The Halls of the Fallen King

by Tiger Hebert

  Nal’drin leaned toward his friends and whispered, “He said other prisoners, they’re taking us to the girls.”

  “They could have other prisoners,” said Dom.

  “Highly unlikely,” said Duroc, “they don’t typically keep prisoners alive unless they have a need for them.”

  Nal’drin countenance shined with hope. “That means they’re still alive!”

  “I hope so, my boy, I hope so,” replied Duroc.

  “Duroc, how’s it coming?” asked Theros.

  Duroc sighed. “Without the aid of the stones, it’s slow.”

  The group fell quiet. The only sounds they heard were the occasional crack of the whip, the clop of hooves, and the creaking of the wagon’s wheels as they rolled over the street’s polished stones.

  “WHOA, WHOA!” COMMANDED the goblin as he brought the wagon to a stop at the far end of the Merchant Quarter. It was the same spot where Duroc tricked the goblin camps to fight each other.

  Several heavily armed goblin swarms congregated in the area. They appeared ready to march, and ready for war.

  “This doesn’t look good,” said Dominar.

  “I know, and I’d feel much more comfortable if I had my hands on some well-crafted dwarven iron,” admitted Theros.

  Dom offered a sheepish grin. “Sorry, but we’re fresh out.”

  “Look!” Nal’drin pointed toward the building to their left.

  “Don’t touch me!” snarled Sharka as she flashed her fangs at the nearest goblin.

  The goblin jumped back and allowed the chained woman to leave the building unescorted. Kiriana, also in chains, followed right behind her. Both women were visibly agitated, but neither appeared injured. They were led down the stairs and to the wagon.

  “Are you girls okay? Have they hurt you?” asked Dominar.

  “One of them wanted to, but Kiri gave him one well-placed knee and he suddenly lost interest. Quite bizarre.” Sharka grinned.

  “Thank goodness, the king said... he said he—”

  Kiriana cut him off, “No. He’s disgusting, and he made similar threats, but we haven’t even seen him since we were first captured.”

  “Speaking of captured, how’d they get you?” asked Sharka.

  Duroc said, “It’s a long story.”

  Theros replied, “We tried to rescue you, and after Duroc here tried to burn the whole mountain down, Groknahl captured us with his magic.”

  “His power is... like nothing I’ve ever seen. I can still feel echoes of the pain,” said Kiriana with a shudder.

  “It’s an interesting manipulation of the magics, one I haven’t seen before,” admitted Duroc.

  “What’s it called?” asked Nal’drin.

  “I’ve no idea what he calls it. The Qarii can do a great many things, if your mind can form a clear enough image and you’ve the will to perform it.”

  The goblins kept their hands off the girls, but screeched and squawked at them until they were loaded up into the wagon with the guys. Despite Sharka growling at them several times, the goblins managed to get them chained up as well. Soon they were all bound, elbow to elbow, in the tiny supply cart.

  “It’s nice to get the band back together,” quipped Nal’drin. “but how in blazes are we getting out of this?”

  Kiriana looked over at Duroc and whispered, “What do you have planned?”

  Duroc wrung his hands. “I can’t do much until the Qarii return to me. Depending on what situation we are in when that happens, that will determine my course of action. I’ll only get one chance, I’ll have to make it count.”

  “Just let us know what you need us to do,” advised Theros.

  Duroc nodded.

  The driver cracked his whip, and the helpless rashni strained against their harnesses, but the loaded wagon resisted. The other goblin in the wagon cursed the beasts as the driver cracked the whip again. The beasts of burden made no noise, they just strained against their load until it moved. As the wagon began to move, Sharka pointed out an engraved placard near the exit of the Merchant Quarter.

  The Unseen Wheel

  Into dreams we cast ourselves, that we might ride upon the waves and walk in the grace of kings. And of such there’s truly not many, nor any if not but the One; where care and concern, all fear and worry, should melt away as the candle’s wax at the approaching dawn. See then! The unseen wheel spins, though we know it not. Driven ahead by the starboard one, through headwinds and tailwinds, and currents and storms.

