Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest

by Bill T Pottle

  Soon they emerged from a cellar into a courtyard. The whole area seemed deserted, and it was so still, not even a lonely tumbleweed blew through the eerie tranquility. Any hopes of the fortress being abandoned, however were never even realized. They could all feel the wickedness. At the end of a courtyard was a door. Tarthur could feel that it was wrapped with magic runes of protection that would kill anyone foolish enough to open it. Yan went forward and began to disable it. Youin also knew magic, so she helped. Tarthur was about to volunteer to help also, but Gyeun stopped him. Tarthur would need his strength for later. They went through it, and into another courtyard. Then they went to the last door, and this one was wrapped with so many intricate seals of death and protection that Tarthur knew he would be needed to help undo it. That is, if they could undo it at all. Yan went up and put a simple, non-invasive explore spell to see what spells guarded it, and he was almost sent flying by the explosion that rocked the chamber. Yan stood up, brushed himself off, and shook his head sadly. They would have to find another way in. Gyeun was about to insist that there was no other way that he knew of when he was cut short.

  The door swung silently open on its own.

  “Welcome,” a voice echoed inside each head. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Tarthur looked up and saw the hideous form of the Death Lord Darhyn. It was the same one he had seen in his dream, but now he was bigger, darker, and more terrifying. In his hand he was holding a black sword that glowed red where there was no light. Next to Darhyn was a glistening orb that swirled with different hues of blue and black. Tarthur had never seen the Water Orb before, but he had no doubt as to what was lying before him.

  “You have come to bring me the Water Spell, boy.” Darhyn said it with such finality that Tarthur himself almost believed it. “If you wish, you may join me by handing over the spell willingly. Then we will rule this land together. If you resist, I will kill you and take the spell. Decide now.”

  “You fool!” Tarthur yelled out. Why would he have come all this way to join someone who had been trying to kill him for the last year? “I will never join you, and this day you die!” Tarthur was becoming enraged. He remembered all the pain that Darhyn had caused, and now he would get even.

  “As you wish,” Tarthur felt the words. “I have saved your pitiful life enough times. Now it ends.”

  Tarthur was lost in thought. Saved his life? The thought was soon banished as he saw Gyeun rush forward and attack Darhyn from the side. The Death Lord turned at this annoyance, but as he did, Youin had already sprung forward and grabbed the Orb. She tried to lift it, but was having trouble. Finally she got it, but Darhyn turned away from Gyeun and saw her as the new threat. He sent a barrage of fire from his fingertips right into the girl. She screamed for a second and still on fire managed to toss the Orb to Thon. The girl immediately dropped to the ground and rolled, but the white-hot fire had done its damage. She rolled three times and then was still.

  Thon ran with the Orb as Tarthur pulled out the spell that would allow him to banish this nightmare. Darhyn sensed the danger and sent another barrage of fire straight for the big man. His red fire was met by the blue fire of Dragon Yan. In the confusion, Yan had shifted shapes and was now facing Darhyn with his own fire to counteract that of the Dark One.

  Darhyn sensed the trouble he was in and with a snap of his fingers monsters flooded into the room. They headed straight for Thon. The big man knew he was in trouble, so he hefted the Orb with all of his strength and threw it straight for Tarthur, who reached out his hands to grasp it…

  A winged creature darted in front of Tarthur and grabbed the Orb before Tarthur had the chance. The monster beat his wings once and screeched in a high-pitched whine. He never finished it though. Gyeun leaped up as high as he could and rammed his sword into the creature’s soft underbelly. The monster toppled over and the Orb fell from his grasp.

  Tarthur hurriedly spoke the words of a levitate spell, and sent his force out to grab the Orb. It bounced once in the middle of the air as if it had fallen on a mattress, and then Tarthur reached out his spell and caressed the Orb. Fluidly, he called out to it and brought it near to him. Tarthur could feel himself succeeding. He could feel all of his doubts, insecurities, and problems of the last year being washed away. Tarthur felt the wild exhilaration surge through every part of his being, felt it fill him up and lift him off of the floor.

