Clash of Heroes: Nath Dragon meets The Darkslayer

by Halloran, Craig

  “Well now, it seems Oran the Outcast has a spine in his back after all,” Verbard said. His eyes turned into storms of silver. “But no underling dares talk to me like that.” He cocked back his elbow and let loose the first jolt of lightning from his hand.

  The bolt slammed into a citrine shield of energy that Oran had summoned at the last second. His sandaled feet scooted backward through the sand.

  If I die, I die. So be it then. At least I’ll never have to listen to these two again.

  “Enough, Brother, enough,” said Catten, the voice of reason, to Verbard. “Oran is our ally, not our enemy. And he is right. We did summon him here, did we not?”

  Tiny streams of lightning danced on Verbard's fingertips and winked out. Nodding, he said, “We’ll see.”

  Huffing for breath, Oran wiped the sweat dripping down his cheek with his sleeve. He turned to the chest and flipped open the lid.

  Catten and Verbard, robes dragging over the ground, floated over. The lithe underlings were already taller than him, but hovering over the ground made them seem like giants. Flanking him, they peered into the chest.

  Oran cleared his throat and spoke. “Here it is.”

  Catten tilted his head. “Here what is?”

  “Yes, I thought you’d brought us the corpse of our enemy.” Without a crease in his inquisitive face, Verbard frowned. “Instead, you bring this? A chest with an urn in it? Do tell me it is filled with the ashes of our enemy.”

  “You summoned me here to help you catch him,” Oran objected. He reached inside the chest and removed the urn from its packing. It was bigger than his head and heavy. With a grunt, he teetered over and set it down on the ground.

  Fool of a cleric! I suppose I could have lifted it with a spell, but I’ll need my energy.

  He cleared his throat again. “This will help you catch him.”

  “Are you jesting?” Catten's eyes were slits. “You catch the enemy, not us. We have better things to do. That is why we summoned you, fool!”

  The two underling lords glared at the urn with suspicion. It was crude but majestic in its own way. Its arcane markings were vibrant, deep and spacy.

  “I don’t know this thing,” Verbard remarked. “Where did you get it?”

  “As things in the world of men go: one of the Royals with sorcerous ways was betrayed. Cut down. I bartered for it in a trade.”

  Catten and Verbard hissed and chittered. Anger filled their eyes. “You are a fool to dally with the humans above. That is why you were banished. A trickster. Deceiver. Traitor, they call you. Dabbling with our sworn enemy.”

  “They are easily duped,” Oran argued back. “So steeped in greed, they even kill one another. I serve our cause, the underling cause, not my own. Our leadership is too blind to see that. Making an example out of me.” He spat on the ground. “Pah! I am Oran. Every castle, every cave knows that.”

  “Knew that,” Verbard corrected. He stared down at Oran. “But they know our names now, don’t they? Don’t make me finish you, Oran. I will, you know.”

  With effort, Oran kept his anger in check. “I can’t operate this object without your help.”

  “Surely you jest. You come for our help?” Catten said.

  Oran reached back into the chest and withdrew an ancient scroll. It was a dusky brown parchment, fastened with leather cords and wider than his very shoulders. “This is power from a millennium ago, maybe longer. I can read it, but I cannot summon the power of the urn at the same time. I need someone to harness my words, turn them to energy, and ignite the urn.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then, as it says, it will summon a monster to do anything we want.”

  “All of this trouble on account of one lone slayer,” Verbard said. “This butcher should have been dispatched already.”

  “This butcher slays us in our own night. Our blood feeds the soil above. It makes men’s spirits fertile. I dare not face this menace of slaughter alone. I’ll need help.”

  Catten and Verbard drifted away and conferred, leaving Oran alone in his thoughts.

  Such a waste of my precious time this is, but whatever I can do to get them out of my business, I will. As the humans would say, 'Slat, let’s get this over with.'

  The brothers returned.