  But alas, if in the waking, we ride once more upon the trembling waters of troubled souls, then we’ve found it not. For if the serenity of these dreams eludes us, then what hope have we?

  At the helm we awaken, the day is new. Our bonds and our burdens await us. We see neither the shackles we place about our wrists nor the yoke we fit upon our shoulders as we seize the day. And still the unseen wheel spins, though it needs us not.

  She scratched her head. “This must have been important, because I’ve seen is engraved in a number of places down here.”

  Duroc didn’t pay her any attention.

  “Duroc, what is that?” asked Nal’drin as the wagon was pulled into the long tunnel that would lead to the city.

  Duroc brushed it off. “Oh, just some whimsical bit about the sea.”

  “I’ve been on the sea, there’s nothing romantic about it,” quipped Theros.

  “No, I’m not sure that’s the case,” said Kiriana.

  Theros turned to her and with an adamant expression. “I’m very serious. I’ve no doubts that the seventh circle of hell is nothing more than an endless ocean to travel across.”

  “No, not you, him,” said Kiriana as she tried to ignore the orc’s comments while the others laughed. “I think I’ve heard it before... I’m certain of it.”

  Duroc shrugged and said, “I hate to argue, but—“

  “Since when?” interrupted Dominar.

  The sour glare that Duroc shot Dominar said something that his words couldn’t.

  “In all seriousness, I have heard it before. I know it,” said Kiriana.

  “Listen dear, I don’t know if you know this, but dwarves aren’t exactly known for the more scholarly and more... delicate arts,” said Duroc.

  “But this wasn’t written by a dwarf.”

  “Listen here, deary, I hate to have to prove you wrong—”

  “And he lies again,” interjected Dom with far too much enjoyment.

  “As I was saying, in case you hadn’t noticed, this is my kingdom. I had it built. So, I kinda know what was built and by who.” Duroc draped false modesty over layers of egotism.

  Kiriana turned back to the king. Her face was full of sarcastic awe and wonder. She gave a mocking curtsy, and used her best timid and naive schoolgirl voice. “Oh, my dear lord, how could I have ever been so mistaken. It must have been all them big words in that there poem. I guess I was incredibly foolish to assume that your artis—stone thingy makers were skilled enough to transcribe the well-known poem The Unseen Wheel by the world-famous philosopher Argin Targus, from the Djardarbi Dynasty, 1102. Please forgive my ignorance.”

  Duroc’s cheeks turned rosy red as the blood of embarrassment and anger flooded them. He rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth, but said nothing. So Kiriana continued, to the great amusement of Dominar.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would assume that your stone thingy makers were fans of the philosopher.”

  Duroc glowered at her and said, “You’ve made your point, lass, so they were fans of Targut Argus—“

  “Argin Targus,” corrected Dominar with a smirk.

  Duroc said, “Argin Targus, so what does that matter?”

  “Now that is a good question,” admitted Kiriana with an appreciative nod. “However, I think it depends on its meaning. Duroc, if this poem had no significance to you, then why did you authorize them to literally etch it into your kingdom?”

  Duroc hesitated to answer as he stared down at his shackles. He took a deep bre
ath. “Well, I just... you see... It’s just this, if you look at the great kingdoms throughout Aurion, there are few constants. One of those constants is words. For some it is philosophy, for others religion, and for others still it is art. It seems to be a rudimentary component of so many cultures and I wanted to build a kingdom that could stand up against those great cities of yesterday and tomorrow.”

  “So you had artists engrave writings into the walls of your city, to make your city look cultured?” asked Sharka, with an incredulous look on her face.

  Duroc hung his head down further, and then he said, “It sounds even dumber when you say it that way.”

  “It really does,” said Kiriana.

  “Listen, that wasn’t the intention—to fool people into thinking a dwarven city had culture! I wanted us to have our own rich culture, to develop it over time. But, we’re dwarves. Most of my kind don’t place any value on books or learning, they just want to go about their lives in their daily routines. I aspired for more—and not just for me, but for all of us. Thinking they’d care was the stupid part.” Duroc hung his head.