  Tarthur saw Darhyn fold his hands together in his cloak and bring them out with a tongue of flame floating above his palms. A yellowing scroll materialized in his hand, nearly identical to the one Tarthur had. This fight was just beginning. Darhyn read aloud the words, and then a blast of fire shot directly at Tarthur. Tarthur rolled out of the way, and commanded the Water Orb to come to his aid. He screamed at it for it to help him, to wash away Darhyn with its powerful floods.

  Nothing happened.

  Tarthur didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t command the Orb! Darhyn sent another stream of fire at him, and this time Tarthur got his leg singed. He quickly rolled it out. Why couldn’t he use the Orb?

  From far away, the memories of the merfolk and the words of their gentle leader came back to him. “Be flexible, be patient, flow with the water.” Tarthur reached inside of himself and let go. He relaxed; he yielded his control over the Orb. He allowed the power to flow over him, carrying him along wherever it would go.

  The Orb responded.

  A tsunami swept over the chamber of the Death Lord. Darhyn spread his hands, and sent waves of fire lancing out in all directions, evaporating the water and turning the room into a scalding sauna of steam. The steam cleared out of the vents and soon the room was as before. Darhyn called more monsters.

  Tarthur saw that one of these who came was a majestic knight, with a white horse and white banner, but the surprising thing was that he was dressed all in white armor. Tarthur had never seen white armor before, and this knight had a counterpart, dressed all in black. Instead of attacking Tarthur and Yan, they actually attacked the monsters themselves, helping Tarthur. The boy only briefly noticed, things were moving so fast.

  Now it was the Dark One’s time to attack. He sent huge torrents of fire out from his person, but Tarthur threw up the water spell to counteract them. They were evenly matched, but Darhyn had the monsters. There was no way they could win.

  Yan saw this quickly, and he beckoned for Tarthur to come out of the room. Gyeun was already there and as Tarthur glanced about the room he saw the body of Thon, lying in a heap of monsters that he had slain. The three ran from the chamber, and Gyeun led them along the right paths so soon they had at least a moment’s respite. All three had haggard breathing. Gyeun turned to speak to Tarthur.

  “We did it,” he said, but the exhilaration somehow was not in his voice. Tarthur still clutched the Water Orb. “Darhyn is too strong for us to beat right now. But, if we can escape with the Orb and bring it back to the front, we can combine it with the Power of Earth that the king has. It will be a long and hard battle, but we would win eventually. Then with both powers we could kill Darhyn and regain the third.”

  Tarthur didn’t really like that plan very much. It involved a lot of ifs and a lot of lives would be lost. They would have to make it out of the palace alive, sneak through Darhyn’s army which would be looking exclusively for them, and make it back to the king’s side. Tarthur sighed, “Well, if there is no other way…”

  * * *

  The battle had been raging fiercely on the front lines. Ever since the devastating death of the elven king, the allied forces had lost a little morale, but gained a new and fiercely tempered determination. They had followed Cilio’s plan of cautiously dropping back and were now only one day out of Breshen. They had been fighting hard, and it showed. In the battles since Tarthur and his escort had set out they had inflicted more damage than they had suffered. Yet they had suffered greatly in the battle that had let Tarthur through, and almost the whole diversionary charge had been wiped out. But they had bought their ch
ance.

  Sir Stephen was doing well with responsibility. He bore it like a fine cloak, and the duties seemed to fit him like never before. He was actually doing things very carefully, always taking time to make sure that they were done right. Yet, for all his attention to detail, his excitement had not waned. He was ready for this war, and he knew that they would win. His squadron was actually one of the better ones, even though it now had only sixty members in it. At Breshen, the rumor was that General Cilio was going to reorganize the army to account for the loss of life and even up the ranks a little bit. Sir Stephen held high hopes that he would get a good post.

  The battle that day opened almost as usual. The Death Lord’s armies were getting to be more habitual now; they would always attack toward late afternoon and force Cilio and his men to retreat at night, rest during the morning, and then prepare to be attacked again later that afternoon. Sir Stephen hoped that he was not just lulling them into a false sense of security, only to explode later. He also hoped Cilio would do something surprising. He seemed to be waiting for something.

