Beyond Dagothar
Book One
of
The Oraclon Chronicles
Jason M. Breshears
Archaix
Beyond Dagothar
Copyright 2017
by Jason M. Breshears
Archaix Press
Copyright 2017
by Jason M. Breshears
The Oraclon Chronicles
Copyright 2017
Jason M. Breshears
All rights reserved. No part of this book, in part or in whole, may
be reproduced, transmitted, or utilized, in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the author or publisher, except for brief quotations in
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cover art by author
Archaix Press
About the Author
Jason M. Breshears is a researcher of occult antiquities. His four previously
published works are nonfiction with extensive bibliographies concerning very
fascinating information concerning ancient civilizations, cataclysms and the
modern establishment's attempts to suppress these discoveries from the public
today. These works were published by Book Tree in San Diego-
The Lost Scriptures of Giza (2006)
When the Sun Darkens (2009)
Anunnaki Homeworld (2011)
Nostradamus and the Planets of Apocalypse (2013)
Breshears' research, articles, discoveries and blogs are being released on-
nephilimarchives.com
Book One
of
The Oraclon Chronicles
All futures are forgotten
pasts are unrecalled,
the Veil is now a mirror-
shadows speak
of dying gods.
Fields of battle in array,
the eye is all that sees,
omens dark,
what comes unknown,
this war between the trees.
Codex Caerea VII: 2
Rangers spend most of their time in hostile and
alien environments. They are unrewarded guard-
ians over civilizations that shun them as outcasts
...people who never realize the evils that lurk just
beyond their borders.
Cavin Knightshade, First
Ranger of Borderealm
Dimwood Forest
I never made it to Talan Dathar.
The legendary ruins of this seemingly dateless city would need wait another day. Or never. Cavin had told me much about the mysterious city of half-buried buildings of an elder age, so I was in no hurry to investigate them.
I jerked the reins and my beast responded, her ribs between my thighs expanding as she drew breath. Branches whipped coursely across my face and I cursed Cavin. He is the reason I now fly eighty feet above the shadowy dirt of Dimwood moving eastward through gnarled branches of three and four thousand year old cedars. I blast through an insect swarm spitting the things from my mouth while gripping the saddle horn as my panicking mountaindrake weaves through the trees.
Branches and foliage pass by my face four times faster than a galloping steed. Noticing the sparse light creeping through the thick canopy of greenery above it is easy to understand why this old forest has always been called Dimwood. My winged mount whirls around a gigantic vine-strangled tree and looks back to blink a fearful eye at me just as we dip and my stomach feels afloat. Dipping suddenly under a twisting branch her wings reach upward and pull back with a tremendous heave. We soar underneath the ancient canopy as colorful birds explode in several directions trying to flee. I look down behind us.
Clawing up the dark soil in pursuit were two lightning quick reptillian things with riders on their backs. Their tails swung back and forth, the two orcs astride them grinning up at me as they held on. Those two did not worry my mount and I.
Somewhere behind us and darting like a demon through the woods was a slender, black-skinned goblinoid thing with leathery wings and a long spear. My drake was terrified of the winged goblin and was nearly breathless in her flight. Very soon I would have to land her.
As twigs jabbed my face and scratched across my hands and arms I could hear the leathery-skinned orcs yelling in their hideous monosyllabic speech. The wings of my drake were not pulling as high any more. She was tiring. Spotting a massive bough ahead I steered her down to a mere thirty feet off the ground. Circling the gigantic tree we landed out of the reach of the orc riders. I now faced the direction from which we had fled, drawing an arrow from a saddle quiver.
The bulk of my drake shuddered instinctively and tensed, flattening against the ancient bark of the enormous tree we stood upon . I knew she sensed the approach of the flying goblin . From out of the shadowed greenery the inky-dark form of the winged pursuer emerged with a vile scream. As it advanced with a snarl I loosed the arrow and ducked into the folded wing of my steed as the goblin balled up, wings enwrapping it before plunging into the brush below. It quietly thudded into the packed earth.
