Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1)

by J Drew Brumbaugh

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  When Gant and Jarlz reached Blasseldune, there was a happy reunion with Chamz at the Hammond House. He had healed and taken a job working as security for the freight company, his swordsmanship now somewhat of a legend in its own right. His first day on the job he'd stopped two disgruntled ex-employees in their tracks, barely harming either. Now he thanked Gant for teaching him how to disarm ruffians without cutting their arms off.

  The reunion was short-lived as Jarlz was in a hurry to get back to Netherdorf, spurred by a messenger from the king calling all his knights back. Chamz likewise was eager to go back to Netherdorf to see his family. He was not looking forward to being considered a commoner once more and keeping his sword hidden. Somehow, he’d manage it for a while.

  It was a sad parting the following morning as Jarlz and Chamz rode west toward Netherdorf. Chamz promised he'd be back in a week, ten days at the most, and Gant promised to wait. Gant rode with them a short way out of town before turning back for Blasseldune. Thanks to his tournament winnings he didn't need to work. But he wondered what he was going to do until Uric let him know that Varg had returned. He wouldn't have to wonder long.

  Chapter 15

  Three days later Gant sat in Hammond House’s common room, picking disinterestedly at his bowl of porridge. He was bored. Yesterday he’d sat in the common room all day because the wind and rain made going outside miserable. Today the sun broke through the clouds and Gant itched to go out and do something. Half-heartedly he finished his porridge.

  A group of road weary men sat at a corner table eating and talking low. As Gant was about to leave, one of them raised his voice and Gant heard him say, “I know it's Varg. And someone's got to do something about it before we all die.”

  “Shh,” hissed one of his companions, grabbing him by the elbow.

  Gant stopped, turned and walked to the table. The one who'd mentioned Varg had his back to Gant. He wore a long, dark cloak that disguised his physique. The man turned and stared at Gant. The stranger had a bony face with a sharp nose, brown eyes and high, pronounced cheekbones. He had black hair cut short and bushy eyebrows that vaulted over his eyes in a dark ridge.

  As Gant reached their table, the man turned back to his companions.

  “Excuse me,” said Gant.

  “No excuse for you,” mumbled the stranger focusing on his bowl of porridge.

  “Leave us alone,” said one of the others.

  Gant stayed where he was. “You’ve seen Varg?”

  “I barely escaped death, youngster, and right now I just want to be left alone.”

  Gant retreated half a step. “But you said you'd seen Varg.”

  The man turned toward Gant and glared for a long minute. “Yes,” he finally said, “I did escape Varg. Unfortunately, my partners weren't so lucky.”

  “How do you know it was Varg?” asked Gant, seating himself on the bench next to the stranger.

  “Because the king sent us to kill him.”

  “The king? Which king?”

  “King Tirmus, of course. He knew that Varg showing up spelled doom for all us good folks and what with his knights scattered round the countryside, he hired some of us independents with a reputation for accomplishing our mission.”

  “Where is Varg?” Gant's mind spun. If it was Varg, then it was his responsibility to kill the monster. And if the king wanted the demon vanquished, here was a way to redeem himself in the process. Perhaps he could go home.

  “It was on the road south, almost to Falls Hill. There's a cave off the road used by lots of travelers for shelter. Or it used to be. Now, Varg's holed up there and kills anyone gets close.”

  “Can you show me where it is?” asked Gant.

  “Show you? Are you crazy? I'm never going back there. Besides, I've got to get to Netherdorf to report to his Majesty. He's not going to like what I have to say, but it needs said.”

  “How will I recognize where to turn off the road?”

  “It's not hard. The path is wide and plain enough. It leads east through a stand of aspens, the only aspens around, about half way between Falls Hill and the Rushon River ford. You do know where Falls Hill is, don’t you?”

  “Sort of,” said Gant. He’d only heard of the Eastern Emperor’s summer home in tales at his father’s smithy.

  “It’s easy enough to find but you're a fool if you go there.”

  Gant got up and started for his room. “Maybe not,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Sure,” said the stranger and went back to his companions.

