The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  “Sharka and I will do the scouting. I have the experience and I’d trust Sharka to keep quiet and stay out of sight before I’d trust either of you two,” said Kiriana with a wry smile.

  “Good with me,” said Sharka with a stone expression.

  “Do you really think splitting up is a good idea?” asked Nal’drin in an almost pleading voice.

  “I think we have to,” said Theros flatly. “We know that the goblin army is moving in, we just don’t know to what extent. We also need to consider what our options are, because even with Sparky over here, we can’t fight them all.”

  “So, even if you discover their numbers and locations, what’s your plan?” asked Duroc in an almost challenging tone.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me, all-knowing-one. Is there another way out of this tomb?” replied Theros, the sharp edge returning to his voice.

  “Only the one common to all tombs—death,” said Duroc, amused at his own clever response.

  Nal’drin spoke up, “So this goblin king... he’s here for the Elder Stones right? So can’t we just give him what he wants and be done with it?”

  Theros and Duroc both shouted, “No!” with what seemed to be the same breath.

  Nal’drin jumped with a start. “Easy now, it was just an idea.”

  “A stupid one,” quipped Duroc.

  “You’re just saying that because you want all four gems for yourself,” said Nal’drin.

  “No, I want all five,” corrected Duroc as he held up five wiggling fingers.

  “Four, five... wait, what?” asked Nal’drin out of confusion.

  “The goblin king has the fifth stone lad. Do try to keep up, won’t you?” said the king.

  Theros interjected, “Duroc is right, we cannot let the goblin king get his hands on another gem. Goblins are creatures without honor; they are terrible, wretched things. We cannot let something this powerful fall into their hands.”

  Nal’drin said, “Well, then, we just escape. Surely, even if there is no secret way out, a mage such as yourself can help us slip past some goblins?”

  “Truly, there are mages who could perform such feats, of this I have no doubt, but that is outside of my realm of knowledge and understanding. My studies have always been of a different nature,” replied the king with a bit of well-rested humility.

  “What about your portals and such?” asked Nal’drin as he aggressively explored their options.

  “Yes, were you to rejoin me to my body, I would have the capacity to open a portal for us, but that leaves us with one big problem,” said Duroc.

  “And that is?” asked Sharka.

  “That the goblins will still have the fifth stone!” said Duroc in a loud and exasperated voice.

  “All you care about is these damned stones,” said a frustrated Kiriana.

  “No, you don’t get it. Even a single stone in the wrong hands is a major, major problem. The destructive force potential is the equivalent to a dragon! Or worse. You think it’s a good idea to give goblins that type of power?” said Duroc. His ghostly face had turned dark. He fumed at the very concept. In the pallor of his ghostly state it was impossible to tell for sure, but it seemed his face would have been a deep red. His eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets and a pronounced vein emerged in the middle of his forehead.

  “But they’ve had the stone. If it’s so dangerous, why haven’t the goblins become a threat to anyone but us?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Because that idiot King Groknahl hasn’t figured out how to use it yet, but it is only a matter of time,” answered Duroc, his voice finally losing its edge.

  “So what do we do?” asked Nal’drin.

  “Whatever it takes, the goblins must not be allowed to possess such a power.”

  Theros spoke up again, “He is right. We have already seen some of the effects of these stones, and we don’t even know how to use them. I have no doubt that King Groknahl will discover these too, if he hasn’t already. We must find a way to stop them, or this continent will have another war on its hands.”

  Nal’drin gestured to Duroc and said, “Okay, you win. We fight these god-forsaken gobos, but you’re going to have to teach me how to set them on fire first.”

  An unnerving smile crept across the king’s lips. “I think we can arrange that,” he said with a wink.

  “Theros, I don’t think that is a good idea,” warned Sharka.

  I agree, he thought. But these are impossible odds, what else can I do? He shook his head disapprovingly and said, “We’ll take all the help we can get.”

