“Touch the mushroom and your days will end,” Razarr warned him.
Neth’tek looked from the chief commander’s stern face to the mushroom. He swallowed hard, understanding his concern. “They explode,” he said.
“Yes. Let’s watch our fingers than, shall we?” said Razarr as he went to the base of the first mushroom, kneeling at a distance from its stump.
He carefully removed stones near the mushrooms trunk, laying them aside until there could be seen a patch of reddish-orange leaves growing up from beneath.
“Here is your plant,” Razarr said, gesturing to the shrubs.
Neth’tek came to his side and knelt beside him. “Is it safe to touch?”
“Yes,” Razarr replied. “Hurry now, we haven’t much time.”
Neth’tek pulled up three of the leafy plants and handed them to Razarr, and the chief commander took the herbs and placed them in a small pouch hanging from his belt. Rising he turned and led Neth’tek back to the gates of Vulzdagg.
“These plants should heal your brother of his wounds,” Razarr said to Neth’tek. “When this plant is turned to liquid and poured down the throat of the wounded one, it will destroy whatever piece of the demons horn that is in him. Benjohiem is the only known source of healing for his injuries – besides the priests of the Urden’Dagg. I guess that explains why their guarded so well by our large mushrooms.”
He began to laugh at his own words as they came out of the large mushroom grove. But Neth’tek realized it wasn’t a joyous laughter. It was tense, doubtful, revealing that Razarr was deeply concerned for the health of Dril’ead Vulzdagg.
The gates opened on approach once again, and the two rushed within in a hurry to reach the citadel. Any who were busy in the streets moved clear from their path, seeing the urgency in their faces, and knowing from the spreading word that Dril’ead was mortally wounded. They entered into the citadel and crossed the throne room full of a dozen or so soldiers as they awaited news of their captain’s health.
“Move aside!” Razarr ordered as he approached them.
The soldiers did as their chief commander commanded them, giving them more than enough room to reach the doors to the Circle of Power. The warriors stayed inside the throne room, however, knowing it best to stay out of the way of the urgent business, and Neth’tek and Razarr quickly headed to the side of the stone table where Leona’burda and Gefiny still stood beside Dril’ead’s motionless body. Razarr handed the healing herb to Leona, and she snatched it quickly from his hands, strode quickly to a round, stone table set in the corner of the room, and emptied the leafy substances into a small bowl.
“Bring warm water!” Leona ordered Razarr.
Razarr departed to fulfill his new errand while Leona busied herself in the corner of the room, grinding the leaves into a bowl. Neth’tek walked slowly toward the form of Dril’ead as he lay in his coma, Gefiny wearily resting her head against it where she knelt.
As Neth’tek came beside her, though, she looked up at him with tears staining her face. “What are you doing?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
“What is the matter with Dril’ead?” Neth’tek replied, looking curiously over Dril’ead.
“He’s been poisoned by the witch Maaha Zurdagg,” she growled in reply.
Neth’tek hesitated, his fears increasing. “Will he be all right?”
“No one knows,” Gefiny said. “Now go or be silent!”
Neth’tek stopped speaking and stood looking into the strained face of his brother. Tears streamed down Dril’ead’s cheeks as his torments continued, and Neth’tek had to fight hard to stop from crying himself.
The door to the room reopened as Razarr returned with a bowl full of steaming water. He went swiftly past Dril’ead and to Leona at the round, stone table.
“It took you long enough,” Leona remarked. She took the bowl from the chief commander and poured the liquid into the bowl full of the Benjohiem leaf dust. Turning and striding back to Dril’ead, she tipped his head back so that his mouth would open. But his jaw was clamped tightly, and would not yield to her request.
Razarr placed his hands gingerly over both sides of Dril’ead’s jaw, speaking a command word. A stream of release flowed from his mind, down his arms and out his fingertips, into the jaw of the wounded warrior. Dril’ead’s jaw fell open. But his fists tightened immediately, as if his body were trying to fight the spell.
