Shadow Realms: Part One of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  Dril’ead charged foreword, scimitars in hand, and came swiftly toward the demon. He forgot the pain in his limbs and the limp in his leg, leaping upon a fallen pillar and running up its edge at its massive form. Once reaching its end, now level with the head of the demon, the fighter dove with swords outstretched to either side.

  The demon crouched as its hammer slammed into the ground, destroying several mages, and Dril came down upon it. His scimitars plunged into the red scales of its neck, and Faxtogar roared, stood, and reached behind its head as it tried to catch whatever was upon it. But it couldn’t catch the nimble warrior.

  With claws sweeping round to catch him, Dril raised his voice in a final, desperate command to the mages. “Now is the moment!” he shouted, “Aim for its head!”

  The mages turned their power upon the face of the demon, orbs smashing into it and crushing the remnants if its essence. Faxtogar stumbled about, smashing buildings in its blind pain, trying to grab Dril and destroy the mages at the same time. Maaha clenched her fists where she stood in her ruined throne room as she saw Dril’ead’s attack take successful action.

  Dril raised both his scimitars above the demons scalp, panted with the strange designs that swirled amongst themselves, and where its curled horns protruded. Roaring his battle cry he brought the blades down into its skull, and Faxtogar’s roar exploded in its mouth as magical energy crashed into its face. Dril’ead took the hilts of his scimitars as they were plunged into its scalp, and twisted the weapons.

  The demon jerked in horrific pain, roared, and then stumbling foreword a final orb of energy smashed into its head, sending Dril’ead flying backwards to crash into a cracked stone wall. The entire structure collapsed beneath him. The demon hit the ground with such force that the mages staggered where they stood, Dril’ead’s two scimitars protruding from the fallen demons scalp now panted purple with its blood.

  “No!” Maaha screamed as she saw her demon fall. “Curse that prince of Vulzdagg! May his future ever be full of pain and grief, torment and destruction! Curse unto Dril’ead Vulzdagg!”

  But even as she cursed Dril’ead, Vaknorbond silently went across the smooth floor of the room he had entered in through a window. He exited the dark room into a narrow passageway that went both to his left and right. Choosing the right passage he went along silently and slowly, nearing a corridor that opened out into a room with a wide opening in the floor. Down this opening was the throne room of the Mage Tower, and the glowing pit by which the Lady of Zurdagg now stood in her fury.

  Vak leapt onto a railing that fenced the drop into the throne room. He squinted down into the glowing light – into the Lesser Realm below. The brightness was so great that he was forced to look away, and then taking a deep breath Vak dropped down, grabbed the ledge with both hands, and swung his legs foreword and away from the glowing chasm. He released with enough momentum to carry him away from the chasm; and he landed and rolled upon solid stone, coming up and standing before the form of Maaha.

  “You are out of spells, Maaha Zurdagg,” Vak stated firmly.

  “And you, I expect, have enough to challenge me?” she said with a cold hate. “You, who so cowardly allowed your own offspring to kill…”

  “Be silent!” Vak shouted, cutting her off. “Deotuer lost his chance in this realm, his time was done. Your time, as Lady of Zurdagg, has ended as well. I do not look upon my sons actions against your city with pride; nor do I respect that I, myself, allowed this to happen. However, we must not forget that it was you who killed my father with your curses and blasted charms! None of this should ever have happened.”

  “But it has,” Maaha stated. “There is no way you can change the past. What has been done is done.”

  “You are done, Maaha,” Vak growled angrily. “Your book is closed!”

  “But it appears I have one more up my sleeve,” Maaha said, and without warning she threw from a hidden compartment in her sleeve a thin blade. The blade went swiftly with a whistle, catching Vak off guard.

  Vaknorbond leaned back on his heels to dodge the attack, but was a moment too late as the blade sliced across his shoulder, breaking the mail and drawing a drop of dark blood. Vak’s momentum took him into a backwards flip onto his hands, and he launched himself back onto his feet a few paces back from where he had been struck.

