The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  “It was in Karthusa all along?” asked Duroc.

  Groknahl stopped long enough to take a swig from the flask at his belt, then he continued. “See, we had already discovered the back door into the keep down here. So we knew we could get around Duroc’s guardians, but I needed time to scout the place out. Then, when I realized some foolhardy adventurers were coming, I thought I’d sit back and enjoy the show. I had no idea you’d make it this far. You’ve impressed me, but you’ve also made my job down here much, much easier. You’ve hand-carried all the other gems right to me. And most importantly, you’ve unlocked the final mystery for me. You’ve exposed Duroc Stonebrow—and now he is my prisoner. Now nothing stands between the goblins and their destiny.”

  That was it. The conversation was over as Groknahl waved them away. Goblin soldiers led them away, leaving the king alone. A childlike smile illuminated Groknahl’s face, and he bent low to lift the axe. He couldn’t lift it with one hand, so without hesitating, he reached down with his second hand and he tried to lift the axe, but it was heavier than he’d expected, even for a weapon of such great size. So he squatted down and heaved upward on the axe, but he didn’t possess the strength to get it off the ground. Anger coursed through Groknahl and he snarled and spat before he kicked the axe’s haft in frustration. His gnarled toes slammed into the solid iron and the bones in his foot made gross snapping and cracking sounds as they were jostled out of place. Pain soared through his toes and up through his leg. The king cursed and proceeded to hop about while clutching his foot.

  Once he got past the initial wave of pain, and the barrage of expletives that came with it, he instructed nearby soldiers to load the axe into a small cart. It took several minutes for the goblins to gather enough help to lift the massive weapon into the wagon. The goblin king rubbed his sore toes as he watched them load it. Then once it was loaded, the axe and the prisoners alike were carted away. Now it was time for Groknahl and his army to make the final descent into Duroc’s Refuge. Centuries of ruthless savagery and cunning had led Groknahl to this point. The quest that once seemed to be nothing more than an impossible dream had now become all but reality. With all five Elder Stones in his possession, the goblin’s hour had finally come.

  26

  A Wizard Walks Among Them

  It wasn’t long before the Anunaki began to commune with him. They believed the presence of the Darklight was more than a miracle, that it was providence. They worshipped the fallen angel. It wasn’t long before all that was once light in them, turned dark, just like their god. As my brother’s darkened heart joined with his people, they grew wicked and dangerous.

  The Father sent us to the Anunaki to warn them to turn back. They swore an oath to us and to the Father, but the roots of the corruption ran deep in the marrow of that people...

  War in the Heavens, Jazren of the Seraphim Order

  ICE-COLD WATER COVERED Duroc’s face and panic set in. I’m drowning! The water washed away, and his face was above the water. Duroc gasped for air only to be slammed by another frigid wave. He tried not to swallow any but it was too late. A large bit caught him at just the wrong time. He spit out the water, but began to cough and gag as his body tried to expel the fluid. He heaved for a moment, then it came, bile and all. He spat it out and he gasped for breath, then closed his mouth and held his breath in anticipation of the next wave. It never came.

  Duroc opened his eyes for the first time and realized he wasn’t drowning; he wasn’t even in the water. He was soaking wet though. That is when he realized that a pair of goblins stood over him with two water pails. He felt like a drowned rat and he looked like one too. Apparently the goblins found it quite amusing, because they couldn’t stop laughing. One of them made a sudden movement as if he were about to douse him with another pail full of water. Duroc jumped at the feint, and though the water never came, their laughter only grew.

  The ensuing minutes were an eternity for the waterlogged king, but soon enough the laughter ceased and the goblin guards lifted him to his feet. Then Duroc came to the realization that he was bound in shackles, hand and foot. He let out a curse and stamped his wet feet upon the cold stone ground in a tiny tantrum.

  “Yous stays here, visitors comes for yous,” said the goblin with a laugh, before the two of them left the room.

