The Tales of Neroman: The Silver Savior

by Tom Burton

  “Scum,” the orc commander mutters to Aaron.

  He throws Aaron against the double doors. The doors swing open as Aaron flies across the throne room. He lands roughly on the floor then rolls across the throne room. As he stops rolling, he hears the slow breathing of a beast above him. He looks up to see a hooded figure standing next to a half-decorated throne. Then Aaron sees the dragon he fought at Dellmoor, sitting behind the throne, the dragons’ neck swerving round to the front of the throne. The hooded figure strokes the dragon softly, as the dragon’s breathing echoes quietly through the throne room.

  “Mutaro,” Aaron mutters to himself.

  He begins to get up again. But some of the orcs that dragged him through Redlock charge toward him. One of the orcs kicks him in the stomach, forcing Aaron to the floor again.

  “My lord, we bring you Aaron Silver,” the orc that kicked Aaron says, trying to ingratiate himself to Mutaro. Aaron looks at the wizard, but the dragon snarls, forcing him to look down fearfully. As Aaron looks up to the hooded man again, he sees that Mutaro is now looking back at him.

  “The Silver Savior…you’re famous around these parts,” Mutaro tells Aaron.

  Aaron only looks back confused.

  “What is your purpose here?” Mutaro asks. His deep, booming voice carries across the room.

  Aaron slowly stands. The orcs behind him elect to not beat Aaron to the floor again.

  “The fighting has gone on long enough,” Aaron tells Mutaro. “Many innocents have died from this war….This does not have continue.”

  Mutaro smiles as he gently walks toward Aaron.

  “So you ask for peace?”

  Aaron replies reluctantly, nodding his head.

  “So be it. You must hand me every man, woman, and child under your protection. They, and yourself, will become slaves to my will. But you have my word— agree to this, and none of your people will die…straight away.”

  Aaron slowly shakes his head.

  “Those are not reasonable terms, and I will not allow my people to bear such suffering.”

  Mutaro remains staring smugly at Aaron. Aaron then looks to the far corner of the room, where he sees a human crawled into a ball on the floor. The man is facing away from the two.

  Mutaro notices Aaron’s gaze. He watches as Aaron walks over to the victim, but then he conjures a spell, preventing Aaron from getting any farther.

  “That’s not for you,” Mutaro teases.

  “I’m impressed,” Mutaro says, walking around Aaron. “You and your fellow commanders defended Dellmoor so well that a lot orcs, and my apprentice, died in the fighting. However, it was the dragon-fire that completed the monumental task of razing the great capital to the ground.”

  He stops walking and stands over Aaron.

  “Neroman was strongest when our people stood side by side,” Aaron pleads. “Can we not do this once again?”

  “Neroman will be strongest when one rule stands over the country…a united country,” Mutaro replies.

  “Why, Mutaro? Why make the kingdom suffer through centuries of horror and pain so one man can have his prize?”

  Mutaro fixes his gaze on Aaron.

  “Because my brothers failed it, and so did your pathetic race. Now is the time for a more powerful wizard to create peace and prosperity across the kingdom.”

  Mutaro’s smugness only rises as he speaks. One of the orcs then approaches reluctantly.

  “My lord…Aaron was searching around the North for people, we heard the names as he shouted them.”

  Mutaro looks at the orc and assumes a more serious tone.

  “What were those names?” he asks quietly.

  “The names…were that of the wizards, Azdus and Goras.”

  The smugness in Mutaro’s face quickly drops. His gaze shifts quickly back toward Aaron. He conjures a spell: Aaron is flung against the nearest wall and remains there, pinned against it. Mutaro then conjures a second spell: strips of the stone wall wrap around Aaron’s wrists and ankles, holding him in place. Then Mutaro quickly approaches Aaron, stepping right up to him so that the two are face to face.

  “Why were you looking for my brothers?” Mutaro angrily demands.

  Through the pain of being thrown against the wall, Aaron smiles.