  Three more of these blades whizzed past Vak’s head, forcing him to duck, turn, and bend backward in defense. A fourth blade came unexpectedly upon him and stabbed through his mail slacks at the thigh, and he groaned in surprise, dropping to one knee.

  Maaha drew both her scimitars and charged foreword, launching a violent attack that would have ended Vak’s life if he hadn’t dropped onto his side and kicked out, striking her in the stomach. She grunted as she bent in pain, but swung down with another strike that Vak dodged, nearly losing an ear, the blade striking the stone beside his head. He swung his injured leg up and across to strike Maaha again, but she eluded by stepping back a few paces.

  “You have played your last, Vak,” she said in mockery, keeping her breath steady. “Perhaps you feel sorry for what you have done to me. Personally, though, I like it better without Deotuer’s wasteful orders and demands. Things have happened exactly the way they were meant – at least on my part. You might think you have won the battle, but in the end you have just strengthened the enemy to full power. So I thank you for returning my belongings, and ending Deotuer’s time as ruler. But you are right about one thing Vaknorbond – his time in this realm has ended.”

  Vak just lay in his pain and exhaustion, hardly paying attention to the words of the witch, but understanding enough that she had betrayed her own people for no real reason than to gain more power. It filled him with dread. He was too old to be fighting enemies such as her, or to be fighting any battle at all. And yet, for the safety and defense of his people and his family, Vaknorbond knew he had no other choice but to fight their battles for them.

  His wounded leg throbbed with even more soreness than before, the blade that had struck him still protruding from his blood stained slacks.

  He exhaled painfully and tried to move his leg, but the sting only increased.

  “Why didn’t you kill him yourself?” Vak said, his voice straining from the pain.

  Maaha shifted her position, letting the tips of her scimitars touch the stone floor as she replied with a wicked grin. “I wouldn’t expect the Zurdagg’s to take kindly to their mistress after murdering their Lord for the sake of more power.”

  “No…” breathed an exhausted Vaknorbond. He felt the cold blade of the weapon that protruded from his thigh with the tips of his fingers. “I wouldn’t think so, either.”

  *****

  One of the mages of Vulzdagg knelt beside the head of Faxtogar as it lay dead, banished from that world, both Dril’ead’s scimitars protruding from its head. The mage felt the right horn that curled over its scalp. He felt one of the horns of the beast, following it gently up to the point where the very tip was broken off.

  “Look!” he said to the others, who stood a cautious distance back, “This has been recently damaged!”

  “Perhaps our fire damaged it,” a second mage suggested.

  “No. It hasn’t been burned or fused like it would be if that were so. It has been snapped by something… or someone.” His voice trailed away as he reverted to private thinking, and then looking up suddenly with alarm he said, “Where is Dril’ead?”

  Immediately they spread out in search for Dril, chanting spells for finding certain objects, and each of their palms glowed yellow as they held them out in search. One mage came to the place where Dril had fallen, his palm growing suddenly bright, and the mage saw the unconscious warrior lying in a heap of broken stones.

  He dropped to his knees and past his hands over Dril’s body, chanting another spell. Dril suddenly awoke from his coma in a fit of coughs, and then laid his head back against a broken stone while groaning painfully.

  “I found him!” the mage call
ed to the others, and they all hurried in their direction. He turned back to Dril’ead and said, “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve fallen upon a pike,” he groaned, and then began coughing again.

  “You mean to say that you’ve been stabbed?” the mage asked.

  The other mages came round Dril’ead’s injured form, all bending down and examining him with their glowing palms.

  “Most likely,” Dril breathed in reply.

  “He has fallen upon the demons horn,” the mage said in a low, forbidding voice, looking up at the others with dismay. He turned back to Dril’ead and explained. “You have struck the horn of the demon as it fell, and it appears the very tip of its antler is still in you.”

  “What?” Dril’ead gasped in horror.

  “If I know anything about demons of the Lesser Realm,” a second mage said slowly and with deep thought, hoping his proclamations would be proven wrong, “It is said that their horns are cursed. If stabbed directly in the heart by one you will die almost instantly. But, in a scenario like this, with the piece in your body, the fragment will make its way toward your heart. Once it reached its destination, you will die.”