  Nal’drin slugged Duroc in the shoulder, “You fool-sworn lunatic! I thought only loons were wizards? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Uggh,” was all the drowned rat could manage.

  “That display of... of raw power, it was... I don’t know... I’ve never seen anything like it before,” stammered the star struck Nal’drin. “I mean, that was a dragon, right?”

  “And a lot of good it did us,” muttered Dominar with a sour look.

  “It was a dragon once, what you saw was its spirit. And that display saved your hides,” snapped Duroc bitterly.

  Dom lifted his shackled hands into the air, and laughed. “Saved us, eh? Hate to see what your alternative looks like.”

  “Cut it out,” said Theros with a growl, and they did.

  Nal’drin turned to Duroc and asked, “What is the Goblin King’s plan?”

  Duroc didn’t look up, his eyes remained fixed on his bonds. “He plans to summon his gods back to this world, or at least one of them.”

  “But... there are no other gods, right?”

  “Glemigk confirmed that Groknahl believes that Rejmar and Bakasin have been speaking to him. He will attempt to summon them back to this world.”

  “But that’s all myth right?” asked Nal’drin.

  Duroc shrugged. “Whether the theology is true or not, someone is talking to him, and if I had to guess, I’d say it’s the Darklords.”

  “Darklords, they sound like nice chaps,” said Nal’drin with an eye roll.

  “Do we even dare ask what they are?” asked Dom.

  “The Darklords are the surviving followers of the Darklight. They are not of the natural realm,” explained Duroc.

  “How do you know this?” asked Theros.

  Duroc looked up, and Theros saw shame in his eyes. “Because they’ve whispered to me for over two hundred years.”

  “What do they want?” asked Theros.

  “To be let out.”

  There was a commotion in the hallway outside the room. Eight goblins entered the room, each of them holding a thin waxwood rod. The goblins fanned out around the room, forming a half circle around the group. The first goblin who had splashed Duroc with the water snickered. “Time for your first treatment.”

  The team struggled to move, but the shackles and short chains meant they weren’t going anywhere. The waxwood rods began to fall, and the goblins began to laugh.

  THEROS GROANED. THE pain from the beating was going to linger. He rubbed the welts on his face and scalp. They didn’t stop there, though, they ran down his arms and his back. He lifted himself from the ground, and looked around at his companions. Nal’drin had a nasty black eye that had swelled up pretty bad, but Theros was sure he’d taken the lion’s share of the beating. He had done his best to shield the dwarves, but no one came out unscathed. This one would hurt for days, he thought. If we live that long.

  “You guys alive?” he asked.

  “Unfortunately,” said Nal’drin with a groan.

  “At least the guards are gone,” said Theros.

  “Aye,” agreed Dominar.

  Duroc tugged on his chains. “Little good that’ll do with these infernal things on.”

  “So Mr. Wizard there, what are you going to do to get us out of here?” asked Dom.

  Duroc snapped. “I spent everything I had, and now I’ve got no stones. You already know that I won’t be able to do anything for a time.”

  “So what do we do now?” asked Nal’drin as he studied his own shackles.

  Duroc rubbed his forehead and said, “We hope they don’t kill us before I can free us.”

  “You go right on ahead with that, I’ll put my trust elsewhere,”
said Dom with a peculiar confidence in his voice.

  “Really, after all this you’re still placing all of your fool’s hope on a dead man?”

  “I place my trust in the Frelsarine.”

  “Dom,” started Theros, with heaviness in his voice.

  “Yes?”

  Theros paused for a moment and sighed, then said, “Nothing.”

  Dom whipped his head about toward his friend. Passion filled his voice and fire was in his eyes. “Listen, I get it. You already had your doubts and now we are sitting here in chains, but I remember what he’s done for us. I remember him breathing life into the dead, I remember him destroying that dragon, and I remember him pouring his strength out through you multiple times, so I’ll be damned if I stop believing that he can save us now.”

  “If that’s true, and he is ready to save us, then why did it have to come to this?” asked Theros

  Dom’s voice became soft and he said, “Because we were too busy trusting in ourselves.”