  “You are afraid, Mutaro. I see it in your eyes. The real reason you pulled your armies back was not for some game. It was because the longer your army were there, the more you feared they would arrive and wipe out your army.”

  Mutaro recoils, taking a step back. After a few seconds, he composes himself and offers a smile once again.

  “You killed Luke?” Mutaro asks rhetorically.

  Aaron nods. But he sees Mutaro is still smiling.

  “You feel no remorse for his death?” Aaron asks.

  Mutaro only shrugs. He breaks his gaze away from Aaron’s.

  “You felt no love or care for him—you’ve just been raising him to level the playing field against your brothers,” Aaron states.

  Mutaro looks back at Aaron in anger.

  “My brothers are as weak as the race of men now! I saw to that when I stripped them of their powers centuries ago. They are nothing compared to what Luke was once, nor what the orc army is now.”

  Mutaro turns to one of the orcs.

  “It’s time.”

  The orc runs fearfully out of the throne room—then out of the stronghold of Redlock. The orcs see the army outside, the majority of the orcs outside of Redlock looks toward the orc at the gates.

  “Ready your weapons, and your war cry!” the orc shouts. “For tonight, we take Neroman!”

  The legions of orcs waiting in their tens of thousands celebrate with a wild cheer. Moments later, they begin charging out from the stronghold.

  Inside the throne room, Mutaro looks over to the orc commander. He signals the commander to approach him.

  “No prisoners, no innocents,” Mutaro instructs. “Whoever is not orc, you kill.”

  The orc commander snarls greedily then walks out of the throne room to join the army of orcs moving out from the stronghold.

  Aaron, still pinned against the stone wall, hears the footsteps of the thousands of orcs marching from the stronghold. The drone of distant chants makes its way into the chamber. Aaron looks down with disappointment, knowing that all he has achieved is to speed up the impending annihilation.

  Mutaro sees the disappointment on Aaron’s face. He smiles to himself then turns to the dragon behind the throne.

  “Rain fire from the skies,” Mutaro whispers to his armored dragon.

  The dragon spreads his wings. He thrusts his neck toward the roof of the throne room and flaps his wings two times. The crown of his head smashes through the ceiling; then, to ensure his armored body gets through the roof of the building, he flicks his tail on the way out, causing large chunks of the roof and the ceiling below to crash down onto the throne room floor.

  As the dragon flies from the stronghold, Mutaro looks down at the mess the dragon has made. He lifts his open palm toward the stone and the chunks, and conjures a sky-blue spell. The stone slabs quickly fall upward, moving back to their proper place in the ceiling of the throne room, and sealing the gaping holes in the roof.

  As Mutaro’s spell evaporates, the wizard turns to Aaron.

  “The last Pioneer of our time…what is it you see when you close your eyes at night?”

  Aaron lifts his head, looking blankly back at Mutaro.

  “I see your brittle power waning before your eyes, like the night’s sky. Your magic failing you, and your swift fall. No matter how many orcs you have at your disposal, you will never rule Neroman.”

  “Maybe…but you will not be alive to witness it.”

  He begins to turn his hands around each other, conjuring another spell. A black cloud emerges slowly betw
een his fingers. Then, all at once, the black cloud shoots toward Aaron. Aaron closes his eyes. But Mutaro’s black magic is blocked by a blue aura that suddenly shields Aaron. Sparks of the two spells clashing spray and crackle around the room, making it difficult for Aaron and Mutaro to see.

  Mutaro pulls back from his spell. The sparks disappear. Aaron opens his eyes to see Azdus and Goras materializing through the stone wall as they enter the throne room.

  Mutaro sees the two wizards heading toward him; he takes a few steps back.

  “Mutaro,” Azdus says, “this has to stop!”

  Mutaro begins to walk across the room, keeping his eyes fixed on the two wizards.

  “You have destroyed so many races in Neroman,” Goras tries to reason with his brother, “but you can still save her.”