  They were silent for a time. Some of the mages nodded their understanding of Dril’ead’s fate, while Dril himself stared up at them in bewilderment. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in the center of his back as if he was being stabbed with a hot poker. His body strained and he cried out in agonizing pain.

  “It’s passing his spine!” a third mage exclaimed. “Quick! Lift him! Let us away!”

  “We must bring him back to the House of the Basilisk,” the first said.

  He reached under Dril’eads tense body to lift him, and all the mages lifted him off the ground as he clenched his fists, fighting the tremendous pain.

  *****

  Vaknorbond’s fingers laced round the blade in his leg. He waited a moment – for the right moment – as Maaha raised her scimitars again and stalked foreword with a smile and a glint of wicked pleasure in her eyes. Vak pulled the blade out of his leg and hurled it at her as she came within range, but she offhandedly knocked the blade out of the air with a scimitar, and swung the other sword down at the same moment. Vak pulled his legs in and rolled backwards before leaping onto his feet. His injured leg gave way and he fell, but catching himself with his arm he pulled away; trying desperately to escape.

  Maaha stood in place, glaring in his direction. “I admire your strength, and I hope your son is as equally strong as you. He will need it for what is in store for him. Only pain and grief mark his future path, no matter what decision he makes.”

  Vak could feel the warmth of the chasm at his back, and could see its light reflecting off his armor, causing it to flicker with a golden red. Stuck between the chasm and Maaha, Vak had no other choice but to stagger to his feet and draw his scimitars.

  Maaha laughed at his actions and brandished hers, making them sparkle in the light. “A beautiful thing, that light! It makes everything sparkle. You should turn around and see its greatness.”

  “Why don’t you,” snarled Vaknorbond.

  She looked over his shoulder into the brightness behind him. “I have. My eyes can handle it, thanks to my skill with the magical art.”

  “Your witchcraft you cursed witch!” Vak roared, and charged forward, limping on his bad leg.

  Maaha smiled, running foreword with a smooth stride before leaping into the air, swinging her scimitars overhead. The combatants were about to strike in a shower of sparks when there appeared a pale light, even brighter than the chasm, and both warrior and witch were blown backwards by a wind that came from the pale light between them. Their weapons were pulled out of their hands and floated before the strange orb of pale radiance.

  Vak’s momentum was halted just a few feet from the chasms edge, the heat nearly unbearable, and Maaha hit the floor and slid for a moment before slowing to a halt, groaning in pain where she now lay across the chamber. Both of them looked up at the pale light between them, and their scimitars hovering round it. The light pained their eyes, but they found that they couldn’t look away, even when tears streamed down their cheeks.

  The scimitars clattered to the floor when the light vanished, revealing a Follower dressed in a white robe, and he dropped from the air to land without a sound or strain upon the floor between both rival nobles.

  The strange Follower looked from one to the other, judging them with squinted yellow eyes of a Priest of the Urden’Dagg. “What is this?” the Priest demanded angrily. “Do you not know that it is forbidden of all Branches of the Urden’Dagg Tree to wage war upon one another? Or are you both too incompetent to listen to the words of its Priests, or obey the laws of the all great and all powerful Urden’Dagg?”

  Maaha and Vaknorbond were both in shock. They said nothing, but looked at the priest with wonder.

  “Questions demand answers!” the Priest growled.

  “Um,” Vak began, stuttering; his words slipping on his tongue. “We were, she was, well…”

  “Well what?” the Priest hissed, glaring at Vaknorbond. “I want an honest answer. Remember that I can read your eyes and know if you are telling the truth, and you do know the punishments for lying…”

  Vak swallowed. He knew very well the punishments for lying, and he was lucky enough never to be caught doing so. But he wouldn’t dare lie to the face of one of the Priests of the Urden’Dagg. He cleared his throat and tried to sit up, but was overcome with pain in all his limbs.