  Lord Catten spoke for both. “You read. I’ll channel. Verbard will ignite.” He extended his hand and took the scroll from Oran. As he unrolled the parchment, his brows lifted. He showed a row of straight pin-needle teeth to his brother. “Let’s pluck this thorn, cast it in the fire, and go home.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Nath crashed hard into the ground. His head was pounding. Limbs shaken, he forced himself up into a sitting position. He was in a cave, he knew that much. It was dimly lit by a faint blue light, and the walls were slick and wet. Rubbing his neck, he tried to remember what he'd been doing before. As he searched his memories, he was seized by panic. He didn’t recall anything. Not a single moment from before, just nothing.

  A rustle caught his ear. He twisted around.

  Three ugly, hairy humanoids were there in robes, one standing and two floating a foot above the ground. They had bright eyes. Nothing at all was familiar about them. They spoke a strange chitter, none of which made any sense.

  A growl caught his ears.

  Four huge dogs, mangy beasts and ugly, snuck toward him with their heads low. Their jaws slavered with drool that dripped from teeth that looked like they could chew stone. The beasts surrounded him, closed in, and snorted.

  “Easy,” Nath said, holding out his hand.

  A glint of metal caught his eye. A sword, grand and exquisite. It seemed familiar, but it was too far away.

  On instinct, he locked eyes with the biggest of the four dogs. He knew them for what they were and could name the normal objects that he’d seen, but aside from that, he had no memories whatsoever. No idea who he was or how he got here. “Easy,” he repeated.

  The dogs' mostly white eyes narrowed. All together they pounced.

  Nath balled up.

  Wet snouts probed his body, sniffed. Rough tongues licked him.

  ***

  With his head cocked to one side, Verbard said, “What is this? They lick him like a pup?”

  “Bizarre,” Catten replied. “Oran, what sort of demon is this? No doubt, he is a hideous beast, but he’s taken command of our dogs. Is that a smile on his lips? Pah! You have summoned no monster but a human.”

  Breathless, Oran argued, “That is no human.” His breathing was ragged. The spell had taken quite a toll on him. He could barely stand. It didn’t help that the monster he'd worked so hard to get and paid so much for in trade looked like a man with a mane of wild red hair. And the cave dogs bathed him like an old friend. Quickly, Oran’s master plan had become a disaster. “Cave dogs have quirky natures. You know that. No, look at this thing. Look at those arms. They are scaled. And those claws could tear through a Vicious!”

  “You fool!” Catten yelled. “This creature you have summoned shows glee. Name me any demon that shows such an expression. Where did you summon this man from, one of the Royal brothels?”

  Oran was speechless. The … thing he’d summoned was a far cry from anything he could ever imagine. At first, he fought to find something to say, and then instead, he watched the man rise to his feet.

  The … thing was a towering figure. Human perfection. Strong chinned, his chiseled frame was covered in powerful supine muscle. He wore well-crafted breastplate armor, breeches, and nothing else. The red-haired stranger scratched a dog behind the ears with his yellow claws. In every way, the summoned being was as graceful and fluid as a cat. And unlike Catten's cold, metallic golden eyes, this being's eyes were as captivating, warm, and golden as the dreaded sunrise.

  “Just send it back,” Catten said.

  “You know that's not possible.” Oran's violet-sapphire eyes were fixed on the marvelous being. Surely this was the answer to his call. The very presence of the man, thing, or demo
n he had summoned dominated the room. With tongues hanging out of their mouths, Verbard and Catten's protective cave dogs looked like playful pups. “We have not even communicated with it.”

  Catten and Verbard's metallic eyes found his and prodded him on.

  Oran approached the creature inside the charred circle that still smoked. “What is your name, demon?”

  The scaled stranger tilted his head and lifted a brow.

  Oran asked again, this time in Common, “What is your name?”

  The demon creature shrugged his shoulders. Pushing through the dogs, he made his way over to the great sword and bent over to pick it up.

  The sword slid across the cave floor and stopped at Lord Catten’s floating feet. The blade was every bit as long as them standing.

  The demon gave them a curious look.

  “Well,” Catten said, “Not only is this pet of yours hideous, but it’s also stupid. We can’t have it playing with sharp objects, now can we?”

