Dragon's Fire (Beating Back the Darkness Book 1)

by Tiger Hebert

  “They said they only wanted peace and to be accepted. They cried for equality and the freedom to worship. They followed a new way, a new god. This new god of theirs was depicted by a terrifying image of a half man, half beast. Its name was the Baalim. You would know them as the Minotaur.”

  “Oh, the Baalim are the Minotaur,” interjected Seth as he nodded his head.

  “One and the same,” Melgrim agreed. “The order kept many old texts written in foreign tongues that spoke of their teachings, also known as the Way of the Baalim. Those that would protest these new teachings were quickly shut down by the brotherhood. Many wound up jailed, missing, or found lifeless after freakish ‘accidental’ deaths. It wasn’t long before the voice of the opposition became the cold, lifeless bodies of the once-vehement protestors. The stories tell that the sect grew in power as the resistance was snuffed out. Yet by all accounts, no one was able to prove that they actually had ever committed a crime. Whether they did or not, even the king thought it better to leave them to their own devices because he feared them.

  “The blasphemies only grew. They used all forms of precious metals and stone to make intricately carved statues of their deity, the bull-god. The statues were erected throughout the city as our ancestors sought the blessings of the new god. The grandest statues were built upon the city’s walls and in the marketplace. It wasn’t long before stone altars were built before the statues. The brotherhood burned their exotic incense night and day.

  “This carried on for months before the leaders of the brotherhood sought audience with the king. They played the harbinger as they warned the king of the impending doom that was coming upon them. They said that the Baalim commanded them to make a pilgrimage into the wastes of the Northern Sea and approached him with a request for the city to fund the journey, but he refused. They insisted that the journey was for the sake of the kingdom. They told him that if he would provide for their trip, they would go to the Baalim and seek mercy. He still balked at their proposal. Then in a last-ditch attempt, they reminded him that the kingdom had been built upon the freedom of worship and that is what they were trying to do, along with the now thousands of other followers of this new deity. They cried out that they were not being given the same freedom that their ancestors had, or even the other citizens of Jasprita, for that matter, who still worshipped the old God. Their silver tongues prevailed when they suggested that they feared for the king and for the city if the followers of the Way of the Baalim were not able to obey their god. The king was not prepared for this tactic. He knew that the brotherhood had grown to great numbers and it was now on par with the old religion in terms of sheer size. They had to have at least as many followers as the old way, if not more. The king understood their threat. For fear of the brotherhood stirring up riots, the king finally acquiesced to their demands.

  “Wait, so the king just gave in?” asked Seth.

  Melgrim looked at the kid and simply nodded.

  “We are told that nine of their high priests set sail and disappeared into the night. They were gone for several days before returning on the morning of the fourth day. The next week they worked tirelessly erecting a massive idol in honor of their deity. The large bronzed beast stood high above the western wall of Jasprita, as if he was watching the sea. His arms cradled a large hollowed basin. They filled the massive basin with large logs, covered up with brush and branches. Almost two weeks passed before the first moonless night. It was that night that they lit the brush on fire, slowly setting the entire bronze basin ablaze. The fire roared as it devoured log after log, yet the priests feverishly fed it.

  “The story goes on to tell how the head priests went to the burning pyre and threw mysterious powders onto the flames. The powder flashed and sparked as the flames consumed it, filling the air with a sweet scent. The fire began to spew clouds of blood red smoke in the dark night’s sky. Then long ships ran ashore onto the sands beyond the seawall, and not one, but hundreds of Minotaur silently slipped up the beach until they reached the western wall of the city, all under the cloak of night.

  “Then it happened. All the priests of the brotherhood rushed the western wall, overtaking the guards and opening the gate. The beasts roared into the city, and they were led by one great bull—a king of sorts, I suppose. The massive bull was named Korvus the Corruptor. He led the charge as they raced through the streets, cutting down all who stood in their way. Most of our people did not make it, but those who had, fled the city. Scrolls say that some of our kin were burned alive on those altars. Only the king’s youngest son and a few members of the royal family escaped. Truthfully, most of the people that were able to escape to the Sky Reach lived outside the city, in the surrounding countryside.”

