Revelations of Doom

by Jedidiah Behe

  The two men grinned widely. "It is a great honor to finally meet you, Lucian of Drahvanael," said Orton, in a deep voice that matched his large frame. He had a slight accent that Lucian never picked up on from Solomon. Thaddeus nodded his agreement.

  "Thaddeus is a mute, he was born without the gift of speech," said Eliath from behind them in answer to the lingering question in Lucian’s mind.

  The man beamed at Lucian, obviously not bothered at all by his inability. Lucian thought to make light of the situation. "Perhaps the Great Father knew that your mouth might get you into great trouble some day?"

  Orton bellowed out a deep rumbling laugh along with Solomon. Thaddeus was grinning impossibly wider and moving his hands in some sort of code to Solomon.

  "He says that you share my sense of humor," said Solomon. "I once said the same thing to him when he was a young boy and feeling sorry for himself." He walked over patted Thaddeus on the shoulder. "But he has worked through that time and has taught us all a way to communicate with him through hand signals. He is also not only a fine warrior, but quite the musician."

  Lucian was thoroughly impressed, "A musician no less? Well some day we will have to hear some of this music. And I will have to learn this form of communication, using hand signals. Will you teach me?"

  Thaddeus beamed with pride, nodding his head in answer to Lucian. He made a few slight hand gestures.

  "He wants to know when you would like to start,” said Solomon.

  Lucian gestured out at the thick rain. "Well, it appears as though we have some time on our hands, how about now?" He was so tired that his head was starting to hurt, but despite his fatigue, he was completely fascinated in learning to speak with his hands.

  Thaddeus signaled something to Solomon. "He says that it would be an honor."

  "Very well then, let us begin." Lucian looked around for a place to sit while Eliath and Solomon moved off to talk some more. Lucian thought he heard Eliath speaking in a rolling tongue that Solomon and Thaddeus understood. He hadn't realized that the people of Ortsk spoke a different language from talking with Solomon who had no accent. But Orton still rolled his r's when he spoke, tipping Lucian off. Orton sat next to Thaddeus as the lesson began, he would translate the hand signals so that Lucian could learn them. He told Lucian that it would seem difficult at first, but that in actuality it was quite simple and he would pick it up in no time.

  After a couple hours, Lucian had forgotten all about being tired, he was completely intent on picking up this interesting form of communication. The two hours that went by seemed only minutes to Lucian. It was the tap on his shoulder that finally broke him from the trance of learning. He turned to see Tarriel standing over him. He looked around, checking to see if it was still raining, thinking it time to go. In his desire to learn he had shut out everything else around him, but as he looked up the saw that the downpour was still in full force.

  "What is it? Is everything all right?" he asked Tarriel.

  She didn’t speak, but instead held out a necklace to him. She presented it with both hands, as a gift. When he looked at it, he recognized the four talons evenly spaced out with a large fang in the middle. They were from the worvak he had slain the night before. There were also some small, white, rounded pieces on both sides of each talon, bringing a pretty contrast to the dark bone. It was quite an impressive looking necklace. He was shocked at how quickly she had put it together. He took it from her hand with a bow and looked closer at the fang. Small symbols were etched into it, he didn't know what they meant but the craftsmanship was amazing to look at. He rubbed the small white objects between his thumb and forefinger. With a shock of understanding he looked up at Tarriel.

  "These are bone as well?"

  Tarriel gave an appreciative smile. "I am glad that you recognize the small details of the work."

  "It is the smallest details that make an item like this priceless,” said Lucian, still thumbing the impressive art. “How did you make this so quickly and with such intricate detail? It must have taken time to get the bone smoothly rounded like that."

  "I had our blacksmith in Culdora make me a special tool just for that. The task is tedious, but with the instrument I can do it in far less time than it used to take."

  Lucian ran his finger over the symbols etched into the fang. It had no more of the yellow stain around the base as it did before. He realized that she must have filed it off, or used some type of acid to remove it. "What do these symbols mean?"