  “I’d say not.” Verbard’s feet touched the ground. His silver eyes studied the sword. His fingers rubbed his chin. “This is a fascinating blade. Are those dragon heads on the pommels? That is not of Bish. If only I had a soldier big enough to wield it.” He reached down and touched the hilt.

  Zzzt!

  Verbard jerked his hand away and screamed. “Argh!”

  Oran backed away.

  Verbard looked furious.

  Heh, they always find a way to make things worse. He had it coming.

  “It seems it is a demon after all.” Catten chuckled. “The blade is possessed. Either that, or it’s an excellent judge of character.”

  “This is a farce! I’m ending it.” Lightning flashed in Verbard's silver eyes and erupted from his fingers. Streams of fiery light blasted the demon full in the chest and knocked him off his feet. He stopped at the edge of the cave, unmoving. Verbard dusted off his hands and turned to Oran. “It’s time to turn your banishment into a funeral.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Look,” Catten said. He was pointing at the corner of the cave. “It lives.”

  The demon rose to his feet. His scorched chest plate was smoking. The expression on his face was grim. Anger surged in his golden eyes.

  “I think you made it mad,” Catten added. “Perhaps you should apologize to it. Make amends.”

  “Oran, do something with your transgressor,” Verbard ordered. The underling lord and his brother glided backward. “Quickly.”

  Fascinating!

  Oran couldn’t believe his fortune. It seemed the portal spell he and the brothers had cast had drained them quite a bit. They were vulnerable. If there was ever a time to strike them down, now would be the time.

  If I weren't also so weak, I’d be done with the both of you!

  The demon approached, one cautious step at a time. Less than a dozen feet away, he coiled down, ready to spring.

  “Oran! Get this thing under control!”

  No, I’d rather see you die.

  Oran had read the scroll. He had the connection with the demon, and he should be able to control it. He felt its mind in his. It was angry. Confused. Lost.

  Oh, I should let it pick up that blade and strike both of them down. That would be the end of their foul words. But unlike me, they’d be missed. Avenged. And it ... fascinates me.

  Oran cut in between the demon and the lords. “Halt.”

  The redheaded creature stopped and stared at him with gold lava in his eyes. His huge, clawed hands clutched in and out. The sharp nails looked like spikes. Cords of muscle rippled underneath the black-scaled forearms. No doubt those arms were as powerful as a squeezing python.

  Oran held his palms up and out, bowed, sat down and said, “Sit.”

  The strange man eyed Verbard and shook his head.

  “You have no control over it,” Verbard hissed. “None at all, you failure.”

  “Give him a moment, will you, Brother?” Catten laughed at Verbard. “You are the source of all this agitation, and all because that little sword stung you.”

  “Shut your mouth, Catten. This monster is dangerous and too hard to control. Look at him. That’s no ally to us. It’s an enemy. I tell you, it must be destroyed.”

  “I can control it, Verbard,” Oran said. He pushed his sleeves up over his knobby elbows. “Just give me a moment.”

  “Nay.” Verbard snapped his fingers.

  Pop!

  A small band of urchlings poured out of the nearest tunnel. They were smaller than Oran, barely four feet tall. Their bare backs were hunched over, and their limbs were filled with corded muscles. Teeth and claws were sharp as knives, and their black eyes underneath their thick and protruding brows were filled with hunger and evil.

  “Urchlings?” Oran said with shock. “What kind of game are you playing, bringing along those savage little monsters?

  Catten, to Oran’s surprise, spoke this time. “Perhaps we thought your monster would need feeding.”

  “Give me a moment before you destroy all trust,” Oran argued.

  But the lords would have none of it. This was obviously entertainment for them. Their eyes were filled with an avid and bloodthirsty curiosity.

  He sprang to his feet. “End this now.”

  “Mind your tongue, Oran. Or once this is over, I might have the urchlings tear it out.” Verbard fixed his eyes on the prize, the stranger from another world. “Besides, we need to see if this grotesque demon is worthy of this quest. If he lives, glory to you. If he dies, gory to me.”