  The next charge of the monsters cut short the young knight’s reverie as he galloped forward on his black horse, calling out for his troops to follow him. Sir Stephen met the first charge of mercenaries and rained down a blow from his sword on the nearest man’s head. The mercenary flung up an iron rod to deflect the strike, but the force of it still hurt the man’s arm. Sir Stephen wheeled up his horse and with a snap of the reigns the horse sent the man flying. Sir Stephen galloped straight for another man and swung his sword at this one also, but this time faked high and then sliced it across the mercenary chest. As the man doubled over in pain, Sir Stephen smashed the pommel of his sword down on his enemy’s face.

  The battle was going about average for a few hours, both sides trading positions. Cilio had given the order that they would try to hold for at least two days before retreating, and when they got to Breshen they would hold there indefinitely until they could gain an advantage or it would be strategic suicide to stay longer. No one wanted to think of falling all the way back to the king’s castle, although that would be the ultimate and last resort stronghold.

  Both armies had been suffered heavily in the long, hard battles that they had fought. If either army now faced the other army at full strength as they had in the beginning, it would be certain who would lose, and lose easily. Nearly forty percent of each army had been killed in one manner or another.

  * * *

  Sir Terin’s company was finally making headway in the battle, and had succeeded in cutting off a sizable section of Darhyn’s forces. Cilio sent Dalin’s elven company over to cut off their retreat, and Tali’s company to reinforce the attack on their front. If the rest of the army could hold, they would destroy a large section of Darhyn’s force.

  The monsters realized the trap that they had been led into, and turned to break free. If Dalin’s company could stop them, it would be all over for those monsters. The monsters charged into the elves, but the courageous warriors held their ground. Hano was rushing about, a red streak as his crimson cloak mingled with blood. He killed whatever he could, and smashed the legs of those he could not, so at least they would not escape, and someone could come along to finish them off later.

  A huge ogre came charging forward, offering a shield to his companions. He was trying to break the elven line and let the rest of his compatriots through to the safety of their other force. Before he knew it, he felt a shooting pain in his left knee. He looked down to see an elf screaming obscenities at him. Hano’s hate was complete. The monster looked down in annoyance and got a sword thrown in his eye for his trouble. Hano took a flying leap onto the monster, climbed up his back and grabbed hold of his mane. Tugging with all his might the elven warrior reached around, grabbed his sword back and decapitated the creature. His head rolled in the dust as blood oozed all over the field.

  Dalin came to fight side by side with his childhood friend. The pair relentlessly dispatched monster after monster. It was working. Darhyn’s entire right wing had been cut off and was nearly all destroyed. The tide of the battle was finally turning.

  A black shadow form came to fight Dalin. The shadow weaved and bobbed around, waiting for his chance. With a lightning quickness he shot right into Dalin’s chest. The elf prince tried in vain to bring his sword up in defense, but the monster was too quick. The monster entered Dalin until he was completely inside of him.

  As quick as it had entered him, the monster shot out of Dalin’s chest, leaving him stunned. The black shape screamed in frustration, then turned to look for another target. Its eyes fluttered around, then fixated on Hano and smiled a hideous, eerie smile. It had found what it needed.

  Before anyone could respond, it was inside the red-cloaked elf. Hano screamed in agony and then in rage and exhilaration. He turned to Dalin, and Dalin saw his friend’s eyes roll back into his head and reemerge black. When he spoke, it had a demonic echo to it.

  “Now, I’m complete.” Hano reached across with his hammer and brought it smashing down on an elf’s skull. He laughed shrilly and the sound chilled Dalin to the very bones. As Hano raised his hammer to strike another surprised elf, Dalin knew what he must do. Tearfully, he raised his bow and notched an arrow in the string…

  The arrow pierced both of their hearts. Dalin ran over to his friend, and cradled him in his arms. Crying freely, he heard shouts of victory. As he looked around, he saw that they had held long enough, that the king’s men had been able to destroy Darhyn’s entire right wing, and now Darhyn’s entire army was retreating. The battle was far from over. Dalin didn’t understand why they were going and he didn’t care. He just sat there, cradling the foreign looking face of his lifelong friend. Hano’s features were distorted with rage almost beyond recognition, but Dalin thought he saw something of the good underneath it all. Just then, the shouts of victory turned to shouts of surprise, and then to horror. Staring up through tears, Dalin saw the real reason for the retreat of the Death Lord’s forces.