I shouldered my bow and studied the thing from the safety of the tree. I had never seen a winged goblin, nor any goblinoid creature of this species. It writhed in agony about sixty feet from the base of our tree. Its wings were tipped in red but were otherwise black. It had slender long fingers wrapped around the shaft of my poisonwood arrow. Yellow eyes glared balefully up at me.
The orcs too had seen this and had turned their extraordinarily fast lizard steeds. Our brief landing in the tree had caught them off guard. I pulled out three more splintershaft arrows. The poisonwood would ensure they would not return to tell any tales. These dangerous arrows were carved from the bodies of vicious dendrite tree-beasts that were sometimes caught by the elves in Everleaf. Though rare I risked them . I must live to report what I have seen.
As they neared an arrow tore through the face of a snarling orc who had just looked upward at me. A second arrow followed quickly sinking deep into the upper left shoulder of his companion. He screamed just as a third arrow impaled his left hand and penetrated into the back of the large lizard's neck. The reptillian mount squawked and lunged blindly through the dark underbrush almost faster than I could blink. The other lizard followed, riderless. The dead orc was motionless near the foot of the tree. In a few moments the other steed and rider would die from the poison no matter how far they got.
Descending to the forest floor I inspected the dead orc, my arrow sticking out its face. It had a large, mottled horn protruding from the center of its back that pointed upward, attached to its crooked spine. The point of the horn was almost level with the top of its head. A hornback orc.
Though I had never laid eyes on one, it was known to me from stories that it was not a surface-dwelling breed. Nor were their fast mounts familiar to me. They too must be from the underworld.
Turning, I looked back at the dying goblinoid soldier lying prone in the fallen pine sheddings wrapped in its thin, sickly wings. It glared back. Dull embers were its eyes. A noise drew my attention and I looked to see the other reptillian mount I had not killed. It was calm, eyeing me warily and looking at the dead orc.
Only a beast, I thought. Knowing my own dumb animal was hungry I slew the vile thing with two fire-hardened birch arrows and let her feed. As she fed tearing flesh and smacking wetly I surveyed the massive trees, keeping an eye on the fatally injured goblin. A strong sensation of being watched touched me but I did not feel threatened. I know
this wood was full of life. Somewhere hidden from my sight I was watched. Probably faeries. A dozen thoughts assailed my mind chased by a score of questions.
What in the devils is going on?
Cavin Knightshade was the First Ranger. His assignment had been way out here west of Borderealm in the unruly, uncharted regions of Dimwood...far western Dagothar. Cavin is a veteran, of noble Poltyrian blood. The only true Poltyrian I know. Others from Poltyria who live in Arborealm are exiles.
I am Caerean, my people inhabiting the great forest of Arborealm. We are a collection of small woodland communities but we are the direct descendants of the once-mighty Caedorians native to Borderealm. Though I have never been to the vast empire of Poltyria in the far east across the Drakeroost Mountains, Cavin has filled my head with stories and descriptions of its cities and people. But that is Cavin's life, not mine.
It is to be admitted that of all the rangers of Borderealm, Cavin is indeed the most prestigious, the most knowledgeable and experienced. Some say he was supposed to be a scholar. He is widely venerated for his contributions and feats. But he is best known for his sword. The Knightshade clan of Castle Demarsculd in Poltyria are lower nobility but they possess a family heirloom, an artifact of potent power in the form of a shimmering longsword called Mageslayer.
The history of that blade is rife with stories of fallen wizards and darkly enchanted beings that walk the world no more. The Knightshade men are proven swordsman.
Cavin Knightshade does not simply disappear.
My drake tore flesh from the dead lizard with abandon as my mind played back the images I had seen not an hour ago. Flying over the shadows of Dimwood above the spiralling butterflies I had flown across a straight line in the forest of downed trees that were being stripped of branches and stacked like walls along either side of the cleared-out road. There was no doubt about fifteen thousand orcs south of Lake Mir Dol'hinnon cutting a massive road through the forest.