  “Oh, that was witty, Brother,” Catten said with a bob of his head. “'Gory to me.' How enchanting.”

  ***

  Verbard pointed at Nath and let out a commanding chitter. “Kill.”

  A dozen urchlings charged in a frenzied horde. Nath stretched out toward his sword that lay on the ground.

  The blade flew straight into his hand.

  Like a striking cobra, he swung.

  Slice!

  The first rank of urchlings died, torsos severed mid-section. The great blade struck hard and fast. The little monsters fell in ones and twos. They latched onto his arms and bit at his scales. Their teeth broke off, and they howled. Claws tore at his skin and tried to rip his red hair from his scalp.

  He more than matched their fury with his own ferocity. Quicker. Stronger. Deadlier. He stomped them, cut them, pummeled them into submission. The floor was wet with their dark blood as well as his own, but less than a minute later, it was all over. He stood tall and easy.

  The urchlings were cave-dog food.

  ***

  Marveling at what he'd just seen, Oran rubbed his jaw and turned to Catten and Verbard.

  They were gone.

  His heart fluttered in his chest. It was just him and the demon holding the great sword coated in greasy urchling blood. Dry throat cracking, he said with command, “You must come with me.”

  ***

  Uncertain of anything, but with his senses full of alarm, Nath surveyed the carnage. The creatures lay dead at his feet. Cruel and vile things. Evil. He didn’t understand it, but he knew it. The silver-eyed fiend that had attacked him was gone, along with the other. His shoulder muscles eased. The lone living person in the room seemed to be trying to befriend him somehow, and Nath was drawn to his words. The tones of the foreign words of the smallish rat-man, a child in comparison to him, were convincing.

  What do I do?

  Scanning the cave, he found no place to go. Instead, he stood and watched the odd little person gather an urn and scroll and place them in a chest. The chest rose from the dirt and floated after the jewel-eyed rat-man into the cave.

  Toting his bloody sword, Nath, having no idea where to go or who to trust, followed Oran onto the small barge. Two total strangers from different worlds sailed the Current together.

  CHAPTER 9

  “You are quite adept, quite adept indeed,” Oran said to Nath.

  The old pair were sitting at a table inside the underling's cave lair, lea
gues away from the Underland. Oran had been working with Nath, teaching him the common language of Bish. Nath had found just about everything within the lair disturbing and odd—the glass jars, huge and small, with heads from many races in them, on deep shelves. Potions and odd decanters. Oran, however, had little trouble explaining his experimentation. He just said, when asked, “That’s what I was created to do.”

  “I can understand losing my memory,” Nath said to Oran, “but I don’t understand why I would lose my speech.”

  Gaping, Oran said to him, “Marvelous. You spoke that so well. Why, I’ve never had such an apt pupil. Of course, it’s only natural that your common language would return so quickly.

  My, this creature is smart. He memorizes everything I show him. If I could only somehow duplicate him. Oh, an army of him! Now that would be something.

  He pushed a burning candle toward Nath, looked at Nath’s arm, and said, “Do you mind?”

  “Mind what?”

  “Eh, holding your hand over the flame? For experimental purposes. I need to see how these scales hold up.”

  Nath held his scaled hands over the flames. The orange-yellow glow licked around his fingers. He shrugged.

  “That is marvelous, just marvelous.” Oran scurried away and returned with a small scalpel-like knife. “Take your hand out of the flame.”

  Nath withdrew his arm. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Just be still.” Oran leaned over and sliced the scales on the summoned creature's forearm. The fine blade didn’t make a mark. “Did you feel that?”

  “I felt it, but there was no discomfort.”

  “I see. Let me try something else.” He held the scalpel up to Nath's cheek and cut a straight line.

  “What was that for?” Nath said.

  Oran wiped the laceration with his finger. The wound closed before his eyes. “Fascinating. My, you are a quick healer. Astounding.” He wiped the blood from his fingertip into a small vial and stowed it away on a nearby shelf.