  To the east, across the plain, was a gigantic army, an army that could easily defeat both the king’s and the Death Lord’s forces. Dalin thought he was seeing things, but at its head was none other than Queen Marhyn herself.

  * * *

  “Actually,” said Yan with a sigh, looking once again tired and old. “There is one other way.” Tarthur and Gyeun looked up at him curiously. “There is another way,” he repeated softly to himself. “When they empowered me as a shapeshifter, they gave me the power to turn into anything that I have once seen, touched, or felt the essence of.”

  Yan paused to let his words take effect. “One of the members of the Council of Gurus is Grandmaster Jeuinem. He showed me the Feather of Firewing.”

  Tarthur looked at him slowly, letting the meaning of his words dawn on him. “So, you are saying that you’ll transform into the Power of Air for me to use? Then with the two powers we can beat him. Why didn’t we think of this before? We could have been using the Air spell since the beginning!”

  “I was hoping it would not have to come to this, since nothing of this nature has ever been done before, we can’t know the results. You must also be careful, because I think that you will only get one use.”

  “What will happen to you?” Tarthur questioned suspiciously. “Won’t you be sent into the dimension of used magic?”

  “No,” Yan said quickly, and a little harshly. “Trust me Tarthur, I know much more about magic than you do. I’ll be just fine. Now, let’s go. Every minute we waste good men are dying.”

  Tarthur nodded and set out ahead, but Gyeun stayed back and looked at Yan. Yan nodded, and then spoke. “Right, don’t get yourself killed; the boy will need an escort back to the army. Oh, I’m too old for this.”

  The trip back to Darhyn’s chamber seemed quick compared to the harrowing flight from it. Tarthur somehow knew that he was now about to finish what he had started so long ago in his dream. They burst into the chamber with Dragon Yan spraying fire
wherever he went. The monsters were still there, but the ghost knights were still in battle with them. Gyeun hung back, hesitant to join the fray.

  Darhyn looked mockingly at Tarthur and then began anew. Darhyn commanded the beams of fire that shot out from his person, and Tarthur called out softly for the Water Orb to come to his aid. Instead of relinquishing the flames as he did before, this time Darhyn kept them up, sending his essence out along the battle lines at Tarthur. Tarthur could feel the Dark One trying to take him over. He could feel his evil and wanted to drop the Orb and run. Out of the corner of his eye, Tarthur saw Dragon Yan become silver and then shimmer, and then he saw a huge feather float down and land in Tarthur’s waiting palm. Darhyn’s force was strong against him, but Tarthur reached down and asked Yan to help him.

  Tornado-like winds swept the chamber, knocking everyone from their feet. Gyeun had somehow anchored himself to a marble pillar with a chain, but even that was coming loose. Tarthur stood in the center of the tempest unharmed, unfeeling. The elements did not touch him, but he felt dangerous power like none he had ever felt before.

  Darhyn flew against the throne and the winds died down in the rest of the room as they converged on him. The Dark One screamed, for once feeling the agony he had inflicted on so many. The winds intensified in power and focus, even as his screams intensified in volume. A black portal opened in the back of his throne. Darhyn was sent flying through, the wind pushing him in. The portal slammed shut.

  Tarthur collapsed from the strain, and looked around the eerily empty throne room. The monsters were all dead or had fled the keep. The black and white knights had vanished into thin air. Yan was nowhere to be seen. The only one left alive was Gyeun, who came over and lifted the exhausted Tarthur up. Tarthur forced himself to stand and walk forward. On the throne of Darhyn danced a single tongue of flame on top of a yellowed scroll. The flame did not consume the scroll. Tarthur reached down, picked it up, and then collapsed once again in Gyeun’s arms. Gyeun started to carry Tarthur out of the room, but Tarthur was trying to wait for Yan. Gyeun had to insist they get out right away. Yan, he told Tarthur, could take care of himself. He would meet them with the army. Right now, they needed rest, and they were not about to rest there. Gyeun turned to look at the room where he had lost two of the Guard, and did not wipe away a tear as he dragged Tarthur out.