  “You already do,” said Nal’drin. “Maybe it’s not the culture that you envisioned, but the dwarves have great culture. Do you even remember Dar Mar’kren? The Gorn Tor Elbath covers the walls, the pride dwarves take in their work, be it weapons or buildings, is second to none, and the ale! Oh, how I miss the ale.”

  Dom’s face lit up as Nal’drin talked about his old home. His eyes filled with tears as he his thoughts naturally shifted to his lost home, and then to his Gretchen and his girls. Oh how I miss you. I’ll come home, and I should never leave you again!

  “I never looked at it that way, my boy,” admitted Duroc with a nod.

  Kiriana said, “I think we need to focus on this poem. The writing is obviously very important to the men who carved it into the stones, otherwise they wouldn’t have done it throughout the whole city, when you didn’t explicitly tell them to. So, what does it mean?”

  “Is it about following your dreams?” asked Nal’drin.

  Theros grunted in half amusement.

  Sharka laughed. “Cute, but I don’t think so.”

  “A nightmare then?” asked Nal’drin.

  Kiriana’s face was quizzical. “How so?”

  “The person is talking about having peace that only exists in his dreams. To wake only to find that ripped away, it would be a nightmare,” he replied.

  “It could be enough to make a man mad,” admitted Theros.

  “Suicide.”

  Everyone turned to look at Duroc, who despite his comment, still continued to remain hunched over, staring blankly at his shackles.

  Kiriana’s silky smooth voice cut through the uneasy tension. “Why suicide?”

  Duroc answered without looking up. “The boy is right. It would be a nightmare to only find peace during your sleep, and that in your every waking moment and every effort you are devoid of peace, especially if the last line is true. And still the unseen wheel spins, though it needs us not. How wonderfully hopeless.”

  Dominar saw his dwarven counterpart in a new light. Though it might be fleeting, for the moment the scorn and the desire for mockery had melted away. He didn’t quite know why he felt this way, but Dom felt pity for the old king.

  Dom tugged on his beard and said, “Perhaps we’re all upside down on this thing. I’m thinkin’ it’s not hopelessness, but rather hope itself. Hope that it’ll be alright, even when we don’t wrestle control of the ship, so to speak, that the almighty is watching over us.”

  Duroc failed to offer a rebuttal full of snide remarks. Instead, like the others, he just shrugged and sat there disheartened as he felt the very real grasp of his chains.

  Theros sat there in silence too, but he didn’t study his bonds. Instead he closed his eyes, and he thought back to the brief time he spent with Aneri’On. Now that he looked back on it, he was acutely aware of how strange a time it was in his life.

  Orcs were not a religious people. Sure, throughout their history they had those who would call upon the spirit world for aid. Whether it be for supernatural health or victory in battle, there was a time when orcs trusted the spirits. They had some loosely held beliefs about that afterlife, but rarely did it guide and shape their lives. And yet there he was on the eve of the greatest war that this side of Aurion had ever seen, and he had found himself not sharpening weapons or strategizing, but kneeling upon the soon-to-be field of battle as he prayed with a living God. It was so at odds with who he was as an orc, as a warrior, and as a chieftain, but in that moment he knew it was the only thing that he should be doing—and it gave him peace. Peace that, truthfully, he had not truly experienced since.

  He tried to force his mind to go back to that day, to replay those events in his mind, but his meditations failed. He tried to recall the shape of Aneri’On’s human face, but the blurred lines never faded. He strained to hear the sound of his voice, but the echoes of the chilling breath of winter swept over it every time. He sought out their brief moments together, seeking any teachings that might contain knowledge or wisdom that would serve him today. He pressed hard against his memories time and time again, searching for some clue that it all wasn’t just some comforting fantasy.

  The cart jerked as its wheel rolled over the remains of a dead goblin and slammed back down again onto the stone street. The orc’s big body lurched forward, then slapped hard against the rugged wooden rails that crossed the middle of his lower back. Theros groaned in discomfort as the pain shot from his back down his backside and down one of his legs. The orc struggled to reposition himself, but he was chained into the wagon in such a way that movement was essentially impossible. In that moment, whether Aneri’On had been truth or fantasy mattered little to Theros, his reality was that he and his friends were all chained together in this wagon, and they were set to be executed or worse, and it seemed that there was little that could stop that.