But there were more than orcs. I saw peculiar goblins and tiny, halfling-sized engineers wearing large, flattened metal helmets. There were ogres of immense size with horns sticking upward from their brows. These ogres were not known to me, all having one single large horn and much bigger than the ogres of our haunts. I stared blankly at the moss on the old bark as my mind drifted back to the hideous four-armed black elven things and the most horrific creatures I have ever witnessed.
They were the size of bulls, had scaly dull hide and what looked like patches of scraggly reddish hair and six muscular legs ending with long talons. I could see no necks but their wide mouths were full of teeth. These abominations were without riders, having no harnesses, but they seemed to yeild to the will of the four-armed dark elves. This was no question an invasion force, or a part of one. Not from these lands. The underworld. I had flown over them and was instantly pursued.
Before fleeing my eyes had fallen upon the most disturbing sight of all. A ghastly vision lingering at the edge of my mind like something I was supposed to remember, a dream that was actually the reality of another time...some other place.
Sitting on the back of a gigantic armored spidery monster was a huge single-horned ogre wearing the hide of some underworld beast. It supervised the labor, and blackish elves having too many arms seemed to report to him and carry out orders.
He looked up at me and I saw the face of death.
Their work was progressing as their wide road cut the forest in half. This was no ordinary ogre. Today was no ordinary day. That Cavin was missing made it all the more unusual.
A soft gasp caught my attention and I turned to see that the winged goblin had expired. My drake mare noticed it too and stopped chewing, blinked and then continued lazily. Out of habit I quickly surveyed the dimly lit forest floor and then scanned the upper branches high above. This was a very old forest. There were no human settlements for hundreds of miles. Most believe Dimwood to be a myth.
My name is Josiah Arrowloft and I am a Borderealm ranger. As a Caerean I have the pale green eyes charactoristic of my people. Though I am not a citizen of Poltyria and have little love for its people, I report important tidings by pigeon to the King's Minister of the Outlands. A faceless man I have never met and never will.
Borderealm is a wild place, untamed by men, forgotten frontiers inhabited by many races and species. Lands and beings most Poltyrians refuse to believe exist. We Caereans are few in number compared to so great an empire-woodsmen, carvers, carpenters, loggers, rivermen, trackers and guides, gypsies and explorers and our women are known far and wide for their embroidery. Caerean garments, drapery and tapestries are treasured in all markets, merchant guilds and even palaces. We Caereans honor no kings. Our rulers are bards, prophets and rangers. Descendants of bowmaster Caedorians, we are a proud people, and I am the last descendant of the House of Arrowloft. Like a nymph whose soul is entwined with her lake, we too are protectors of these lands our predecessors roamed. For this we few Caerean rangers are respected by the sylvan and dwarven races who ordinarily regard men with disdain and suspicion.
I had flown for a few weeks to get here after leaving last Conclave. To me it was assigned to find our missing First Ranger but now Cavin Knightshade would have to wait. Nor could I return home just yet. An ogre on a giant spider brings an army from the underworld toward my homeland and there's something distant yet familiar to me about this development. An elusive memory that laughs at my inability to catch it.
I let my drake rest, taking the time to adjust the straps on my double-quiver baldric. My bow was a gift from the Aelvani wood elves of Everleaf. Finely sculpted. One of my quivers holds the poisonous splintershaft arrows and the other was full of flint, iron-tipped and some magical halo-burst arrows also given to me by the Aelvani. Though I'd never used one I have seen the destruction they inflict. Another quiver hangs from my drake's harness holding many obsidian-headed arrows with a couple more poisonwoods. Also attached was my waraxe, forged by the dwarves of Emim'gard. My favorite weapon is a bluesteel longknife with our Borderealm ranger insignia on the side of the shiny blade-an arrow encircled by seven stones on a shield.
