Dragonsphere (The Fallen King Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Fierce

  Could the weak voice be Orlek, the magic-wielding Orc? Judging by the voice, Calderon figured him to be weak and near death. How could something so weak pose such a threat to the people? He shrugged his doubts away. He had seen the army of Orcs marching into the valley. He steeled his nerves and forced himself in the direction he thought the voice came from.

  He nearly tripped. He yelled at himself in his mind, listening. He could hear something shuffling around, coming nearer. His hands began to shake. Calderon didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to risk injuring himself, but what if Orlek realized he wasn’t a rat? He forced himself to calm down. Pulling the dagger that the robed man had given him out from his belt, he clenched the hilt tightly in his hand.

  He heard the voice muttering something unintelligible. There was no other way around it. Calderon pulled out a flat stone that Cygnus had given him. The man told him not to use any light, but he couldn’t see a blasted thing. He tossed the stone into the air and it lit up, momentarily blinding him. He heard a screech and gained his vision back enough in time to see something flying toward him. They crashed to the ground in a heap, and something was clawing at Calderon. The blade fell from his hand and he lashed out with his fists, pummeling with all his might.

  He managed to push the thing away and scrambled to his feet. He saw the glint of metal in the dim light and quickly retrieved the blade. Whatever had attacked him was hiding in the corner, where the light didn’t reach. Calderon cautiously made his way toward the shadows. The creature came hobbling out toward him. If this was Orlek, the creature was far from intimidating. It was thin and skinny. Its skin was reddish-brown and hung loosely from its frame. Scraggly long black hair covered its head. Two large teeth jutted up from its bottom jaw, protruding from its lips.

  The creature was certainly ugly, but nothing frightening. Calderon held the blade out in front of him in an attempt to keep the thing at bay. It seemed to work as the creature paused, looking at the blade intently. “Where did you get that?” the creature rasped.

  “From one you drew into your dark scheme,” Calderon answered, using the phrase the robed man had told him. The creature laughed, a guttural, raucous noise. “I used him as I have used so many others,” Orlek said. “I told that fool the magic was unpredictable at best. It was never meant for humans. Why have you come here?”

  Calderon fought the feeling of despair. It was thick, palpable. “I have come to kill you,” he said. Orlek laughed again. “I have died many times. You may kill me, and you may not. Though if you do, what good will it do? I will merely rise from the grave once again.”

  Calderon shook his head. “Not this time.” He lunged forward, attempting to stab Orlek in the chest. Orlek was weak and his body was deteriorating, but he was not slow. The orc leaped out of the way, turned around, and slugged the monk in the shoulder. Calderon tumbled to the ground under the forceful blow, scraping his hands and knees on the rocky floor of the cave.

  Orlek needed a new body. What kind of havoc could he create if he took the body of a man? The thought repulsed him. Maybe he would just kill the human and eat him. He shambled over to the man. Calderon slashed Orlek across his foot. The orc cried out in pain but did not flee. Calderon got to his knees and rammed his shoulder into the creature, forcing Orlek to trip and fall backwards. Calderon was on him quickly, straddling the orc. Orlek moved his arms frantically, trying to push the man off of him. His strength was failing him.

  Calderon forced his left arm under Orlek’s arms and pushed them up, leaning forward and using his weight to hold them up. His brought his right hand in, still holding the dagger, and plunged the blade into the orc’s chest. Orlek howled in anguish, and Calderon withdrew the blade and stabbed again and again. A rush of anger and emotions swirled within the young monk. Anger at this creature for causing so much evil, anger that he had lost his friend Velkyn to madness, anger at the men who raped Velkyn’s woman and stole their belongings.

  He stabbed Orlek again and again, losing himself in his anger. Orlek had long since stopped moving, his blood a massive pool around his body. By the time Calderon came to his senses, he had stabbed the orc more than a dozen times. He sat atop the dead orc, his breath coming in heaving gasps. When he had caught his breath, he pulled himself off Orlek’s body and grabbed the dagger. There was one thing the man had told him was of extreme importance, otherwise Orlek could bring himself back to life. Calderon grabbed hold of the orc’s hand and pressed the blade into the armpit, severing the arm. He began removing Orlek’s limbs, one by one.

  He had almost finished when the light of the magical stone began to sputter and crackle. Calderon looked at the stone, still hovering in the air. The light would start to dim and then flare up briefly dimming once again.