“Dril’ead, this will save you,” Leona’burda said to him, and then poured the liquid down his throat.
The moment the Benjohiem drink flowed into his throat, Dril’ead’s eyes flicked open with a flash like fire in them. Neth’tek vividly recalled how he flung himself foreword, knocking his mother and Razarr from him, and would have jumped off the table had it not been for Gefiny leaping forward and holding him with all her strength against the table. However, Dril’ead’s strength seemed to have doubled, for he threw Gefiny from him and leapt off the table.
Neth’tek stayed where he was, struck with a sudden fear of his brother. It appeared as if he were possessed by some evil unable to be controlled by any of his family, Dril’s eyes shimmering with a bright red, flames roaring within them. The glyph upon his brow burned bright red against the pale skin. He turned his searing gaze upon Neth’tek and held it there for a very long moment while everything seemed to halt where it was, except the space between Neth’tek and Dril’ead as their eyes locked upon one another. Something had indeed taken the mind of Dril’ead – Neth’tek could see it in his burning eyes.
A new presence entered the room at that moment, and Dril’s eyes were drawn from Neth’tek to the door of the chamber. Turning round, Neth’tek saw his father, Vaknorbond, standing with both swords in his hands.
Vak lifted his swords and commanded in a loud voice, saying, “Dril’ead, come back to your own mind! Be rid of the evil of the demon!” and then he swung his scimitars down in an arch as if to throw them at Dril.
Dril’ead stumbled backward as if hit with some invisible force, tripping over his sister as she tried to stable him. They both hit the floor and the room immediately fell silent.
Vaknorbond dropped his swords and rushed to where Dril’ead and Gefiny fell, and knelt beside them. Dril lay motionless as before, but in a relaxed state unlike before. Leona and Razarr came forward as well, but Neth’tek kept at a safe distance away from them.
“Is he alive?” asked Leona in a quiet whisper, alarmed by what had transpired.
Vaknorbond didn’t reply right away. He knelt with his eyes closed, one palm on Dril’s forehead. Slowly as he said, “Yes. His energy has all been drained from him, though.”
“What happened?” Razarr asked with amazed terror. “His strength, the power behind his arms, it was unlike anything I have ever felt before.”
Vak paused with thought before replying, sating in a deep voice, “Maaha.”
“The devil,” Gefiny cursed. “She should lose her head for this!”
“Be silent!” Vak scolded her. He kept his eye on his daughter for a moment, watching her until her fists unclenched at her sides.
“We have Dril’ead once again, but if his wounds are not treated he may yet pass. We need the healers; for though the tip of the horn may be gone, its poison could still linger in his blood… Now go!”
Razarr, hesitating a moment to look over Dril’ead, left the room quickly without a word. Vaknorbond lifted Dril’ead from the ground and laid him carefully on the stone table as before. Leona and Gefiny stood up beside the table, both silent in deep contemplation while Vak’s eyes drifted toward Neth’tek, who stood off to the side, and motioned for him and Gefiny to leave the room.
Gefiny hesitated a moment, keeping her eyes on Dril’ead. Then she turned away and left with Neth’tek behind her. When they were gone, Vak spoke to Leona.
“It appears that the station of our son, Neth’tek, is to be before the Urden’Dagg itself.” Vaknorbond said evenly, but paused a brief moment before continuing. “I know not what fat
e will befall him in the halls of the Urden’Dagg, but I do know that orders are orders. If we are to avoid such an experience as we have with Dril’ead, we must obey these orders.”
“Who gave this order?” Leona demanded, looking at Vak incredulously.
“A Priest of the Urden’Dagg visited me and Maaha as we fought in the Mage Tower,” Vak answered. “He said that because of our conflict she must turn in the most powerful being she has left. And that we, the Branch of Vulzdagg, must give up the child that was born on the day Zurdagg fell. That would be Neth’tek, of course.”
“Why, though? What does the Urden’Dagg want with him?”