  Packing his belongings, Gant thought of the stranger in Devonshield who claimed he found the sword that Gant recognized outside a cave. It sounded like the same cave where this man claimed Varg was. Same cave, same demon. The two stories added up and Gant was sure he’d found the demon he was supposed to vanquish.

  He finished packing in a hurry and settled with the innkeeper. Before he left Gant had the innkeeper promise that if Jarlz and Chamz returned to Blasseldune, he would tell them that he was going to kill Varg and let them know where. He loaded his horse and left before the noon meal, heading south on the road that led through the Great Forest to the Rushon River and then on to Falls Hill.

  Chapter 16

  Gant traveled south toward Falls Hill. The road led through the Great Forest and while less traveled than the northern roads, it was still wide and well maintained by the Eastern Empire. Gant knew little about the empire other than at present there was a boy emperor who hardly ever left his capital city.

  Even during midday the road was shrouded in deep shade. Streams made fishing easy and Gant never lacked for food or water. The armor Uric gave him had a magical lightness to it that made traveling comfortable. The autumn days were still warm while the nights had a snap that made a fire a necessity for warmth as well as for cooking.

  Gant hurried along, bent on finding and killing Varg not just to prevent the death of other innocent travelers, but he hoped that killing the demon would convince King Tirmus to pardon him. Though he harbored doubts that killing Varg would be enough.

  On the ride south Gant thought about his father, his mother, Gwen and home. Gant wanted more than anything to go home and see his family. He wondered if Gwen had suffered. Stopping Wendler was worth it if she was safe. These worries ate at him like an open sore.

  On the fifth day the road passed through a stretch of rolling hills, curved back and forth around huge rock outcroppings and came to the Rushon River. Gant forded it and continued south. He guessed that the cave wasn’t much farther and he pushed ahead eagerly.

  On the sixth morning, the road snaked through a brace of low hills, swung around a solid rock shoulder and ran through a grove of young aspens. A narrow path meandered off the road to the left. This was it.

  Gant turned his horse onto the path and passed quickly through the aspen grove. On the other side of the trees a mountain meadow stretched off to a ridge of steep hills. The path continued over a shallow brook and went on to a dark cave entrance. The black opening stood out like an ominous mouth.

  Gant halted, surveying the area. A horse with a leather hobble on its back legs grazed in the shade of the last aspens. Another horse roamed along near the cave entrance. Gant urged his horse forward. The nearest horse picked up its ears and eyed Gant suspiciously.

  Where were the riders? Inside the cave? Gant listened for sounds that might provide a clue. Only the wind whispered in his ears. He nudged his horse with his knees toward the hobbled stray.

  Climbing down from his horse he approached the stray. Laying a hand over the horse's neck, he said softly, “Easy there,” like he’d done in his father's smithy. He circled the animal, looking for injuries. Other than a few minor scratches from thorns the horse was fine.

  Gant examined the skin worn raw by the hobble. This horse had been unattended for some time. Gant reached down, loosened the hobble and pulled it off. No one would intentionally leave an animal that long. Something was wrong.

  Gant s
traightened, looked for the rider, a body, or signs of a struggle and found no useful clues. Something had happened to the horse's rider. The cave loomed silent.

  Gant hobbled his horse and walked to the cave mouth, cautiously scanning the ground as he approached. There was an old fire pit that hadn’t been used recently. Ashes from past fires were scattered around in front of the cave. Gant searched them for tracks but found nothing distinguishable.

  If Varg was in there, what would he look like? Gant didn’t know. He should have waited for Chamz to come back to Blasseldune, or better yet Jarlz or Uric. He should have found out at least what Varg looked like. Too late.

  Gant swallowed hard, his palms sweating. He reached for his sword and magically it leaped into his hand. Energy ran through his palm and up his arm strengthening his resolve.

  He stepped gingerly into the dark cave. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that the cave opened into an oval room with a high ceiling. Numerous blackened fire pits ringed the entrance. Several of the fire's remains were scattered, pieces of charred wood lay around mixed with broken packs, torn bedrolls and miscellaneous equipment. In one corner an overturned stew pot lay with its rotten contents spilled out on the stone floor.

  Cautiously Gant crossed the oval room, careful not to step on anything that would make noise. His eyes adjusted to the ever-dimmer light. His magical armor barely made a sound even on the hard stone floor.