  The small room that served as their prison fell silent. Even the rattle of chains seemed to cease for a time. Not all of them agreed with Dom’s comment, but they understood his sentiment and they understood his heart. Even Duroc, who had his own unique views on everything, couldn’t fault Dom for any of this. So they sat in silence for a long moment.

  Nal’drin was running his fingers through his dark brown hair, when curiosity overcame him and his eyes grew wide. “Hey, Duroc, way back near the beginning of your city, there is a way-stone with a poem engraved on it.”

  Duroc scowled. “There’s lots of poetry down here, it’s not a big deal.”

  “I dunno, this one was pretty specific, and it seemed to be in a pretty prominent location. Yeah, it was about fate or something, I can’t remember, but Dom took a stone rubbing of it... it’s probably in our packs... if we ever see them again,” said Nal’drin.

  Duroc’s scowl held, and he crossed his arms. “It’s probably some obscure artist who’s better off forgotten.”

  Dominar rolled his eyes and muttered, “You’re probably right, the artists name was Duroc Stonebrow.”

  The dwarf king’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing.

  “What’s the poem mean,” asked Theros.

  Duroc took a deep breath, and let out a long sigh. “When I was young and full of ambition, I dreamed that I was destined for great things. That I would change the world. As the years passed me by, I realized that I’d never fulfilled my dream. Even being a king of one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the world did not satisfy the deep longing for greatness. Sure we had wealth and we were prosperous, but I never felt like it was because of me.”

  Duroc stopped to clear his throat, and spit out the phlegm. “The wealth was enormous, but what was my contribution to it? I didn’t create the wealth myself. As I grew older, I realized I’d made no grand contributions to the world, no legacy. I longed for purpose, I longed to discover a secret that would unlock my potential, my destiny. In that desperation, I wrote Duroc’s Lament.”

  “It was a self-fulfilling prophecy,” suggested Dominar.

  Duroc nodded. “More than I knew. After I discovered the Qarii, and how to harness the magics, I dusted off the old poem, and had it carved into the way-stone.”

  “I kinda wish we had it so I could read it again,” said Nal’drin.

  Theros nodded in agreement.

  “Why read it, when our host here could recite it for us?” suggested Dom.

  Nal’drin said, “I doubt he re—”

  Duroc cleared his throat once more, and in a deep baritone he recited the poem.

  I found that which was lost in time,

  My course now—simply divine.

  Drank from the well so long hidden,

  An’ basked in strength, not limit ridden,

  An’ found the mate of youthful dour,

  In the secret of darkness’ bower.

  The hour ‘tis late, beyond my prime

  Enfeebled I am by bonds of time,

  Unto the tomb prepared for me,

  Come all those who bear thy key.

  Tarry not, for the wicked come,

  With darkness that will shroud the sun.

  A truth I’d speak till my final breath,

  Know there are fates, worse than death.

  The bones are cast, the course is set,

  You are my gamble, you are my bet.

  So turn the key, open the gate,

  And together we shall face this fate.

  Duroc paused after the final verse, and said, “Self-fulfilling indeed.”

  Ten minutes or so passed before the guards returned, but they did not return alone. In walked the goblin king.

  “I see you’ve become acquainted with my guards.”

  “What do you need from us?” snarled Theros.

  King Groknahl laughed. “I don’t need anything, anymore. You’ve already given me the stones, and you’ve given me those... delicious women.”

  Theros growled, “You harm them—”

  Groknahl interrupted, “Oh, I was rough with them, but they seemed to like it. Especially the orc. I love how she bites when her pain mixes with pleasure.”

  Theros spoke with war in his voice. “I’ll destroy your entire kind.”

  “Promises, promises,” quipped the king before spitting on Theros.

  Theros lunged toward the king, but the chain held fast and he fell to the floor. The guards instinctively raised their rods to strike, but the king held up his hand.