Vak shrugged. “There was once a time when I would demand such answers as those you ask for, but then you told me that we will fall if we do not fulfill the task that the Urden’Dagg has entrusted upon us. And so I only do as commanded, as should you. After all, it was you who has been struggling all these years to honor it. Well, to disobey a direct order from the Urden’Dagg would bring its wrath. Are you now suggesting that we go against its will – to anger it?”
“Curse you, Vaknorbond!” Leona hissed. “You turn my own words against me! What ever happened to the love you bore for your sons? You willingly left to save Dril’ead from Maaha, so where is your love for Neth’tek?”
“Why do you seem to hold Neth’tek so dearly? Why weren’t you this willing to protect Dril’ead?”
“I love my sons!” Leona exclaimed in rage. “How dare you suggest that I love one more than the other!” She paused and let out an exasperated breath, calming herself. “I only fear the worst.”
“As do I,” said Vaknorbond, hardly swayed by her outburst. “However, I know that we will be put in danger if we don’t let him go. If we keep him, and disobey its very orders, the Urden’Dagg will destroy us… I’ve seen it happen before.”
“Either decision we make, we will be faced with the same conclusion.”
“I know,” Vaknorbond said in a low, tired voice. “The Lord and the Lady Swildagg are our only allies now, but they cannot be fully trusted. They, like every other Branch I have thus far come to understand, are out to get us. They are just waiting until we are weakened by something that is to take place too soon.”
“Have you spoken with them?” Leona asked.
“I have, and they have counseled with me.” Vak paused before adding, “Leona’burda, they know who destroyed Zurdagg.”
Leona looked up at him angrily. “You told them?”
“No, they found us out on their own,” Vak said. He dropped his voice into a whisper, saying, “We have to be very careful with what we share with others. The slightest bit of our doings could put us all in danger.”
“What, then, do you suggest we do?” Leona asked wryly.
“We have only one choice,” Vaknorbond said, “We must let Neth’tek go. Give him up to the Urden’Dagg. Perhaps this will be for the better.”
Leona glared at him irately. Then turning away she strode furiously toward the large doors into the throne room, saying over her shoulder, “Or perhaps for the worst!”
Vaknorbond heard her words, but did not heed them. He knew he had won the debate. He had her trapped in a corner of excuses that meant nothing. However, Vak’s attention was drawn away from those thoughts and onto Dril’ead as he stirred where he lay on the stone table. His son breathed out a cold breath that Vak felt through his mail shirt as he stood over him, and following that deep breath he mumbled words.
“Death… Destruction… Torment… Grief…” Dril’ead rolled onto his side, turning away from Vak, and silently sobbed into his arm.
Vaknorbond watched with concerned curiosity as Dril’ead began again to mumble the four syllables, and he wondered at his son, the mightiest warrior, who cried over himself unknowingly as he slept.
Dril repeated the words over and over again under sobs of hatred and distain for himself, and as he did so his crazed mind wondered over them, knowing them to be his tormented destiny.
“Death, destruction, torment, and grief… it has taken me… taken Neth’tek…”
It was those final words that concerned Vaknorbond the most.
He straightened suddenly, and turned away for fear of hearing more of Dril’ead’s mindless talk, leaving him alone to his demise in the Circle of Power.
Vaknorbond feared Dril’ead’s words just as he feared the truth of the present and future decisions he would be forced to make.
Book Three
A Form of Attack
Lost in the tunnels of our world; there are people with problems they don’t know how to face. Some find their answers, and answer their issues with war cries and weapons to destroy. While others, to cover up their confused grief, do likewise. But is either of these ways right? That’s the question we must answer, and hope the answer is right, else all our struggles have been in vain, and more pain and grief await us.
As our days move steadily on, and we repeat the same actions we have for the many centuries of our lives, we little realize that what we do is the same as the enemy whom we battle; a repetitive form of attack.
We fight, and then retreat. We fight, and then retreat. We fight, and then retreat…
Even if one overcomes the other in these minor battles, we must remember that it is just a minor battle. The whole of the war is before us, and if we just keep fighting and retreating, we are bound to get nowhere in our repetitive lives.