  “I am saving her!” Mutaro argues. “The humans fight over menial points, they burn the land and crops for their own pride. They are nothing more than savages, and are not fit to rule. This is why you deserved stripping of your magic, brothers.”

  Azdus draws closer to Mutaro, but Goras stays just in front of Aaron. He places his right hand behind his back and begins slowly twisting it. The stone strips wrapped around Aaron’s ankles and wrists begin to withdraw back into the wall.

  “You will be king only of the ashes if you continue down this road,” Azdus tells Mutaro.

  “Your faith in humans has cost you dearly,” Mutaro replies. He begins to turn his hands around each other again. Another black cloud begins to form “None of you three should have come; now, you won’t leave!” Mutaro warns.

  Goras continues twisting his hand behind his back. The final stone strip wrapped across Aaron’s wrist withdraws into the wall; Aaron falls to the floor. Goras quickly lifts him up and pushes him through the stone, transporting him out of Redlock.

  “No!” Mutaro shouts.

  He waves his hands, dissipating his spell, then sprints toward the wall. Goras brings his hands before his face and intricately wriggles his fingers, conjuring a shield around the walls and ceiling, preventing Mutaro from leaving the throne room.

  Mutaro stops in the center of the room. Azdus and Goras circle him.

  “So this is it brothers…this is where you make your final stand,” Mutaro warns Azdus and Goras.

  A brief moment passes as all three conjure spells—then they fire their fierce magic toward each other.

  Outside, Aaron slowly gets up in pain. He hears the fighting taking place inside the walls of the throne room—sees the light of clashing spells glaring off the tinted windows at the top of the building. Aaron stands watching silently, horrified at what could be happening in that room. But after a few moments, he hears the marching of orcs.

  He grabs the hilt of his sword but, looking around, cannot spot any of them.

  He moves away from the marching drone of the orcs until their noise eventually goes silent. He then gently starts walking again, until the path ahead of him splits into two. One path heads south, the other path heads toward the West. He stands at the split in the path for a few seconds, wondering.

  “I need to know,” he whispers to himself.

  He makes the choice to head west, and begins quickly down the pathway.

  In the royal forest, Jaylen, Daniel, and Laura walk away from camp. Each of them carries bow and arrows. The three walk side by side, deeper into the forest.

  “It’s been a long time since I have hunted,” Jaylen observes.

  “Desperate times for us; we are running out of food faster than we can provide it,” Laura replies.

  Daniel stops for a moment. He looks down and closes his eyes. Laura and Jaylen note the pained expression on his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  No response comes from Daniel.

  Laura walks up to him and places her hand on his back.

  “It hurts, I know it does. But we cannot sit here thinking about the dead. We must look after those who are still alive.”

  Daniel nods softly and opens his eyes. He looks at Laura.

  “I just miss them both…so much,” Daniel says.

  “Aaron will come back; you’ve just got to hold onto hope, even a fool’s hope,” Laura replies.

  Daniel smiles quietly to her, and the two start walking again. They soon catch up to Jaylen and resume walking side by side.

  “It won’t be long before we see the horde of orcs return to our doorstep,” Jaylen points out.

  Daniel replies, “Agreed, when we get back to camp, we will try and get a plan together.”

  As they continue walking, they see a herd of deer eating the nuts and acorns from between the grasses beneath them. The three hunters grab their bows and nock their arrows, taking aim at the deer ahead of them.

  Back at the camp in the royal forest, some of the men and women turn to see Jaylen, Laura, and Daniel approaching, carrying deer on their backs. Several of the civilians applaud the hunters; others merely smile.

  The three hunters drop the deer next to a fire that has been set up in the center of the camp.

  “Let’s head back to my tent,” Jaylen tells Laura and Daniel.

  Once they are inside his tent, the three friends sit around a wooden table they retrived from Dellmoor, the table sits in the center of the plain quarters. Jaylen then grabs a rolled-up map of Neroman lying in a corner of the tent. He unrolls the map on the table and uses bowls and cups to hold it in place.

