The Orb of Truth

by Brae Wyckoff

  “I grow tired of you, Dwarf. After I kill you and the human, I will be taking care of the halflings.”

  “You talking about us?” Bridazak’s voice echoed down the corridor.

  Vevrin turned his head to see the Ordakians. Bridazak’s bow was trained on the mage, a glowing arrow notched and ready to fire.

  “An arrow is all you have? You will need more than that, child.”

  “Release Dulgin, or I will kill you,” Bridazak retaliated—a renewed strength in his voice.

  Vevrin smirked, and responded with a pinch of the fingers controlling the hand, shoving Dulgin harder into the ceiling.

  Bridazak loosed his arrow. It soared down the corridor and then ignited into a brilliant yellow aura. Vevrin’s eyes changed from confident to concerned just as the tip hit his shoulder above the arm that wielded his staff. There was an explosion. Dulgin slid down the wall, choking in fresh air. The smoke cleared, and just a few feet away lay the mystic. His arm was gone. Blood spat out of the opening and bone was visible through the shredded flesh. Vevrin’s breathing was labored.

  Dulgin suddenly heard the rattle of his axe as the magnetization spell wore off. He caught it as it fell from the ceiling, crossed the hall, and triumphantly stood over the fallen wizard.

  “I’d like you to meet my axe,” he indignantly came down with the killing blow.

  Sounds of combat from inside the room Abawken had gone into ended the Dwarf’s moment of victory and reunion with his friends. Dulgin fought through the pain of his wounds and quickly made his way to the open doorway. Inside, the air elemental was still battling the Hammer, while Abawken was engaged with two of Manasseh’s men. A couple of guards lay on the ground dead. Fire bees were being flung around in the cyclonic air from Abawken’s summoned creature, but most of them were now lifeless. Another huge swing from the Hammer destroyed the elemental and the wind suddenly subsided.

  The Hammer turned to see the approaching Dwarf.

  “You are one ugly boy.” Dulgin moved in with his axe.

  Abawken felled another guard. The remaining sentry was younger than the others, and his sword was shaking in his hands. The oversized helmet did not move as the boys head shifted easily within to look at the Dwarf and human. Abawken had waited to engage him last on purpose.

  “Sheath your weapon, lad,” he said. The boy clearly understood he was no match and dropped his sword. It clanked on the ground. A bee burned into his neck and he reactively brought his hand up to squash the intruder.

  Dulgin had already given the Hammer a deep cut into its thigh and caused him to fall. He was quite battered now; there was no more fight in him. As much as Dulgin wanted to destroy the deformity, he just couldn’t do it. There was something innocent in his brown eyes.

  “Ah, you’ve been misguided your whole life. I can’t do it.” The Hammer laid there holding his wound, softly groaning. Dulgin pointed his finger at him, “I expect you to change your ways or I will come back.” Abawken kneeled down to the fallen torturer and wrapped a makeshift bandage around the cut from pieces of his clothing.

  The Ordakians appeared in the doorway.

  “Bridazak!” Abawken jumped to his feet and quickly moved to embrace him.

  “I had that mystic right where I wanted him. I didn’t need your help,” Dulgin stubbornly insisted.

  “Of course, my friend. My apologies,” Bridazak grinned.

  “Ah shut yer trap ya blundering fool, and give me a hug.”

  Dulgin peered up from his embrace to look at Spilf. “Hey, Amazing Stubby.”

  “Oh, how I have missed your jokes, Dulgin.”

  “Come here, Baldy!” The Dwarf pulled Spilf in to hug both at the same time.

  “You must be Master Spilfer. My name is Abawken.”

  Spilf looked to the fighter and thankfully acknowledged him with a greeting of, “Hello.”

  “Well, I hate to break up this reunion, but we need to get to the Tower, as Master El’Korr suggested,” the human proposed.

  “This place is a maze. It will be near impossible to find it and not to mention we will probably encounter more guards, if we’re not careful,” Dulgin warned.

  “We have a guide,” he pointed back to the young man behind him who was still shaking.