  “So these evil priests just let these Minotaur into the city to slaughter everyone?” asked Seth in shock.

  “That is what the texts say. Based on what we saw last week, I think there is truth to at least some of these stories,” replied Melgrim.

  “So much of the story doesn’t make sense to me. Why did they allow them to worship this Baalim in the first place?” questioned the young soldier.

  “One god or another, what does it matter? Men that blindly put their faith in the unseen are fools,” opined Melgrim.

  “Clearly it did matter. Look at the results. That which is left of our people now live far from our ancestral homeland while so many of our people were slaughtered. I’d say it definitely matters,” replied Seth.

  “Look, kid, our ancestors worshipped this great and mighty God, but where was He when they were cut down in the streets? When their blood flowed like water through the city, where was this great mercy and love of His?” snapped the captain.

  “I don’t know, Captain, but it sounds like they are the ones that got rid of Him, not the other way around. I believe that we will find the truth soon enough though,” answered Seth with a more delicate tone.

  “Truth, hah! Does holding onto one’s hopes and delusions more firmly make it truth? Is that what truth is?” mocked Melgrim.

  “We can’t invent truth, Captain. We can only discover it,” answered the young man.

  “I have discovered that if the God of our ancestors is all powerful, He should have protected His people! The truth is, this God is either a fraud or a failure!” barked Melgrim bitterly.

  “I, too, wish our history was different from the story you tell. It sounds like somewhere along the way, our people went down the wrong path, and it has haunted us ever since. Perhaps this truth you mock is the very thing that will set us free,” shared Seth.

  Melgrim shook his head is silent disagreement, but Seth’s words were powerful. They resonated inside of Melgrim, far beyond his own understanding. They both walked silently for a few moments as he contemplated their exchange. Seized by some element of this “truth,” emotions that had been bottled up for years started to stir inside him. He quietly focused on suppressing the feelings. After he felt the frog depart from his throat, he spoke. “Where do you find this truth?” he asked somberly.

  “I seek it,” replied the young man with a gentle smile.

  He didn’t know who or what this kid believed in. Seth didn’t know how much he had been through, how much suffering he had seen. Yet the words that Seth spoke tonight carried a weight and they were inexplicably full of wisdom. Melgrim didn’t know what truth they were going to find. All he knew was that these emotions he was experiencing were difficult to overcome. So they resumed their silent journey into the bright moonlit night. But he couldn’t stop the three words from playing over and over in his mind as they walked in silence.

  I seek it.

  14 No Crown, No Kingdom, No Problem

  “DOMINAR!”

  He was the only true dwarven master smith left on Darnisi, and he was in high demand. There was so much to do these days. The work seemed endless. More and more families brought their heirlooms and crests to his smithy wanting new versions of their family legacies crafted. Pounding their ancestors’ lega
cy into hardened iron was a daily task.

  Ornately worked shields, helmets, and weapons were a work of love for him, yet these days they were merely mantle pieces. The sounds of battle were faint in his aging memory. He worked his talents into the molten metal each day, but he felt the love to be unrequited. Shields no longer saved lives but rather decorated the doors of family homes. Mighty axes and hammers were not used to vanquish foes but simply hung over fireplaces as reminders of family lore. He felt like a butcher amongst vegans, highly skilled with a passion and purpose, but seemingly misplaced. Often as he pounded down upon the anvil, his thoughts drifted away, to a deeper recess in his mind.

  The Jendari force pressed them from the north. The dwarven battalion was beaten back by the fiery barrage that rained down on them. The enemy whipped their carved sticks, launching the flaming globes through the air. The circular vessels of liquid fire exploded on impact, sending flames splashing in every direction. Unfortunately, many dwarves found that their shields offered little to no protection from this onslaught. With their backs inching closer to the canyon walls, the dwarves were pinned down. How did they fight a foe that they couldn’t even reach?