  The not-quite-dead ghost-king had to be up to something, but what? Nal’drin just beamed like a child. Naïve and carefree about the journey he was about to embark upon. What could possibly go wrong?

  20

  From His Slumber

  Though the Darklight had not the power to give life, he did have a power over it—the power of death. First he sought dominion over the great beasts of the worlds. He wanted ones which could instill fear and could devour, such beasts were the apple of his eye. As he subdued the beasts of the worlds, one beast, greater than the rest still remained beyond his grasp. The dragons of Aurion were cunning and full of guile, they were once the most powerful creatures in the mortal realm, and relentlessly he sought them above all else; but their will was too strong...

  It enraged my brother that he could not force the dragons to submit to his will. He thought to slaughter them out of spite, but then he realized something. The dragons were not so different from him. They were mighty and they were proud. He would never knowingly submit to anyone’s rule ever again, and neither would they. So instead of wrestling for control over them, he worked to find ways to use their natural disposition to his own end...

  The dragons were far too old and cunning to fall for the demon king’s tricks. They were not benevolent creatures, they were indomitable and territorial, but they were not to be pawns either. So my cunning serpent of a brother did the only possible thing he could, he turned toward the rest of the Father’s children. He turned toward humanity, he turned to the dwarves, and to the elves, and he turned them toward their own destruction...

  War in the Heavens, Jazren of the Seraphim Order

  KIRIANA LED THE WAY up the winding passageway, her leather soles padding softly against the stones. Sharka was only a few steps behind. The women wouldn’t catch the goblins, but they did cover a lot of ground—and quickly. They emerged from the final passageway, and they found themselves racing through the spectacular palace halls that had greeted them when they first entered the palace.

  They scanned the cavernous room of tall arches and pillars. There was no sign of goblins. They scurried through the room with haste. They’d have to come back another time to appreciate the fine architecture and décor. The pair hugged the wall as they reached the palace’s entrance. Kiriana carefully craned her neck to peek outside into the courtyard. She was just in time to spot a goblin scout coming their way.

  Kiriana ducked her head back out of sight, and she pulled her swords from their sheaths. Sharka took the silent cue and drew her daggers. The fat little goblin, unassuming and unaware, sauntered up the steps and into the palace with a wobbly gait that only exacerbated the bouncing of his jiggly-bits. Had they been able to take their eyes off his corpulent mid-section, they’d have seen a long and narrow, beak-like face dotted with two dark yellow eyes and two rows of rotting teeth. His greasy mess of hair swept back away past his ears like mangled raven feathers. He wore tattered, torn, and re-stitched leather breeches and jerkin and carried a long spear upon his shoulder. And he whistled as he passed them, lost in his own little world.

  The little green fellow began to whistle a catchy melody and soon he was be-bopping to his own little rhythm. His head rocked back and forth and his shoulders swayed as he moved to the music. Then once he got out of sight of the other goblins he set his spear aside, his whistling sped up to a hypnotically catchy beat, his hands clapped out the drum line, and soon his body w
as rocking. The goblin started to dance. He danced with everything he had. His spindly legs popped and jerked, his flat feet pounded the cadence upon the stone. His hips and shoulders rolled as he lost himself to the music.

  Kiriana had to cover her mouth to stifle her laughter. She glanced over and found Sharka staring in amazement, which only made Kiriana want to laugh all the more. Orcs hated goblins, but Sharka just stood there slack-jawed and wide-eyed as she took in the private performance. That ugly, fat little guy was almost cute in a gross kind of way. It would be a shame to kill him, thought Kiriana. But there was no way she could let him blow their cover. So they followed their dancing quarry back into the depths of the palace halls, far from the entrance—and reinforcements.

  The tiny dancer froze, abandoning his dance at the beckoning of the cold steel at his back. An awkward yelp escaped his gnarled mouth and his shaking arms flew up into the air in an un-negotiated surrender.

  A female voice asked him, “Give us one good reason why we shouldn’t skewer you right now.”

  The goblin answered with a deep, throaty voice, saying, “Glemigk hurt no one... Glemigk no fight!”