  The walls glistened with dampness. Gant heard the faint sound of water dripping in the distance. As the darkness closed in him, Valorius began to glow, a soft blue light that spread out in a circle. Handy, thought Gant, but hardly enough light to prevent him from walking into an ambush.

  The room narrowed into a wide corridor that ran straight for a short distance and then turned to the right. At the corner Gant peered around it expectantly. Nothing. Only the distant pitter-patter of water drops hitting stone. The tunnel went straight off into the darkness. Gant worked his way forward, ever wary. His stomach twisted tighter. Where was Varg?

  Holding Valorius high in front of him, Gant tried to see as far as possible. Water dropped from the ceiling and oozed down the walls. Now the wet floor sloped downward and Gant slipped once, nearly sliding downhill. He braced himself against the wall with one hand and gripped his sword with the other.

  This wasn’t good. How could he fight Varg when he could hardly stand up? Maybe he should turn back, try to lure Varg outside. Gant slid down the corridor and ended up in a larger cavern with a flat floor. The ceiling and walls arched away into the blackness. The rotten smell of death assaulted Gant's nose. His stomach churned and he nearly vomited.

  Breathing through his mouth, Gant turned to his left and cautiously walked toward the smell. In a small rock alcove he found the remains of several bodies decayed beyond recognition. Bits of rotting flesh clung stubbornly to whitened bones.

  Gant's hand shook. A chill in the air swept over him. He shivered. This was worse than he'd imagined. Gant listened intently for some sound but heard only the hammering of his own heart.

  The loneliness struck him. What if he died here? No one would ever know. Not the king, not Jarlz, not Chamz, not his father. He took a deep breath. Uric claimed that Valorius had the power to kill this thing. What if he was wrong?

  Something heavy scraped across the stone floor behind Gant. He whirled but Valorius’ light didn’t go far enough to see whatever was there. Gant froze, listening. Metallic claws clattered on the hard stone. Something scaly slithered toward him. Gant retreated. A monstrous beast crawled into the light blocking his exit. It towered over him on four massive legs. A broad, flat, armored head peered down at him, yellow, reptilian eyes glaring. The lower jaw hung open revealing a row of huge teeth.

  Fear clutched Gant. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

  “Varg,” Gant managed in a shaky voice. “I've come to stop you here and now.” Gant inched back as he spoke, putting more distance between him and the creature. He looked for a weakness, some spot that was unarmored, unprotected. He didn’t see any.

  “Varg?” rasped the monster, his voice like gravel rolling in a barrel. “You may praise whatever gods you worship that I am not Varg. I am Egog, called here from the realms of darkness by some insignificant wizard. Right now I am hungry.”

  Gant hesitated. Was this a trick? If this wasn’t Varg, what was Gant doing here? It hardly mattered. Gant would either kill it or die trying. If he'd only waited for Jarlz. If only. That was fools talk. He was here, and so was this beast.

  Egog slithered closer. “It has been several days since I've eaten. Your kind doesn’t stop here anymore. I'll feed now. If you feel like screaming, please do so. It aids digestion.”

  Egog pounced, hitting Gant square in the chest, knocking him backward. Razor sharp teeth clamped shut around Gant’s midsection. Here and there a tooth penetrated Gant’s armor. Pain seared through him. But the armor held and Egog's teeth did not reach Gant’s vitals.

  Dazed from the initial impact, Gant barely managed to hang onto his sword. Slowly, Egog raised Gant off the floor until Gant was looking straight into one of Egog’s huge eyes. Reflexively Gant swung Valorius. Just as he swung, Egog shook his head back and forth slamming Gant sideways. Valorius struck the rock-hard scales of Egog’s eyebrow ridge. Sparks, a small explosion and a cloud of acrid smoke erupted. A numbing cold ran up Gant’s arm. Egog shuddered.

  The noise and smoke died away. Egog shook Gant again. Gant’s armor protected his exterior, but now he was being whiplashed back and forth. His head buzzed. Desperately, Gant lashed out again. Another flash. Thunder rolled down the corridor. Again an unearthly cold tingled along Gant’s arm. Ignoring the pain, Gant struck again and again. Each time the numbness grew and his grip on Valorius weakened. Smoke hung in the air burning Gant’s eyes. Egog bit down harder, trying to crack Gant’s armor.