  She raised her eyebrows and held her chin up, proud of her work. "In our language, it says, ‘Benath dec Holeenan’. In your tongue it means, The Light Warden."

  Lucian didn’t know what to think of the title, then again, he had been receiving many titles lately that he didn't know what to think of. Only months ago he was merely a woodsman, a hunter. Now he was thought of as a warrior, a guardian even, someone to lead others into battle, to their deaths. He stood up and fixed Tarriel with his most sincere gaze. Grabbing her hand, he brought it up to his mouth and tenderly kissed the back of it. "It is a most precious gift, one that I will cherish for the rest of my life."

  Tarriel pulled her hand back, seeming not at all flattered by him kissing it, as if she thought it might make her less of a warrior. But Lucian could see a smile in her eyes even though she was able to repress it from reaching her lips.

  Lucian pulled out the small pouch that held the claws of the worvak he had killed back near his home. That is when it all started, he thought, as he tossed the pouch into the woods. He had a necklace now, a fine one made of a mighty worvak. "Now promise me that you will get some sleep before we must leave. We have a good days travel ahead of us. And the road will be painfully difficult to travel with all the rain turning dirt into mud."

  "Not until you lay down to sleep yourself," said Tarriel, and her tone suggested that it was nothing to argue about. “You should have been sleeping these past two hours instead of wiggling your fingers back and forth with Thaddeus here like lunatics.”

  Lucian and Thaddeus exchanged grins.

  "The two of you both need to get some sleep." said Eliath, fixing Tarriel and Lucian with a stern look. "You are the only ones who have not slept since we stopped, except Voneel, who is sleeping now. So both of you find a place to lie down close to the fire and dry yourselves off. You need not worry while you sleep, there are enough of us awake to protect you and raise alarm if need be."

  Despite what Eliath said, Lucian didn't think he would be able to sleep. After the worvak attack, he felt that if he lay down again, he might not wake up. But once he laid on his bedroll next to the fire and the heat started working its lulling magic, he soon felt his eyes drooping. It wasn't long before he was lost to the crackling flames.

  Mother of Beast and Swamp

  Thaluzont moved through the stagnant swamp toward the small hut that was hidden deep within. He had left his elite guards back where the forest ended and the swamp began.

  The Gobi swamp stretched out for miles until it came to a thin patch of forest before the perilous cliffs rimming the western edge of Los that dropped several hundred feet into the dark sea. It lay nestled within a valley surrounded by the northern Barodine Mountains and was inhabited by only the nastiest of creatures. Among them were the worvak, and mother to them all was the witch woman named Lornareen, who remained unchallenged in her dire home. After all, what purpose would one have to enter a swamp? There is nothing of worth within, and being that it is the home of the worvak, entering such a place would most certainly bring about one’s death. On top of that, Lornareen had made quite the reputation for herself. She was called the Mother of the Worvak because it was believed that she controlled them, along with the rest of the beasts that dwelt within the rotting mire.

  Thaluzont worried nothing of these stories. He feared no man or beast, but he was no fool. He knew that he was not invincible and if enough men attacked him, they could very well defeat him. So normally he traveled with his elite guard. But the master ins
tructed him to leave them behind. This journey he would have to make alone. He thought of what it would be like to try and move a force through the swamp. He didn't have to think hard to realize that it would be disastrous. He tried to stay on somewhat dry or damp ground but found himself, more often than not, up to his knees in the putrid water that covered the swamp floor.

  Moving any cavalry or wagons through this would be impossible and any long duration within would wreak havoc on a suit of armor. The armor would not stay dry and bugs would soon infest it, making their home within the mud that was trapped in the folds. The trees were thick with vines that the men would have to cut through, dulling their blades. And with no land markers to offer some type of direction, an entire army could easily get lost in the stinking, retched bog.