  “We must find a way to close this distance or we are doomed!” shouted Dominar.

  “What is this wicked magic that these demons wield?” cried out Ronnick.

  “No matter! There is no magic that that’ll stop my axe from splittin’ his left from his right!” bellowed Bromwyn as he broke ranks and charged toward the pack of feral foes.

  Two powerful arms raised his blood-caked axe high as he dashed toward the enemy. A guttural voice howled as he closed the distance surprisingly fast with his stubby little legs. His act of valor would change this skirmish and change this war. Quickly the war cry turned to screams as the left side of his face burst into flames as a globe shattered across his cheekbone. Flames wrapped around the side of his face, swiftly engulfing his black beard and long braided hair. Bromwyn stumbled forward as the flames coursed over more and more of his body. Finally, he crashed to the ground. Screams of agony rose from his writhing body as he tried to crawl up from his knees.

  As his body turned into a smoldering corpse, the light on their hopes was also extinguished. The dwarves braced for the end. They would valiantly make their final stand. The Jendari continued to reduce the dwarven army to ashes as they rained the fire globes down upon them.

  “Lieutenant, we must charge or we will die here!” insisted Dominar.

  Lieutenant Ronnick was filled with terror, though, and was unable to issue the command to his troops. There they sat, awaiting his command, and he was frozen in fear. All the men hung on his words, but they never came.

  Then came an unexpected sound. It was a howl like a mighty roaring wind. The canyon walls almost seemed to shake as a hulking beast descended upon a pack of Jendari soldiers. Swinging a massive axe in a wide arc, he cleared a path through their smaller bodies. With a quick backhanded swing of his clenched fist, he smashed the face of an attacker. A swing of his cleaver ripped a wide swath through another handful of the feline warriors. They collectively began hissing at the beast as they turned their attention toward him. His response was a thundering howl of rage, and the bodies continued to fall.

  “Charge!” commanded Dominar as he dashed forward toward the Jendari.

  His fellow dwarves, including Lieutenant Ronnick, followed his lead into battle, with their hammers and axes poised for combat. The dwarven brigade was an iron wave crashing upon the confused ranks of the Jendari. Their catlike bodies were hewn down by axe and hammer alike. Blood and hair spattered the dwarves’ armor as they extinguished the remainder of the threat. Their hero towered above them. Even the tallest of the barrel-shaped dwarves was but eye level with his waist.

  “Grit vey oge aefirth mogr’un gror?” asked Dominar in his native tongue.

  “I do not speak Dwarvish,” replied the large warrior in the common language.

  “Of course.” Dominar laughed before asking, “What is your name, mighty warrior?”

  “By my people, I am called Theros Hammerfist,” answered the powerful figure.

  “We’ve never seen orcs in these parts. Where do you come from?” asked the dwarf inquisitively.

  “My people are of the Agremnall Hills,” said Theros.

  “Theros Hammerfist, orc of the Agremnall Hills, we are indebted to you,” proclaimed the dwarf. “But why did you save us?” he asked.

  “I don’t like cats,” answered Theros with a grin.

  The remnants of the dwarven detachment erupted into laughter and embraced the orc.

  “Dominar! Wake up!” scolded the short dwarven woman.

  “What, what?” replied the smith.

  “I’ve been calling you for the last ten minutes, you old fool. Off in the dreamland again,” sighed the wrinkled old lady. More like the real world, he thought.

  “What’s all the fuss about? You know I’ve work to do,” grumbled the cranky old dwarf.

  “Do you listen to anything I say?” she asks.

  “Not on purpose,” answered Dominar with a brief scowl followed by a chuckle.

  “Oh, and I thought you wanted to eat tonight,” replied the feisty woman with a smile of her own.

  “Whatcha make me?” asked Dominar.

  “Don’t worry, if you’re not hungry, you don’t have to eat,” she said with a shrug.