  A second female voice, much harsher than the first asked, “What kind of goblin doesn’t fight?”

  The goblin was visibly shaken, and he even cowered a bit as he answered, “Glemigk not like other goblins... me no fight. Promise.”

  “Then why is Glemigk here in this place?” asked the first female.

  “King Groknalh say so... he kill Glemigk if not come,” said the goblin with a big gulp. His arms and his fingers continued to tremble uncontrollably.

  “How is Glemigk different?” demanded the harsh second voice.

  “Glemigk no hurt, me no fight, me just dance,” replied the goblin as he tried to peer over his shoulder at his assailants.

  “You still haven’t answered us, why should we let you live?” asked the first woman with a gentle but stern voice.

  “Me know some of fat king’s plans... hmmm... this help you, yes?” Glemigk tone suggested he might barter away his own babies were the deal right.

  “Walk,” demanded Sharka as she prodded him with a dagger in the back of his jerkin.

  “Where you take Glemigk?” asked the goblin as curiosity and fear wrestled for control of his voice.

  “Away,” she answered.

  “Away from what?” he asked as he arched his back away from the dagger point.

  “From listening ears,” she said coldly as she extended the dagger further into his arched back.

  Glemigk yelped, but it wasn’t enough to raise alarm. He swallowed hard and as he nearly bent his back in half in an attempt to pull away from the blade. Then his knobby knees began to move. The goblin followed their prodding and he began to walk ahead of them, back into the faintly lit corridors of the king’s palace. They passed through a series of long halls before they were able to steer him to the right. They ducked down a side passage, safely out of sight and sound.

  As they pushed Glemigk into the room, violent hands spun him around about the same time a leg whipped in behind his own. His feet were swept out from under him as those violent fists slammed him onto a large wooden table with a great thud. Glemigk looked up to watch a cloud of thick dust spew into the air as a second pair of hands arrived above him, poised to strike. He saw two blades fixed in their grasp. Then he saw his attackers. An orc woman’s balled fists held fast to his jerkin, and a human woman with fiery red hair prepared to drive her sleek swords through his chest.

  “You say no kill Glemigk!” shrieked the ugly creature, as he cowered behind trembling hands.

  “You said that, not us,” corrected Sharka through clenched teeth as she slammed him down onto the table again. Another puff of dust shot up into the air and swirled around them.

  “No kill!” squealed the goblin as he squirmed in her grip.

  “If you want to live, then you will tell us everything you know,” said Kiriana in a calm and clear voice.

  Sharka interjected in her hash and barely restrained way, saying, “No tricks, or you’re dead!”

  “No tricks, Glemigk no tricks!” promised the goblin, his dark yellow eyes stretched wide in fear.

  “What are the king’s plans?” demanded Sharka.

  “He come to take stones so he can make big war, big, big war,” said Glemigk as he nodded vigorously.

  “What war?” asked Kiriana.

  “The big one,” said Glemigk.

  “With who?”

  Glemigk gave a look that showed his confusion, before he gave a delayed answer, “Everyone...”

  “Why?”

  “He want be king of world,” said Glemigk plainly.

  “It seems like a goblin rule is something you’d want,” said Kiriana, “Why help us?”

  “He bad king, dangerous. He bring back old gods,” said the quivering goblin scout.

  “It is not uncommon for kings to bring back old cultures and religions,” said Kiriana with a dismissive shrug.

  Glemigk’s eyes flashed with fear and warning rose into his voice, “Not religion, old gods. He wish summon them to this place.”

  “The old gods?” said Sharka with a questioning glare.

  “You must know twins Rejmar and Bakasin,” said Glemigk. “Know them right?”

  Kiriana shook her head then turned to Sharka.