  28

  A Leap of Faith

  The Anunaki broke their oaths and sought his power... and they found it. Using his power and knowledge, they summoned my brother into their world, removing the barrier. Raiza’kin became the first fallen angel to ever break into the mortal realm, and his power surged through them. The Anunaki began to war against neighboring nations. Embracing his power, they willingly chose destruction, believing they would find their redemption in it. How wrong they were...

  The Ancient One struck down my brother, shattering his being. Raiza’kin’s body and soul were destroyed, his spirit shattered, but it was too late. In the wake of the shattering, the Anunaki were wiped out and the world as we once knew it, was changed forever...

  War in the Heavens, Jazren of the Seraphim Order

  THE TRAVEL HAD BEEN slow. It seemed like they’d been riding for days, but then again, being strapped into a seated position in this rickety wagon wasn’t exactly pleasant. Duroc and his companions realized that they were only being driven to their deaths anyway, so it would make sense to embrace the snail’s pace of the journey through the tunnel. More importantly, it gave Duroc time to think.

  “You got anything, anything at all?” Theros’ voice barely above a whisper.

  Duroc closed his eyes for a brief moment as if searching, then he opened them. “Soon.”

  The lead goblin snapped at them. “Shut up!”

  The wizard curiously examined their situation. Nal’drin sat next to him. With the girls and Theros seated around the wagon’s horseshoe shaped bench, only Dominar sat truly opposite him. Each of them was bound with a single chain that snaked its way through a large iron ring mounted to the wagon floor. The fixtures were crude and unsophisticated, but they had been more than adequate in keeping the prisoners chained down so far. It’s about time to change that, thought Duroc.

  Nal’drin groaned after a particularly jarring bump drove the wooden rails into his back.

  The lead goblin replied. “I said shut it, or I’ll put you all on a spit!”

  T
he crew did just that, bowing to the goblin’s threat in silent submission. What else could they do? Sure Duroc knew he, or even Nal’drin, could muster up Qarii to leave his corpse smoldering, but what good would it do? It wouldn’t set them free. Duroc could cast a shattering spell, and that would do the trick of freeing them, but they would still be trapped in the midst of an enemy army with no weapons. As had seemed commonplace of late, Duroc felt he was left with but one option. I know what I have to do.

  Duroc looked back to the gray skinned orc and mouthed, “At the bridge...” and he stopped, then he made a slow but clear gesture where he reached and grabbed ahold of the railing of the wagon and squeezed, telling them to hold-on tight.

  Theros and the others nodded with understanding, as one of the guards distrustful eyes swept over them.

  The wooden wheels of the wagon creaked as it rolled along over the rugged, but surprisingly smooth streets. The goblin who drove the wagon let his whip bark upon the scarred backs of the two rashni that pulled the load. The docile beasts whimpered as their skin broke. Tiny streams of blood started to trickle out as they strained to pull the heavy burden. The beasts would find relief soon enough, though, as they were on the final stretch of the tunnel, just before the large stone bridge that spanned the chasm at the city’s entrance.

  Duroc’s mind raced frantically as he calculated all the possibilities, namely everything that was likely to go wrong with his plan, but time was running out. In just a few minutes they’d be across the bridge and his opportunity would be lost forever. So the wizard replayed the plan over again in his mind, despite one glaring omission, the lack of a promised conclusion. Don’t screw this up.

  The whip cracked once more as it bit at the beasts of burden, and the wagon crept forward. Duroc made a quick gesture for Dominar to stay put, and then for everyone else to scoot as far as possible in the opposite direction. None of them had much room to maneuver, but they all did as directed.

  The old wizard turned to Dominar and said, “I hope this God is worthy of your faith. Hold fast, my brother.” Then he lifted his eyes upward into the cavern’s upper expanse and he uttered mangled words.