  “What’s yer name boy?” Dulgin asked.

  “Uh, it’s Jack.”

  “You are kind of young to be down in the dungeons.”

  “Um, my father got me in.”

  Bridazak stepped forward, smiling at the lad. Jack wore the black leather armor uniform. It was scrunched in several areas as it was too big for his stature and his helmet almost covered his grey eyes. The nose shield extended to his mouth; it was quite humorous to see. Bridazak felt a rush of warmth toward this youth.

  He sighed slightly, “Your father is fine. He is locked in the cell I was in. Do you know it?”

  Jack nodded—half shocked, half confused.

  “Take us to the Tower and then go and free him.”

  Dulgin and Abawken made eye contact, and then looked to Spilf to explain. He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Master Bridazak, how do you know his father?” Abawken asked.

  “They have the same eyes,” he answered, following the boy out to the corridor. “Let’s go.”

  .

  19

  The Fall

  Manasseh, standing in the circular sacrifice chamber, relished in his victory of capturing the elusive Ordakian and destroying the orb he thought was so important. He wallowed in the strength of the Tree directly below him; he felt invincible. He had done it all on his own merit, without the aid of the dark deity. Truly, the godlike being would be impressed with his accomplishments and reward him accordingly; the entire realm of Ruauck-El was like a ripe apple, waiting for his grasp to pluck it. The other Horns would soon bow to him and he would be the sole Horn King of all. Thoughts of power and conquest rifled through his mind, when he suddenly heard the click of the door release. Manasseh quickly backed up to the wall and magically blended in, to view the unexpected visitor.

  “Empty,” Rondee said. He started to close the door.

  “Wait!” El’Korr held it open. The Dwarf king entered, examining, “This chamber is used for sacrifices.”

  “I don’t see how that matters,” Xan followed after him. “Probably one of many.”

  “I don’t know, Xan. I feel something in my bones about this place.” He approached the cracked and broken stone bed, and reached down to touch the chipped rock—and was suddenly hit by a vision. The room transformed and there were ghostly images of King Manasseh, a mystic in red robes, and a large, deformed human. The Orb of Truth was placed on the stone tablet and he watched in horror as it was destroyed. The earth rumbled and quaked and the rock altar split. His vision ended.

  “El’Korr? El’Korr!” He heard Xan yelling at him. “What happened?”

  “The Orb is destroyed,” he said slowly, in shock.

  “How do you know this?”

  “I saw it in a vision. We have lost.” The normally sturdy voice of the dwarven King wavered in light of what had transpired. His thoughts caused his stomach to tighten, “How can evil have triumphed like this? Our beloved voice of God is silenced.”

  “El’Korr, maybe what you saw was a trick. Something Manasseh wanted you to see.”

  “No, I was there; it happened. The Orb is no longer part of the plan.”

  “Then what is?”

  Almost in spite of himself, the dwarven determination rose up in him, “We will not give up! We need to find the others and get to the tower, to give Raina a sign.” He left briskly, Rondee and Xan following their leader out of the murderous room.

  King Manasseh stepped out from hiding and whispered, “I will meet you there.”

  Raina stepped safely into the Tower after luring the undead mystics to her new location. Before they arrived, she took in a large breath of air and slowly exhaled, thick fog supernaturally poured out of her mouth and filled the chamber. S
he was able to see through the mist of her spell as if it didn’t exist. As she waited for the risen mages to take her bait, two fireballs suddenly erupted around her. She was immune to the fire damage, but the lich wizards now contained dark energy, too, and that was something she couldn’t absorb. Her life force began to drain from her body, but she withstood the assault.

  “You will need to do more than that to take down the Sheldeen Mystic,” she said under her breath. “Let’s see how you will fair against this,” she readied her next attack. A spell, shot from her staff, soared out one of the balconies where an undead mage hovered. A javelin of light speared it directly. The energy blasted it backwards, flipping head over feet in the air until it fell out of sight. “One down, two to go,” she thought.

