a smile to his face. In light of everything that had happened in the six months since they were first forced from their homelands, he welcomed the light-hearted small talk, even if he never said a word. It was just nice to have the only words that were being spoken coming from outside his head.

  15

  Once Bitten, Twice Shy

  I am thankful that I am not being tossed about on those rough seas, but I do tire of this accursed desert city and every grain of sand lodged into my boots and every other place imaginable. I have searched the many great libraries of Torminos, but have yet to find the object of my desire. I will find my book; I will have Ascendance, the Qarii wills it.

  Through my exploration and my studies, though, I have gained new understanding. I now realize that the Togari society has birthed some of the greatest scholars in Aurion’s history. They have long understood something that I am just now beginning to see, that knowledge is not only the most valuable resource in all of Aurion but in all of the Eversphere. It is one that must be gathered at all costs. I see now. Knowledge, not wealth, not might of force, and not political influence, will cause empires to rise. The Qarii has told me this. I must seek out this knowledge.

  From the personal journal of Duroc Stonebrow

  THEROS, NAL’DRIN, AND eventually even Dominar rounded the last corner, which finally put the library back in sight.

  “There it is!” shouted Theros, as if the others couldn’t tell from the wreckage.

  Theros hightailed it down the street. Nal’drin had been around the big fella long enough that nothing should surprise him, but he was still in awe of how fa
st that mountain of a man could move. Nal’drin did his best to keep up, but even his young legs could only do so much.

  Theros rushed inside the library and quickly took the stairs, three steps per stride. He raced past the second floor on his way to the third floor when something caught his eye. His sudden halt was betrayed by his momentum. He tripped and slammed hard onto the stone stairs.

  “Are you okay?” asked a familiar voice.

  “Arggh,” groaned the orc through clenched teeth. “Just fine.”

  He turned in time to see Kiriana emerge from the darkened study on the second floor. Concern was in her eyes.

  “Where’s Sharka?” he demanded as he lifted himself from the ground.

  “In here. I had to tend to her wounds,” said Kiriana as she gestured for him to follow.

  Theros followed her into the study. His eyes darted through the room until they fell upon Sharka. His heart began to pound even harder when he saw the blood stained remnants of the leather jerkin she once wore.

  “What happened? How is she? Are you okay?” Theros blurted in a single breath.

  “I’m fine,” replied Sharka dismissively. “He just got my shoulder a little bit.”

  “It was more than a little bit, you were fortunate that he didn’t get any deeper,” interjected Kiriana.

  “She stitched me up, I’m good,” Sharka insisted as she tried to rise from the spot where she was resting against the library wall.

  “No, you’ve lost too much blood. You need to rest,” said Kiriana as she moved to prevent the orc woman from rising.

  Theros moved close and knelt down beside her. He leaned forward and examined the bite marks on her shoulder. The whole area was red and swollen from the inflammation and the dried blood that was yet to be washed away. The wounds themselves had been cleaned, with the larger ones being sewn shut. To his surprise, Kiriana had actually done a pretty good job closing them up.

  Theros turned to Kiriana and thanked her. Kiriana accepted his thanks with a nod, then took the cue to step out of the room for a moment, giving them privacy.

  Then he turned back to Sharka and said, “This is all my fault. I’m sorry.”

  Sharka placed her hand under his chin and lifted his head, forcing his downcast eyes to meet hers. When their eyes met, his carried sorrow; hers carried something else, something gentle and forgiving. His hardened expression softened.

  Emotion bubbled below the surface of his voice. “I can’t lose you.”

  Sharka gave him a tired, but loving smile and said, “You can’t lose what you don’t have.”

  “You know what I mean,” said Theros with a grumble.

  “No, I don’t,” she said.

  “You know I care about you. You mean the world to me,” he said, his voice rising.

  Her tired eyes slowly traced the hard, worn lines of his proud face. His face was much like her own; it bore the effects of a long life. They were still healthy and strong, but they were not young any more, and hadn’t been in a long time.

  “You know that, don’t you? You mean everything to me.”

  “Ogron, and Swift, and Dominar mean the world to you, but what am I to you?” she asked, her voice feather soft.

  “You know that’s different,” he said evasively, hints of frustration surfacing.

  “That’s not what I asked,” said Sharka, her voice remarkably calm.

  “You have always been special to me Jhano... you know that,” said Theros as he began to fidget with a nearby book.

  Sharka gently lifted his chin up once again, forcing his eyes to hers. She held a smile, but something stirred deep within her eyes. It made him uncomfortable, nervous even.

  Sharka asked, “What am I to you? I need to know.”

  The quaking rumble of emotions shook him. He struggled to speak. “You know why I... why we can’t.”

  Sharka was crushed by the weight of his words that forced the air and hope from a frame that seemed suddenly fragile. She said nothing as she bit back her bitter tears. The orc woman rose to her feet. Theros reached out for her, but she pulled away from him, and left the room.

  Theros spun and thought to follow after her, but he realized the damage was already done. She had been more loyal and patient with him than he could have ever expected. I just keep pushing you away... And for what? Tradition? Honor? Why is everything so damn complicated?