  Sharka nodded and answered, “Legends tell of two gods, the brothers Rejmar and Bakasin. The mythology says that Rejmar was the ruler of the day while Bakasin was the ruler of the night, and all the glory that came with the moon’s splendor. They were equals, sharing in their rule, but the peoples of the world loved the gentleness of the moon more than the fury of the sun. Rejmar grew jealous, and sought his brother’s glory—the moon. In the struggle, Rejmar accidentally killed Bakasin. In his madness, Rejmar, took his own life.”

  Glemigk smiled and nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes this.”

  “But they are dead now?” asked Kiriana, confusion written all over her face.

  “Gods speak to king, ask to live again,” said Glemigk.

  “Your king thinks he is hearing from two dead gods?” asked Sharka, with wide eyes and her mouth agape.

  “Yes, he get stones to give them life,” said Glemigk with a half-smile and vigorous nod of the head.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” admitted Kiriana.

  “So what do we do now?” asked Sharka.

  Kiriana turned back to the orc woman and said, “We take him to the others, they’ll know what to do.”

  “Why ask them when I have a few ideas of my own,” said Sharka with a wicked, toothy grin.

  Kiriana chuckled and said, “Not yet, we might need this one for a bit longer.”

  “Okay, let’s get out of here then,” said Sharka.

  Kiriana pulled a dagger free and cut a wide strip of cloth free from the bottom half of her shirt and said, “Sure, right after we blindfold him.”

  THEROS CROSSED HIS arms as he listened to the dwarf king’s tireless grumbling. The orc closed his eyes and sighed.

  “You’re just wasting time,” continued Duroc. “You’re going to have to free me sooner or later.”

  “Duroc,” Theros said with a growl, “I understand, but not until you tell me what’s going to happen to him.”

  Duroc followed the orc’s outstretched fingers as they pointed to the dwarf that rested in a coma. “Ah yes, your friend Dominar.” Duroc’s expression softened, even his eyes lost their fire. “I will be able to wake him, of that I’m certain. But, I’ve no way of knowing the extent of damage done to his mind. When he comes back to... he might... he might not be... the same.”

  Theros turned his smoldering gaze upon the ghost king. His eyes burned with a new fire and his voice fell as a hammer upon the anvil, crackling with fury and warning. “If he doesn’t get fully restored, then neither do you.”

  The silence in the sanctum was overwhelming, and the thundering of the king’s phantom heartbeat seemed to echo in
that place. Duroc was forced to gulp as he tried to swallow dryly. “I’ll do everything I can.”

  The ghost king moved close to Dominar’s unconscious body. He closed his eyes and stretched his hands out over Dom’s body as if he were groping about in the dark for something. His fingers crept about in silence for what seemed like forever, then they halted mid-motion. With his eyes still held shut, Duroc nodded, signaling understanding or perhaps discovery. Satisfied with his findings, the king opened his eyes and motioned for Theros to come closer.

  “What is it?” asked Theros.

  “Even in my weakened state, I think I can draw enough power through a stone to rouse him from his sleep. But, if there are any lingering effects, there won’t be anything that I can do for him,” said the king.

  “But, when you are restored, you can fix him up like new, right?” asked Theros, making sure to avoid any miscommunication.

  “Once I have been restored and regained my strength, it won’t be a problem. But we are about to be in the middle of a war zone with the goblins. My energy is finite, I won’t be able to do both without time to recharge.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you may need to tend to him for a while if his state is... less than favorable,” said Duroc. “Do you understand?”

  “I do,” said Theros in a solemn voice.

  Duroc gestured again, this time letting Theros know to set the axe down. Theros was quick to comply, propping the axe against the stone table that held Dominar. The king looked down and stretched one hand out toward the axe, then began his incantation.

  “Mik travik, dusch danich.”

  The axe-bound gem heard his command and it began to respond to his sorcery. Magic swelled within the stone and its once-dim glow intensified. The king continued his utterance as he drew the magical energy from the stone. His eyes began to glow with the same green fury that inhabited the stone and Duroc began his work. Swirling emerald vapors were like vines twisting out from his fingers toward Dominar’s unconscious form. The magical cords grasped Dom’s head and began to wrap around his skull and his neck. They were aggressive.