Insects I could not see began chirping nearby and the distinct hooting of an owl broke the silence from the darkness in the branches above. My drake blinked up at me but did not stop- chewing. I listened to the forest begin to awaken again, satisfied that we were alone. Many evil stories are told about this place. The few elves and faeries of Everleaf that talk to me have warned me away from this wood. They whisper of creatures and shadowy feylorn that have never been seen in Borderealm, some stories almost unbelievable. Almost. Unlike humans, exaggeration and lying are not faery traits.
Once finished with her meal, I mounted my mountaindrake as she raised up and stretched along the expansive bough of the giant tree. Powerful muscles rippled from front to back of her flanks. I looked around one last time. The trees were heroic in size and I knew there were many things living high amid their branches. I exhaled anxiously, knowing that I might have to return to this forsaken place.
Fifteen thousand orcs cutting down a road that pointed eastward toward my people's lands and neighbors. What needs so large a road through this wood?
Don't misunderstand me. I'm the one telling you what happened because I am one of the few who survived. I'm just the voice telling someone else's tale.
Darkfrost Peaks...goblin domain of King Ugul
The second group of goblin envoys failed to return and King Ugul trembled. There would be no peaceful surrender nor an alliance. He stared hollow-eyed at his worried commanders.
Every castle and cavernhold in the southern mountains had fallen. Survivors lucky to escape were already at Mount Zoab. Those who had not made it were being rounded up by large orcs or eaten by the hideous six-legged beasts from the underworld. Far away the black smoke of burnt fortresses could be clearly seen despite the distance. As the sun lowered over the western edge of Darkfrost the king could see the yellow of the fires that still burned. Heavy footsteps and ragge
d breathing was heard just before a thin goblin messenger stumbled into the chamber of the upper tower protruding from the side of the mountain.
"They begin their attack!"
King Ugul and the commanders stepped out onto the balcony and looked down in dismay. Below them was a court full of armored goblins protected inside a walled enclosure outside of the mountain. The court was protected by an outergate fortress. They watched on fearfully as four huge dusk giants from Hollowrealm in the Deep wearing thick boneplate armor pushed a long, iron-capped battleram toward the gates. The ram was faced with the horrible visage of a wrinkled, laughing ogre.
With little effort the ram of the giants pushed through the gates, splintering the wood and fracturing to pieces the granite doors beyond. King Ugul watched as all around him from windows, balconies, terraces below, beside and above him rained a storm of rocks, spears and arrows upon the giants. From cave recesses and ledges hundreds dropped, shot or aimed their weapons at the hunkering dusk giants, who cast aside their battleram once the outergate entrance was ruined. Under the rain of rocks, arrows and spears they retreated.
The blood drained from King Ugul's face at the sight of so organized an assault. Rows of hornback orcs in heavy armor with spears, shields and axes. Great battleworn ogres and unusual goblins were arranged in archer brigades. In the smoke-filled sky over the conflict flew alien bat-dragonoid things with four-armed dark elves on their backs. Also darted about winged goblins with hooked spears never before seen in Darkfrost.
King Ugul had known nothing but horde warfare. The discipline of the underworld army astonished he and his commanders. Among the multitudes of the enemy were black robed sorcerer elves and draconian warlocks. The cavalry of the underworlders were of breathlessly fast reptiles and hulking hammertaurs with orc riders surrounding the mountain and concentrated in it its passes. On a knoll at the base of the mountain a huge single-horned ogre sat astride a monster with many long, thin legs just watching. Behind this fiersome leader and appearing as if they would not be joining the attackers were rows upon rows of thousands of warrior orcs, more dusk giants, titan ogres, goblin archer brigades, siege engine brigades, dark elves, wizards, mageguards and a howling herd of six-legged monsters.
Beyond Dagothar (The Oraclon Chronicles Book 1) Page 1