  Rage surged within the giant warrior. He let out an angry roar as he drove his massive fist through a nearby book case. The dusty wooden planks snapped and the shelves collapsed, and books spilled onto the floor and sent dust swirling into the air. The cloud of dust swallowed the orc chieftain whole. The hacking coughs of the orc joined the lingering noise of the collapsing bookshelf. Then the dust settled and the room was silent. Theros found himself just standing there, feeling angry and in some ways defeated. He wiped the dust from his face and opened his eyes. In the doorway ahead of him was the silhouette of a female. It was Kiriana.

  The glare in her eyes burned. “Are you seriously going to let traditions keep you apart? Traditions, by the way, that actually weren’t even established by this hero you’re supposed to be honoring, you know—because he was dead!”

  Theros shook his head. “You don’t understand, I can’t.”

  An arched eyebrow and pursed lips said she wasn’t buying it. “I don’t know all of your history together, but I’m pretty sure that woman would walk through hellfire for you, and when she needed to know that you’ve got her, you failed her.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “When did love ever need to be easy?”

  The big orc just stared back at her.

  “She deserves more from you, a lot more,” said Kiriana with biting tone.

  Theros just stood there eyes wide and mouth agape. Her words were a sucker punch. The hit rocked him. He tried to shake it off, but the implications were staggering. I failed her.

  NAL’DRIN CLEARED THE large table in the back half of the library’s second floor. The books and scrolls that had once been scattered across its surface tumbled to the floor. Dust rose into the air, and he began to sneeze fitfully.

  “Guunstrahb!” said Dom.

  “What?” asked Nal’drin before sneezing again.

  “And Guunstrahb again.”

  “What does that mean in Dwarven?” asked Nal’drin.

  Dom cocked his head to the side and said, “How should I know?”

  “You’re a dwarf!”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” bristled Dom.

  Nal’drin waved his hands. “You’re absolutely impossible at times.”

  “What did I do?”

  Kiriana gave Dom a playful slap on the shoulder, “Stop messing with him.”

  Dom shrugged, then chuckled.

  “I don’t get it,” admitted Nal’drin.

  Kiriana turned to him and said, “Guunstrahb isn’t a dwarven word. It’s commonly used slang in the old world, derived from the language of the old Medros people that once populated that Rhodheim region. The Medros are long gone, but their word remains.”

  “Fascinating,” noted Dom.

  “Great, what’s it mean?” demanded Nal’drin.

  “It roughly translates to, don’t get any of that on me, with some slightly more colorful sentence enhancers thrown in,” said Kiriana with a laugh.

  “Rude! But fascinating indeed,” admitted Nal’drin. “How do they fit all of that into one little word though?”

  Kiriana turned to Dom. “You probably know more about languages than I do.”

  Dominar tugged on his beard. “Aye, well, most people who speak the common tongue always make one flawed assumption, and that is that to translate from one language to another, you just swap out words, one by one. In some cases that works, but in many languages that is simply not the case. In fact, while the common tongue has its challenges and strengths, it is a rather simplistic language compared to some. Single words in other languages are often packed with much mor
e meaning that what you are accustomed to young King.”

  Nal’drin was intrigued. “Can you give me an example?”

  Theros emerged from the dark side of the library without saying a word. They all looked in his direction, but he did not meet their gazes. Instead, he quietly slipped out of the room and headed down the stairs.

  Dominar watched his friend depart. “Jhano. It is strong like most orc words, but it is free of the typical guttural bite that their tongue carries. There is a subtle softness to it.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Yeah, what’s it mean?” echoed Kiriana.

  “It means my heart, my will, my courage, my strength, my promise, my love,” said Dom softly.

  “I know you guys are friends and all—”

  Kiriana jabbed Nal’drin in the shoulder, then said, “That’s beautiful Dom.”

  “Aye,” said Dom with a nod toward Theros who was outside by now, “and it is his name for her.”

  Kiriana pulled a brush from her pack, plucked some strands of hair from the bristles, and began to brush her hair. “Dom, do you think they’ll make it?”

  Nal’drin was sure that Dom answered her question, but he must have missed it. He was too busy watching Kiriana. When the journey started, her bright red hair fell away like wavy silk tresses. This cross-country, underground camping trip from hell had done a number on her hair. Even her bath the previous night couldn’t fix everything. Her hair was a frizzy mess laced with knots that she now valiantly fought with the brush. In that moment she tugged and pulled at the knots, threatened to cut them out, and cussed a little before winning the battle. You are perfect, he thought.

  Theros walked down the library ramp. His body ached with every movement. The cut in his thigh had closed up a few days ago, but it was still tender. Streaks of torn flesh stretched across his back from the troll encounter. Thanks to his leathers the cuts weren’t deep, but they hurt like hell. His body was used to battle and training, but the lumps and the bruises he’d taken on this trip were adding up. He just wanted to fall asleep and wake up when it was over, and the pain was gone. But there was another pain that he had to face first.