  Thaluzont was told to enter the swamp and simply walk until his escort arrived. He was beginning to think that they missed him and now he was lost in the festering place. He continued to walk, ducking under the thick vines and jumping from dry spot to dry spot. Dark clouds had formed overhead, casting the dark, dismal swamp into further shadows. Insects and other unseen creatures sounded off all around, calling to others and screeching their warnings when they sensed him. He thought he heard movement off to the side but when he looked he saw nothing. The water had been disturbed by something, probably a snake. He had seen more than one of those already.

  As the clouds grew dark overhead, the air seemed to thicken along with them. A stench unlike anything he had smelled before rose up to his nostrils. All at once, the creature melodies of the swamp halted. Thaluzont stopped moving. The entire bog was silent, so dead silent that he could hear his own slow beating heart. He strained his ears, trying to listen for what had caused the swamp to still.

  The slightest sound came from behind him, like a crunch, and Thaluzont spun, drawing a short, wicked blade from his side, slicing it around at eye level. With amazing control, and strength, he stopped the blade just short of lopping off the worvak's head that stood behind him. The creature's glowing eyes were wide at the near death experience, and the black steel blade that rested against its hairy muscular neck. Thaluzont had seen worvak before, but never one this large, or this color, or this close. The others he had seen all had a thick grey coat of fur, but this one was nightmare black with a white patch on its chest.

  Thaluzont gave the worvak a wicked grin and slowly pulled the blade back, returning it to the scabbard on his side. He had left his labrys back with the Tavar. It was too large and cumbersome a weapon to fight with in such a tight, entangled place. The short, cruel blade he carried was more than adequate.

  The beast, now realizing that it wasn't going to die, gave Thaluzont an indignant looking snarl. It growled something to him and at first he didn't understand what it was saying, but when it growled again, Thaluzont started to hear words among the guttural sounds.

  "I take to Mistress,” spoke the beast, as it gestured for Thaluzont to follow.

  Thaluzont didn't know how he was able to understand the drooling creature. He supposed that it was either a trick from the witch or a blessing from his master. Either way, the fact that these savage beasts could speak and that he understood them, was intriguing.

  He followed the worvak deeper into the swamp. When they came within sight of the witches dwelling, Thaluzont thought to himself that this was surely the most wretched place he had ever seen. It was definitely the home of a witch. The small lair was built in between four tremendous trees, larger than any others he had seen in the swamp, as if they were fostered by magic. The lair itself was made of the thick vines that hung from the trees and large stones pulled from the ground. It could not have been constructed by hand. No tools had been used in its creation. It seemed alive, as though it would lash out and attack if you were to hammer a nail into it. Very small windows showed a soft glow of light coming from within the makeshift home. Smoke rose out of what appeared to be some type of chimney made of stone and mud encased in thick vine.

  The worvak motioned with its big head for Thaluzont to go on to the small hut.

  Thaluzont started to move, but turned back to the worvak, wondering. "Do you understand my words?"

  The worvak gave him a blank stare and again gestured with its head for Thaluzont to go ahead.

  "Interesting,” he said to himself, then turned and headed to the small hut spun from vines and stone. He wondered how it was that this woman communicated with the beasts. Maybe it was the Master that controlled them through her. His mind searched for answers as his eyes searched the surroundings. When he came to the small door, it creaked open. There was no one inside the entrance. As he entered, he looked around the frame to see if anything was rigged that would allow someone to open and close the door from a distance, but there was nothing. He had to bend over almost in half to get through the doorway. Once inside, the ceiling was just high enough for him to fully stand. The door creaked shut behind him, without manual aid.

  He stood in a large central room. In the middle was a small wooden table with an assortment of different pots and vials. From what he could see, some of them were filled with a type of liquid. Others held a different crushed or leafy substance, probably herbs. An iron pot hung from the face wall of a large stone fireplace at the far wall, the aroma that came from it was bitter, yet alluring. Thaluzont breathed in the scent as he scanned the rest of the chamber. There was one other doorway that led into what looked like a very small room, possibly a bedroom.