  Calderon realized too late. That was no ordinary light. Calderon flung the limbs in different directions, grabbed Orlek’s head by the hair, and ran toward the tunnel that brought him into the chamber. The light dimmed, then faded altogether. And then it exploded. Calderon crashed to the ground, smashing his head onto the rocks of the cave floor. Darkness, silent and comforting, took him.

  • • •

  Donovan watched the soldiers of Talvaard. They had snuck out of the back gate of the city and split into two groups, each group heading around the city and toward the front. They were going to try and route the orc army that had gathered at the front of the city. “They are outnumbered,” Donovan remarked to Cygnus. “It was not my decision,” the half-blood said. “The generals decided it amongst themselves.”

  Donovan knew that. He just felt obligated to say something to try and stop them. It was a suicide mission. “Do you think Calderon will succeed?” he said aloud, not really asking anyone.

  Cygnus didn’t say anything. He hadn’t taken his gaze off the mountains for the last twenty minutes. “They seem to be waiting,” Donovan said. Cygnus nodded. “They await the right opportunity. Probably nightfall,” the half-blood answered. A rumbling sound like that of thunder filled the air. All eyes, including the orcs’, went to the sky. The Vish mountain, it appeared, had exploded. Dust and debris filled the air and tremors shook the ground.

  “Orlek is dead,” Cygnus said incredulously. “He did it. Calderon slew Orlek!” Donovan was just as surprised. He noticed the Talvaard soldiers had taken the advantage of the disturbance to launch their attack against the orcs.

  The creatures might have outnumbered them, but they didn’t stand a chance. The route was working and the orcs began to scatter. “The four winds take them,” Donovan cursed. He looked back to the mountain. “What of Calderon? Why did the mountain explode? Where is he?” his tone was frantic.

  Cygnus laid his hand on Donovan’s shoulder. “It is unlikely we will see him again. Take comfort in his sacrifice, my friend. Because of him, many will live.” Donovan burst into tears. His eyes blurred. He could barely see the orcs fleeing the field in all directions. “It’s over,” he vaguely heard Cygnus say. “It’s finally over.”

  Donovan was going to miss the young monk. He had really grown fond of him. He slumped down with his back against the wall. “What now?” he asked, his tone pleading. Cygnus knelt beside him. “Now?” The half-blood paused and looked across the city. “Now, we work toward peace.”

  “Order is not pressure which is imposed on society from without, but an equilibrium which is set up from within.”

  - Jerik

  EPILOGUE

  Jovanna opened her eyes. Her body was throbbing with pain and she couldn’t see from her left eye. She attempted to sit up but the pain was too much. She slumped back down. She lifted her left hand, excruciating pain lancing through the limb. Her skin was splotched black and red. It was slimy looking and appeared to be covered in some kind of salve. She reached over to feel it with her right hand.

  “Don’t touch it.”

  The voice startled her. She looked the other way and saw an old man standing there. “It’s my arm. I’ll touch it if I want.” The old man smiled and sh
rugged. “I’m only trying to help.”

  He seemed familiar to her for some reason. “Where am I?” Jovanna asked. The old man drew near to her. “You are safe. Do you remember what happened?” She stared at him with her good eye. She tried to remember, but all she got was a swirling mass of fog in her brain. “I rescued you from a battlefield,” he said.

  A battlefield … she tried to remember. “There was an army,” she said softly, trying to piece the fragments of memory together. “A city.” It all came back to her. Her eyes widened. “The dragon in the prince! I had the sphere …” she went quiet, looking at the man distrustfully.

  He nodded knowingly. “I know. I was there. Like I said, I rescued you from the battle. My name is Jerik. And I know you are Jovanna. I have heard many things about you and your unique gift. Perhaps when you feel better we can talk more about why you are here.”

  Jovanna rolled onto her side to better see the man. “Jerik,” she whispered. She had seen him before. In the forest, talking with another man. “I saw you,” she said. “In the woods with another …” she glanced about the room. Jerik smiled. “Yes. You are coming back better than I expected.”

  “Back? From where? Was I dead?” she asked, confused.

  “Nearly,” he answered. “Your soul was on the fringes of your body. I managed to coax your soul to come back.”

  “Why would you help me? No one has ever helped me,” she said pitifully, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

  “We will talk more about this when you are feeling better,” he bade gently. “Get some rest, Jovanna. And welcome,” he added. He turned to leave the room.

  “Welcome to what?” she called out.

  “To the Guardians,” he answered. Then he turned and left.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Richard Fierce lives in Georgia with his wife and three step-daughters. He is the author of several novels including Dragonsphere. Feel free to contact the author.

  Email: Richard.Fierce@yahoo.com

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