  “Okay,” Daniel says, “let’s see what we can gather….”

  He points to the lands of the West.

  “The West has gone dark since the news that Greyshore was overrun; we can only assume that some of the orcs will still be there, to make sure no one makes it past the bridge.”

  Daniel pulls his hand away from the map. Laura then points toward the Crown Lands.

  “The northern domain of the Crown Lands is completely orc-infested; Mutaro would make sure that his lands cannot be counterattacked after our defeat. Rylom is completed decimated, so the orcs will definitely have the central areas of the Crown Lands. They most probably have control of the burnt city of Meldom also.”

  Daniel sighs.

  “So, to summarize, if the scouts come back, they will probably, like us, be on their own?”

  Laura and Jaylen do no respond. Daniel takes note of their silence.

  “We have no aid?” Daniel says, raising his voice.

  “No,” Jaylen replies.

  Daniel fixes his gaze on Jaylen.

  “What?”

  “Nothing…. I can’t see any aid coming from Neroman,” Jaylen replies.

  “There’s something you are not telling us,” Daniel says. “And I suggest you come out with it.”

  Laura merely gazes between Daniel and Jaylen. Jaylen then reluctantly moves to the other side of the map, and points to the open sea south of the royal forest.

  “This map is false…there is something there,” Jaylen tells them.

  Daniel and Laura look to the map then look back to Jaylen.

  “What is there?” Daniel asks.

  A few days pass after the encounter at Redlock. Aaron walks down a stone road toward the bridge to the West. Aaron’s pace gradually fatigues as his travel progresses; he trudges down the path. When he finally looks ahead and sees the bridge, he sees the center has been obliterated, leaving a gaping hole between the two adjacent walls wide enough for thirty soldiers to go through side by side.

  As Aaron through the gaping hole between the two adjacent walls, he looks at the walls on either side of him, and sees in horror the burnt ends of the wood on the walls. Aaron then looks to the ground below the bridge and sees that the green grass has been trampled by thousands of footsteps.

  “Orcs,” he mutters.

  Aaron then walks past the bridge, and walks into the West.

  Near the end of
that day, Aaron walks out of the small woodland and sees a burnt sign lying on the ground ahead of him. As he approaches the sign, he makes out the markings Greyshore. He looks up to see the village ahead of him—but he sees only empty land, and small trails of smoke rising in the distance.

  Despite his fatigue, Aaron runs toward the former village of Greyshore. As he draws closer, he sees the area where buildings once stood. He stands in shock for a moment as he looks over the former village. Tears begin to fill his eyes, and his hands slowly shake in horror.

  He starts walking through the village. His shoes fall on the ashes beneath; the smell of burnt wood fills his nostrils. As he struggles through the burned village, he sees ashes shaped in the form of bodies; some of the ashes hold disintegrated children in their arms.

  He looks at the ashes and closes his eyes.

  He keeps walking through Greyshore. At the far side of the village, he sees the Forest of Els in the distance. The forest is preserved and unharmed, which catches Aaron’s attention. As he continues to ponder the untouched forest, he reaches the tree line and softly places his hand on one of the trees. He smiles bittersweetly as he looks up and down the tree on which his hand is resting.

  Suddenly, a light within the forest catches his gaze. He removes his hand from the tree and reaches for the hilt of his sword. Then he squints at the light and sees that it is waving from left to right. He glances behind him to see if anyone is following him then turns back and walks toward the light.

  As Aaron walks deeper and deeper into the Forest of Els, he soon realizes that the light luring him is in fact a torch—and that a figure is holding the torch. Aaron stops and draws his sword, gripping it in both his hands. , The lack of light shining into the forest makes it difficult for Aaron to make out who, or what, is staring back at him. Aaron squints more keenly toward the light, and he sees a line of figures staring back at him. The figure with the torch is walking toward Aaron.