  A surging, dark bolt of electricity raged toward her location. She fell prone and successfully dodged it; a chunk of cement on the back wall shattered from the blast. The remnants of the electric charge crackled about the room. Another fireball exploded around her. The pain of the dark energy caused her to cry out. She crawled to the wall and positioned herself in the most strategically protective corner. “Come now, Raina. This is nothing you haven’t handled before,” she said under her breath.

  A lich moved to an open balcony, only to encounter another aspect of her spell; it was a blessed fog—it not only hid her exact location, but burned like acid once anything evil in nature entered it. The hiss of seared flesh faded as it escaped the magical mist in haste. The creature was still active, but now they all would know they couldn’t enter the chamber.

  The battle continued below her—steel clashed against shields, the screams of the dying, and the roar of dwarven war cries. Raina risked moving to an opening to find out how things were fairing, knowing her fog would protect her from the undead’s sight, as long as she remained inside. There was only a sliver of a view below. The undead had entered the courtyard. The dwarves had done their best to hold off the overwhelming numbers, but the lines of defense were crumbling. A mound of bodies laid at the gate entrance, impeding movement. She could see her fallen comrades mingled in amongst the dead.

  “Where are you, El’Korr?” she asked herself.

  “He’s on his way,” an unfamiliar, raspy voice said from behind her.

  There was no time for her to react before the blade entered her back and came through her chest. The whites of her eyes flared and her face contorted in pain; she gasped for air.

  “Thank you, Jack,” Bridazak said to the young teenage boy. “Now go and get your father and leave this place.”

  The emotionally torn boy bravely announced to the heroes, “I wish I could go with you.”

  “It’s important for you to be with your family.”

  “I won’t forget you. I will tell my dad that you saved me.”

  One by one the heroes reached out to Jack and grabbed his shoulder or ruffled his short brown hair. Jack waited and watched the heroes disappear down the corridor toward their goal: the Tower of Recall. He sighed, placed his oversized helmet back onto his head, and then turned to head out and rescue his father.

  “How do you know this is the right way, El’Korr?” Xan asked as they rapidly moved down the corridors.

  “I am following a strange feeling I have; trust me!” the Dwarf responded. “We need to move quickly.”

  Rondee stopped Xan, “Best to bienke tomincko fox weather?” He trotted off to catch up to his king.

  Xan couldn’t understand the Wild Dwarf. “What a strange breed,” he said to himself.

  “It’s here!” El’Korr announced.

  Xan came around the corner to see an ornate door bearing golden hinges and an emblem of a castle tower burned into the wood.

  “This is it. This will take us to the tower.” El’Korr opened the entrance and then began the climb up the stairs.

  “Let’s hope the others were as successful as we were in finding it.”

  “We failed, Xan. My only hope now is seeing what I can do to help my people, and get us all out of here, alive.”

  Abawken was the first to enter the semi-fog-filled room. The mysterious mist was dissipating and he could see some amber light coming in through four openings. His scimitar was drawn. Dulgin entered right behind him while the Ordakians peered through next.

  “You have, surprisingly, been quite a challenge, I must say,” a voice echoed. They were unable to pinpoint its location.

  Abawken waved his sword once, releasing a magical gust of wind to push the remaining fog away. Stepping out from one of the balconies was Raina. The heroes smiled until they realized she was being held from behind by King Manasseh, a dagger blade protruding from her chest, blood melding into her flowing, lavender robes. Some of the skin on Manasseh’s face had been eaten away by Raina’s acid fog.

  “Thank you for ridding us of that nasty spell of hers. She is quite a fighter. It appears she wanted to wait for you before she died. How touching.”

  “She better not die,” Dulgin challenged.

  “Let her go, Manasseh!” Abawken blared.

  “Let me break down this situation. You tried to destroy my Tree— failed. Your army tried to beat mine—failed. Your most powerful mystic— well, let’s just say she failed.”

  “I don’t care about any of that; all I care about is splitting you in two, just like I did your most powerful mystic. That’s right, he failed,” Dulgin countered.

  “You killed my wizard; success for you. I would applaud you, but as you can see my hands are not free to do so,” he mocked.