  Gant was on the verge of unconsciousness. He could not die here, not before he had a chance to right things in Netherdorf. He cocked his arm for one last thrust, his strength failing, he drove Valorius at Egog’s eye. Somehow the sword struck true.

  Above the thunder and flash, through the numbness that bit his hand, a scream of pain. It was so loud, so penetrating, it deafened Gant. Suddenly, he was falling. Dream like, the floor came at him until he landed with a crash. Jarred back to his senses, Gant rolled over and staggered to his feet.

  He looked up through the smoke and saw green ooze dripping from one of Egog’s eye sockets. The monster recoiled in pain, stunned.

  “Praise be,” said Gant, rejoicing.

  “You miserable man-child,” roared Egog, “I shall crush your bones.”

  Gathering his strength Gant rushed the monster. With two hands, he chopped at the pillar-like left leg. Valorius cut through the scales, biting into the soft flesh beneath. The cold came again, but less this time. Gant spun and sliced the other front leg. Egog screamed again and tried to back up.

  Now Gant was underneath the beast and saw a crack in the belly scales, an ancient wound. With both hands he thrust straight up into it. Valorius plunged deep into the soft underbelly. Egog’s death scream was lost in the explosion that brought stones crashing from the ceiling.

  The shock wave drove Gant backward. He landed on the floor, fighting for breath. He peered out through the slits in his helm and watched the smoke drift lazily toward the roof. Finally, a gentle breeze blew from somewhere and through the wisps Gant saw Egog’s shattered hulk collapsed against the wall. The beast was dead.

  For a long time Gant lay still on the wet stone floor. He was too tired to feel joy, too hurt to move. A paralyzing cold gripped his hands. Eventually, he rolled over onto his back. Pain in his ribs reminded Gant of puncture wounds that dripped blood. He stared up at the lifeless gray stone ceiling dreaming of his father’s smithy, of his mother's cooking, of Netherdorf. If only he could be there now. He didn’t want to die alone.

  Nausea clutched his stomach. He fought it down. Shivers ran through him. He took a bre
ath, shook his head to clear it. He had to get out of there.

  He saw his mother's face. She seemed to be calling him. How long had he been lying there? How foolish everything seemed. Wendler, Netherdorf, all so distant and so unimportant as he lay on the cold stone floor his life oozing away. He faded in and out of consciousness.

  Eventually, he woke, remembered where he was and knew he had to get out of that stench-infested lair. If he was going to die, it would be in the open, where he would be found with the sky above him, not in this cave.

  Hand over hand he crawled, driven by an iron will. A trail of red blotches on the wet stone marked his agonizing progress. Little by little he worked his way back toward the entrance. Finally, his strength gone, weakened by the loss of blood, he could go no farther.

  Unconsciousness swept over him. He lay immobile, face down in the ash-covered dirt. Stars twinkled overhead. Gant didn’t notice. He’d been so intent on crawling that he failed to realize that he was outside the cave. Night had fallen. The sparse forest shielded him from the cool night winds but not from the watchful eyes that lurked at the edge of the aspen grove.

  Chapter 17

  The autumn sun climbed slowly above the rugged mountain tops, kissing each with first a touch of pink, then gold, and finally full sunlight. Its rays illuminated a heavily armored column of horsemen riding from Barlon Gorth's castle. The cheery light contrasted with the grim faces.

  Barlon surveyed his forces with red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. He'd hardly slept last night. Less than 600 men, hardly enough to attack a castle, he thought. But his primary weapons were deceit and treachery. If his plan within the walls was thwarted, he'd never win regardless of how many men he had. With luck this would be simple. He did have the seventy-five Knights of Habichon, who fought like a thousand men.

  No, his problem was not capturing Netherdorf Castle. His problem was capturing Uric alive. For that he trusted Razgoth. If anyone could contain that enigmatic sage, Razgoth could. Barlon’s master plan was based on reports that Uric was really a dragon. What if he wasn’t? That could be a problem.