  “Cut it out, Gretchen, you know I’ve only eaten four times today!” whined Dominar as he pouted.

  “Then you shouldn’t need roast boar,” replied Gretchen with a smirk on her face.

  “Roast boar! How’d ya fix it?” inquired Dominar with renewed interest as he tugged upon his long gray beard.

  “Oh, just the usual. Honey and citrus-snap glaze baked to a warm crisp,” answered the old lady.

  “For the love of Bafingbauld’s beard, what a marvelous woman!” he exclaimed as he raced past her toward the kitchen with youthful exuberance and short legs.

  “Hah,” she laughed, “to be married to a fool is always an adventure.”

  She joined him in their home to sit down for supper. Gretchen was an excellent cook, and she always prepared plenty of food for their family. Dominar and their two children sat at the table waiting for her. The children, both girls, were very happy to see their father return home for the evening. He worked long hours and did not get to spend as much time with them as he would like. They laughed and giggled as little girls do while their daddy made silly faces and told jokes. Gretchen prepared heaping plates for them, stacked high with glazed boar with roasted potatoes and peppers.

  The family shared the meal with laughter and smiles until they heard the pounding of the drums.

  Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom.

  It was an uncommon sound, but it was distinct and clearly understood. Three beats of the drum then a pause for a full beat, followed by three more blasts. Dominar rose from the table quickly and told his family that he would be back later. He started toward the door and stopped abruptly. He turned around toward the table, grabbed a big chunk of the boar, and gave his family a smile before turning and walking out.

  Male dwarves began to trickle out of their dwellings into the subterranean streets of Dar Mar’kren. The drums signaled that an uncommon event was taking place. The dwarves of Dar Mar’kren had visitors. So, with curiosity, the males worked their way toward the gates, through the beautifully carved streets of the cavernous mountain stronghold. Each side of the street corridor was lined with stone edifices comprised of both dwellings and shops. The light from burning braziers danced over the runic carvings that had decorated the mountain’s stone walls for almost seven hundred years—stories of days gone by, history itself etched into the very core of this mountain.

  The pounding of the drum continued as short legs carried the stout bodies in a unified direction. The noise of grumbling and chatter began to rise as the dwarves gathered near the outer court. The subterranean city was formed li
ke a large wine jug. The cavernous expanse was large and almost circular, but the entrance passage narrowed, forming a true bottleneck. The corridor was secured by an iron portcullis that, when raised, gave way to the outer court. The outer court was a fairly large-sized opening that was formed in the midst of the deep canyon. The canyon walls towered over them, but in true dwarven fashion, market shops were cleverly carved right into their base, making it quite a little marketplace. Despite being safely nestled in the confines of the deep canyon walls, this open-air bazaar gave way to fresh air and sunlight. The hustle and bustle in the small market area was a nice change from life inside the walls, and truthfully, it was a reprieve from the dungeonesque life under the mountain. Beyond the courtyard, the canyon narrowed again as it shot off in another direction toward the outside world. Today the courtyard looked different, though. It was full of new faces, human faces.

  The voices of the crowd were loud and mingled. It was hard to hear what was being said amongst the commotion. Dwarves jostled for position to see the visitors who crowded their courtyard. Surprise and confusion washed over the crowd as they saw blood. It was everywhere. The strangers’ hands were smeared with blood. Their clothes were tattered and ripped, with crimson stains over them. They carried wounded, who cried out in pain.

  “They attacked us this morning. Most of our people were… lost,” said a tall man as he fought to catch his breath. “And… they…burned our homes!”

  “Who?” asked the elder dwarf with a scowl.

  “Who? The Zenari, who else?” shouted the man.

  “Why have you brought your problems to our doorstep, human?” asked the elder.

  “We have nowhere else to turn. We knew we would find safety here among your people,” explained the man between deep breaths.

  “So, you stir up the wrath of an empire, then you expect the might of the dwarves to protect you?” responded the dwarf indignantly.