  Raina’s concentration was focused on her shallow breathing. She clutched her wooden staff tightly with both hands. Her knuckles turned white.

  Spilf nudged Bridazak and whispered, “Your arrows are glowing.”

  He looked at the quiver. There were only five arrows remaining, and all of them were active.

  “Her life is fading right before your eyes,” King Manasseh mocked. “Have you ever held the life of another in your hands? They are helpless. All the power resides in you to save them. But do you let them live, or die?”

  “I always choose for them to live,” Abawken responded.

  “Ah, yes, the good inside you pushes you to a single answer. Your goodness gives you no choice. I pity you.”

  “What do ya want?” Dulgin asked taking a step closer.

  “I’m just waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “For your other friends to arrive.”

  “There is no one else.”

  “Xan and El’Korr might say differently.”

  Dulgin growled at the evil man. Abawken then noticed that Manasseh’s wounds were slowly healing—regenerating.

  Bridazak and Spilf both heard the sounds of armor moving up the circular stairway below them.

  “Someone’s coming,” Spilf whispered loudly to the others.

  “Ah, we have more company. Perfect. I was getting bored,” Manesseh said.

  Another minute passed until finally the dwarven king’s brilliant armor manifested around the bend with Rondee and Xan right behind him. They spotted the Ordakians first, but their elation quickly subsided when they saw the horror of the situation.

  “Raina!” El’Korr shouted as he entered.

  Rondee instinctively held Xan back once he came into view, and for good reason, as the screaming Elf lunged for her.

  “We are all here. Now let her go,” Abawken said.

  “Yes, we have quite a reunion, don’t we? All your friends are here, Elf wizard,” he whispered into her ear vindictively. The villainous king looked at each of them in disgust. They waited on him. He could feel the power he had in his hands and he thrived on it. “I waited so we could talk, man to man.”

  “Stop your charades. One way or another, we will kill you,” El’Korr declared.

  His face was nestled on her shoulder and neck area, “My dear, it appears that I need to have some time alone with these gentlemen. This is a boy’s only conversation, and clearly you are not a boy,” h
e began to take a step backward toward the stone railing of the balcony. “Give my love to your army!”

  Manasseh spun Raina off the ledge and she plummeted out of view. The heroes rushed the area, but Manasseh turned to face them with his bloody dagger in hand, and they were forced to stop.

  “We have some business to take care of, and I hope you won’t disappoint me.” Suddenly, a black armor phased in to surround him and a wicked, two-handed sword made of dark metal materialized in his hand, replacing the dagger. Both sides of the blade were laced with etchings. The hilt was carved with black dragon heads flaring outward with glowing, ruby gemmed eyes. His impenetrable plate mail armor covered him from head to toe. Manasseh’s powerful voice boomed through his helmet, “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  A dark bolt of lightning suddenly sailed in and struck Abawken and Dulgin. One of the undead mystics floated into view. The pain wracked their entire body and they fell to their knees. An arrow of light soared from Bridazak’s bow through the open balcony, and struck the lich. The daks watched as it shattered into pieces and its crimson, tattered robe fluttered away.

  El’Korr and Rondee entered into melee against the wicked king. Xan ran to the balcony in desperation, but he knew he did not have a spell that could save her. He watched her plummet but at the last moment, a huge bronze dragon swooped in and grabbed the fallen Elf before she hit the ground.

  “Zeffeera,” Xan breathed a sigh of relief.

  Bridazak held another magical arrow ready, “Spilf, keep your eyes open for any mystics.”

  Abawken and Dulgin were back up, and moving in to help the others with Manasseh. Four fighters against one. The king parried the multiple attacks coming in at him, and they moved about the room engaged in the ultimate battle dance.

  “Very good. The skill that you all have is incredible. Better than I had imagined,” Manasseh taunted while parrying another blow.

  Xan stepped back into the room and cast a spell. “Kelloos viamont baruve!” A ghostly figure of a bear appeared over each of the hero’s heads and then melded into them. Each of them could feel the power of the spell. They clutched their hilts tighter as their strength increased.