  Thaluzont’s eyes rested on a rickety, old rocking chair that sat in front of the hearth. Anyone other than Thaluzont would have thought the fireplace beautiful, in a haunting kind of way. Small vines wove through the stone in intricate patterns. The chair had been rocking when he first entered the lair, but was stopped now. He waited for the witch to sit up and address him. She would no doubt be shocked at the sight of him. He frowned as the chair remained still, yet the witch did not rise from it.

  A voice from behind made Thaluzont draw his short blade as he spun, but something seemed to hold his hand, like an invisible force that pushed against him as he tried to pull the sword free.

  "Pull not yer blade in me house, dark warrior. Ye not be harmed here."

  A wrinkled, yet eloquent hand lowered, releasing the invisible pressure against Thaluzont’s arm. He was surprised to see the woman standing before him. She looked not at all the way he thought a witch might look. He could tell she was old by the silver streaks that ran through her dark, thick, silky hair that tumbled over her shoulders. It was brushed back at an angle to one side and pinned, keeping it out of her eyes except for a few loose strands. Her face showed only minute signs of aging. Fine lines stretched out from the corners of her eyes. She was taller than most women Thaluzont had seen, and despite her drab robes, she seemed quite regal.

  She was still much shorter than Thaluzont, coming only up to his chest, but by the way she bore into him with her golden eyes, and how she casually stood before him now, it was obvious that size and muscle was an afterthought to her. She moved past him with fluid grace as she walked over to the opposite side of the table in the middle of the room and sat down on a small stool. Picking up one of the wooden bowls, she fingered through the vials, finding the one she was looking for, and poured some of the leaves it held into the bowl. She picked up a small stick with a thick rounded end and began crushing the leafy substance into a fine powder.

  "What be the reason for an old lady such as meself to be graced by a visit from Lord Thaluzont, leader of the northlands?"

  Her voice was like honey, bearing a strange accent that Thaluzont had not heard before. The fact that she knew his name didn't come as too much of a surprise. "The master told you I was coming?"

  "Master ye call him? I suppose he spoke not his name to ye?" She chuckled to herself. "Think ye that this Master, as ye call him, speaks to everyone?"

  Thaluzont’s eyebrows scrunched down in confusion. "If the Master did not tell you my name, then how do you know of me and more importa
nt, why did he send me to you?" As he finished he walked forward and put his fists on the table, leaning forward in a gesture meant to intimidate. He had no patience for games.

  The witch flashed a look at his pose while she continued to grind the powder. It was a look of warning. "If ye think to frighten me, than ye best think otherwise. Tis true ye be an impressive specimen, but there be far darker and more evil things I have looked upon than you, Lord Thaluzont." She stopped what she was doing and let her eyes slide slowly from the bowl to Thaluzont. Those golden eyes glowed with an intensity that spoke more warning than her words ever could.

  Thaluzont decided not to kill her just then, realizing that he had been sent to this crazy old witch for a purpose. He stood and walked over to the wall, leaning against it casually. He folded his massive arms across his chest and waited, if impatiently, for an explanation.

  "The winds carried yer name to me, whispered to me they did, of a great warrior named Thaluzont, a warrior that covers himself with a cloak of darkness." She poured the fine powder into another bowl and pushed some vials around until she found the one she was looking for, and then poured out a small amount of the liquid into the same bowl. She used what looked like a dried up chicken foot to stir the concoction until it had a syrupy texture. "The Master ye speak of has a name. I ask ye again. Has he not told it to ye?"

  Thaluzont searched his memory but was sure that the dark lord that spoke to him never used a name. Even so, he knew who it was that he had pledged his soul to so many years ago. All men knew of Dar’ Lahnrael. But he couldn’t see how it mattered and was growing tired of her questions. “The name of the Dark Lord is irrelevant. How is it that you do not serve him?"

  A wicked looking grin stole across the witch’s face that made her look very unpleasant.