  “No, we can’t kill them just yet, I’m enjoying this far too much.”

  The guards lowered their weapons. The king looked at the others who lay battered and beaten on the floor, and he snorted before turning and leaving. Once he was out of sight, the nearest goblin turned and kicked Theros in the face. His head jerked back and then slapped down on the stone floor. The taste of blood started to fill his mouth. Theros spit out blood and something hard. He felt around with his tongue and found a split lip and a broken tusk on the side of his bottom jaw.

  “I’m going to kill them... all of them.”

  27

  What Dreams May Say

  All secrets are made known to the Qarii. It has told me of stones of great power. It is said that these stones fell from the heavens, and that they offer unlimited possibilities. Chancellor Hramen confirmed it today during our lesson.

  He couldn’t explain it, so he showed me. I can't explain it, but there is a strange phenomenon that occurs when using the Qarii in the presence of the Elder Stones. The purple stone already rhythmically hummed with power, as if it was pulsing. The stone also seems to have another effect on the Qarii. It seems to abate the Qarii’s hunger. Somehow it can reduce and even eliminate the pain caused by channeling the Qarii. There are other effects, of that I'm sure, we just don't know the full extent of them. I have also found that the Qarii return faster and that we have less downtime when we use the stone. It is as if it accelerates the flow of the Qarii. This produces two effects. The first is that the magic is amplified. It seems that even the weakest mage becomes empowered. The second effect is the frequency at which we may cast spells. This purple stone is obnoxiously large for a gem, but I cannot bear the thought of parting with it.

  From the personal journal of Duroc Stonebrow

  THE GOBLIN’S SCREECHING voice woke them up. “Yous gets up! Wes goes!”

  “What?” asked Theros.

  “Wagon ready, yous goes!”

  “No,” snarled the orc.

  The gangly creature grew wide-eyed at the orc’s defiance. He raised his waxwood rod, and thrust it at Theros. Theros caught it, and jerked. The unsuspecting goblin was yanked forward, close enough for Theros to grab him. The powerful orc slammed the goblin down onto the stone floor. One sickly crunch and the struggle was over.

  “Find the keys!” urged Duroc.

  “Hurry!” said Dom.

  “Murd’rers!”

  Theros looked up just in time to see several goblins c
harge into the room they’d been trapped in. There were too many of them this time. The waxwood staves struck quickly. The escape attempt was foiled.

  “That’s enough,” said a new, almost articulate voice.

  A few more stick jabs landed, before the beating stopped.

  Theros looked up at a goblin who had a different color sash across his chest. It looked burgundy.

  “That’s enough, King Groknahl needs them alive.”

  “What are you, a Sergeant or something?” asked Duroc.

  The disinterested goblin said, “Something like that. Now shut-up and get to the wagon without issue, or I’ll skewer you and let the King run with plan B.”

  “Since when did goblins know how to speak with any intelligence?”

  “This probably isn’t the time to nurse old grudges, big guy,” snapped Nal’drin.

  The ranking goblin looked on the orc with renewed interest and smirked. “I think I’m going to enjoy this. Guards, get them to the wagons.”

  Theros didn’t make any attempt at escaping this time, nor did his companions. They went along peacefully as the goblins led them away by the chains. Outside the building they’d been imprisoned in, they found a pair of small rashni tethered to a large wooden wagon. The rashni were a gentle breed of rams found in many places through Aurion. They were dependable work beasts, but these had been beaten badly. Scars covered the backs of the poor creatures. The wagon itself wasn’t much more than a typical supply cart. It had a large flat bed with low-backed wooden side walls, and the whole thing rolled along on large wooden wheels. It was a simple, old-fashioned design and they were about to be chained to it.

  “Hurry up and get them chained, we’ve got to get to the other prisoners.”

  The lesser goblins scurried about carrying out the orders of their superior. Nal’drin, Dom, Duroc, and Theros were shoved into the wagon and were chained to it in quick order. With the unsettling crack of a whip, the rashni began to pull the wagon.