Let’s stop our attempts on winning the battle, but start our attempts on winning the war.
Some of us, though, are confused and know not how to approach their grief’s, but with the sword.
Perhaps this is the case of Mazoroth of Mazar; another one of our misunderstood friends.
~ Neth’tek Vulzdagg
Chapter Twenty-two
The Upper Hand
The fire goblins from the Lesser Realm were all destroyed, along with Faxtogar the hammer demon, or retreated back into the chasm that had now been sealed. But Maaha Zurdagg sat in her cracked throne, marveling at all which had occurred, and a new feeling came upon the powerful witch… Her hatred against Vulzdagg had increased.
“Be advised, Vulzdagg – the Branch of weakness and stupidity – whatever the Urden’Dagg has in store for us, I will have the upper hand,” Maaha said, speaking to herself as if talking directly to that city.
Her dark eyes wandered across the shattered chamber to settle in the darkness of a room set in the stone wall. She rose slowly from her throne and strode across the courtroom to stand in the doorway of the chamber, completely empty save for a stone table that lay in its center. A satchel lay upon the table, seeming to emanate a strange glow.
Maaha walked foreword and took the satchel by its strap and lifted it off the table, holding it aloft before her pale face, the glyph signifying her station and birthright glowing in its emerald light. If there was anything of great worth left in Zurdagg, it was in this satchel. Something powerful lingered within, something of great strength and wisdom. Maaha had seen it in action and noted its incredible skill.
She slung it over one shoulder and left the room, closing the iron door behind her.
Chapter Twenty-three
Brothers
Neth’tek leapt toward the ledge overhanging the drop into the rocky base of darkness far below, and once landing upon the thin ledge his momentum threw him against the cliff-face from which it protruded.
He was exceedingly grateful that he had not fallen into the abyss below.
Jumping to his right and onto an even smaller ledge than the first, the ledge began to crack and fall loose, collapsing downward into the abyss of darkness.
Neth’tek eluded the fall by leaping sideways and upwards, grabbing at the top of the cliffs side. As he gripped the rocky edge, he swung his legs up and over its brink.
He landed upon his side, the brown and green tunic protecting the mesh armor he wore underneath from scratches, and quickly flipped himself onto his knees in a crouched position. Looking up from the
cloud of dust enveloping him, Neth’tek brushed back his white hair from his eyes and scanned the flat surface of the sandy earth before him.
He stood and turned round in a circle, searching the distances in all directions, and could see the city of Vulzdagg sitting quietly in the corner of the cavern. The House of the Basilisk seeming so small, its spires of stalagmites hardly visible from his distance, and Neth’tek cocked his head to one side in confusion.
A shard of adamant steel suddenly swung round toward his face, gripped between the hands of another Follower having come up behind the apprentice fighter. Neth’tek bent backwards as the blade past over his face, and sidestepped away from the attacker to throw up his fists in a boxing position.
Dril’ead, who was his attacker, laughed, and jabbed at the young fighter a few times. Neth’tek stepped this way and that to dodge the attacks. Then, without warning, changed from defense to offence by throwing a kick at Dril’s right hand, knocking the scimitar from his grasp.
Neth’tek dropped to his knees and slid forward to catch the blade as it fell from Dril’s hand. He took hold of the weapon, falling onto his back as Dril’ead’s next swing came near his throat.
Neth’tek rolled away from Dril as he swung his scimitar down where he lay, but only succeeded in slicing dust. Neth’tek was on his feet and tossing his elder brothers’ scimitar back and forth in his hands, mocking his teacher.
Dril turned calmly to him, dropping his sword in the dirt, and rested both fists on his hips. “So you want to play that way, huh?” he said to him, disappointed.
Neth’tek shrugged. He held the scimitar in his right hand, lowering the point to the sand. Dril eyed the blade longingly, knowing he always fought better with both hands equally balanced, and also realizing Neth’tek wouldn’t give it up easily.
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