  Losing patience with him the Priest turned to Maaha instead. “Do you have an explanation?” he asked her in a rigid tone.

  “Vulzdagg is the perpetrator,” she said, pointing in Vaknorbond’s direction. “They attacked my branch, Zurdagg, without warning. They slaughtered the Master Mage and Lord Deotuer!”

  The Priest nodded, satisfied. He turned back to Vak who now lay on his back. “What of you? Have you something you’d like to explain?”

  “Yes, we did attack Zurdagg, she is correct about that…”

  “I know she is! I know all thoughts and feelings!” the Priest hissed. “Now explain!”

  Vak hesitated before continuing. “But when she demanded us return her property that we had taken, she attacked us and tried to destroy us. That is why we have been fighting.”

  “Is there anything else?” the Priest asked. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

  “There is one last thing,” Vak said.

  Maaha looked up at him, wondering what he would say.

  “Lady Maaha has plotted against her own Lord,” Vak said, raising his voice to add to the emotion. “She slew my father, Lord Vishtax Vulzdagg, knowing that we would seek vengeance, and so…”

  “I know!” the priest growled. “Have I not already told you twice that I know all thoughts and feelings? But this is still an outrage to the Urden’Dagg! And in so doing, both of you must pay a price… Both of you must offer someone from either of your Branches to enter into the court of the great Urden’Dagg itself. Zurdagg must send someone of great value, which would be the last piece of Zurdagg she can get.

  “And as for Vulzdagg….” the priest turned to Vaknorbond, his yellow eyes piercing him like knives as he hissed, saying, “When he has learned all he can from you, you must give up the child born the day Zurdagg was attacked. It is the destiny marked upon his brow.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  A Warriors Deathbed

  Gefiny stopped and hid herself behind a stalagmite pillar as she came within sight of the city of Zurdagg. There, before the walls of the ruinous city, she saw the glowing bodies of several mages and the Riders that sat upon their Basilisk mounts. All around them was the remains of the Branch, and when Gefiny saw this she was alarmed at the great destruction, never in her life witnessing such a ruin.

  The mages appeared to have been carrying something, and as Gefiny looked more closely she noticed that it was the body of a Follower. She came out from her position and swiftly made her way down to
ward them, dodging between stalagmites and large rocks, fearing the worst after what she saw – wondering if The Follower in the arms of the mages was Dril’ead.

  When she came near, the Basilisk’s turned their heads and growled to warn their riders, and all looked in her direction. One or two of the Riders drew their swords before realizing it was only Gefiny.

  “Dril’ead has been injured!” one of the mages carrying the wounded Follower cried hastily. “He needs to be brought before a healer before his life fails!”

  “What happened?” Gefiny asked franticly. Her fears had not been in vain.

  “He’s been stabbed by the Faxtogar demon that Maaha Zurdagg summoned to destroy us,” the mage replied darkly.

  “I’ll take him,” a Basilisk Rider offered. “Me and my mount will hurry to the citadel and reach a healer before his wounds take him.”

  “He must be there quickly! The point of the demons horn is in his back,” another of the mages put in grimly. “Within a short time it will reach his heart. If that happens we will lose him.”

  The mages lifted the groaning Dril’ead onto the back of the Basilisk. “Go quickly!” Gefiny hastened him, and rider and mount were then on their way back toward their homeland.

  “Will he be all right?” Gefiny asked the mages in a trembling voice.

  “I fear the worst,” the first mage replied. “But we must trust in his strength to fight this thing away long enough. However, do not trust to hope; for it is forsaken in these lands.”

  With a final glance back at the ruined Branch, the demon lying among the ruins, the mages continued foreword after the Basilisk Riders, following Dril’ead’s carrier. Gefiny kept her gaze on the ruin of the Mage Tower as she remained where she stood, the others passing her by on their way back to the Vulzdagg Branch. A red glow seemed to hover about the Zurdagg citadel. It grew brighter and brighter, ever increasing it seemed, until it vanished altogether to be replaced by a pale glow. She turned round, disturbed by the coming events, and drew near with the others.