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Chapter Twenty-Seven

HAIDES CALLING

“We are leaving now,” Luik stated firmly. Fatigue and sorrow seeped from his eyes, his losses now far outnumbering his gains. The others gathered around the council table shared his woe. But never the same gravity. And they knew that standing up to him was pointless, yet they had to try. A good friend would.

“My King,” Gorn spoke up, “I think I speak for all of us when I say you’re in no shape for another battle.”

“Blast it, Gorn!” Luik slammed his fist into the board. Luik cast him a hard stare and then withdrew it, regaining his composure. Did they not see? Could they not understand? “What more do I have to lose?” He looked in the faces around him, searching. No one responded. “The fact that I still cling to my own life humiliates me. I have offered it to the Most High countless times, and yet He has not taken it.” He grew cold, recalling his bitter dream. “Instead he bids my brothers to die and my love to torment.”

“Luik, that is unwise talk,” Li-Saide said.

“Is it?” Luik’s temper rose again. “Is it truly, dwarf?”

“Son,” Ragnar raised a calming hand.

“I can’t take this!” Luik stood to his feet and cast his chair back.

“We cannot ask the men to go on another errand,” Jrio spoke up, ready for Luik’s retribution.

“I’m not asking them to go!”

“But you cannot go by yourself, brother,” Fyfler added. They had been over this already.

“Then the onus is upon you and not me. Why is this so difficult?”

“Because, Luik,” Li-Saide said, louder than he had ever spoken before, “we have already lost many kin today and cannot bear to lose you, too. To think you are alone in your grief is pride that I dare not have to point out. You know what I speak is true.”

Luik looked to Benigan. Uncomfortable, he turned away, sought to right his tumbled chair, and then brought it back to the table, sinking heavily into it. He blew out a mouthful of air and laid his head on the board.

“Forgive me,” he said to one and all, looking up.

“It is well received, King,” said Fane. “And understood among us all. But you are but one man, and spent at that.”

Luik’s desire to fight this through ebbed, and his thoughts went to his beautiful Anorra. He wanted nothing more than to see her again, to hold her and breathe in the smell of her hair. The thought brought tears to his eyes—even more so the thought that she would be suffering this very moment. He knew she was alive. He could feel it. Barely.

Luik looked up and stared his father hard in the face. “Would you sleep if you were me?” He turned to Gorn. “Would you waste any time?” He looked to Boran. “How would you eat a meal?” To Li-Saide. “Or drink a draft of mead?”

A long silence followed. Everyone contemplated his words and knew they would say nothing to the contrary if in his position.

It was Benigan who first stood to his feet.

“If it is Anorra you wish to save, I have already lost my life once today and fear not losing it again.” He laid his sword upon the board.

Luik lowered his head as tears welled. He looked up and mouthed the word c’symia.

Fyfler stood next, drawing his sword, laying it on the table without a word. Jrio unsheathed his blade, and Fane laid his staff flat. Gorn shook his head but stood nonetheless. Li-Saide followed, and before long all those at the table were on their feet. Although a great many men had been lost in Ot, only Brax’s seat at the table remained vacant. Tontha was without a king, and before the end of this day Luik feared the rest of the realms would be no different. He was not asking them to go with him, but he knew he couldn’t go alone.

Morgui had destroyed the Tree of Life, razed Grandath to the ground, and surely killed the Great King’s Son, just as he had boasted. Dionia’s way of life was forever changed, and they could not go back to what had been, or expect it to return to them. And Luik simply could not allow the last remaining passion of his life to go unsought. He had to find her—even if for one last look. Even if only to bury her.

“Well,” Jrio spoke up. “When do we leave?”

 

• • •

 

The battle for Ot had ended far worse than anyone cared to recount. So it was understood that the carnage witnessed and the suffering endured would not be spoken of…not for a very long time.  Suffice it to say that those who had battled in the garden beneath the Tree had been forced to retreat through the caves and press into the portals, returning to Mt. Dakka. A great many of the dwarves had been lost, however, choosing to stand against the molten lava to their own destruction. Those who had seen it would be forever haunted by the image of the noble race, unwilling to leave the treasures they had sworn to keep. But many of the ill-fated dwarves had been pulled from their posts by warriors not willing to see them perish. The men had dragged them away, the dwarves flailing their hands and feet all the while, demanding to be released, constrained to die for Ot.

The warriors had defended their retreat back into the pool to Mt. Dakka, throwing the dwarves into the waters and beating off the Dairne-Reih. When all were safely through, the demons had lingered, batting at the water but never entering. They eventually had grown bored and returned to the main cavern, joining their brethren in destroying the Secret City. When Luik and the others had finally managed to connect to the portal caves, the pools had been empty, and their escape had gone unnoticed.

The High King’s return to Mt. Dakka was met with both sorrow and rejoicing. It was the strangest mix of emotions any of the Dibor had ever experienced; they were overjoyed to know that so many had survived, but Brax’s death and the destruction of Ot was more than they could bear. Any embrace of welcome was quickly stalled by weeping.

The council meeting over, each man was off to solicit the help of those willing to join their lost cause. Luik checked in on Boran, still nursing his wounds and barely able to stand.

“You will be of more use here to lead the city’s defense when you are well, than to needlessly perish with us in the fires of Haides,” Luik said, dismissing Boran’s adamant plea to join them with a wave of his hand. The Son of Tontha would have argued more, but it took too much strength even to talk.

Luik wandered through the halls then and out into the garden, needing time to think. To clear his head. He had yet to change his clothes, gore-smeared and blackened with soot and sweat. He paused only to take a drink of water and steal a hunk of warm bread from the refectory. He ambled down the stone paths, his legs and back weary from fighting, chain maille slinking over his shoulders.

The flowers tried their best to smile at him, but he was sore with the memories they stirred up. Just there he and Anorra had lain, gazing at the starlight and talking of the future. And beside that fountain they had sat, their fingers entwined, the murmuring of the water soothing their fears.

He passed through a wrought-iron gate and into another larger garden, dancing with the scents and smells of summer. The deep longing in his heart was overwhelming. The silver-green leaves fluttered in the light breeze, and tall grasses swayed back and forth in lazy rhythm. He remembered this space all too well: snowball throwing in the winter, meetings with the Dibor late into the warm evenings of summer.

The sun beat down on his head and forced him to find shelter beneath an elm, the cool shadows revealing just how tired he was. He sat down then, his back against the tree, and closed his eyes. The leaves rustled each time the wind picked up, air kissing his skin, hot and bruised from war.

“Is this all?” he whispered. “Is this all, Most High?”

A single tear seeped from between his eyelids, starting down his cheek. “You made me for this? To be born? To live? To suffer and then have everything in my world taken away?” He inhaled deeply, a tremor in his chest. No answer. “So this is it.” The breeze picked up. He paused and took a defeated breath. “Then I accept it. Just give me the strength to do what I must. To see this to the end.”

He waited then, thinking he might hear the voice of the Great God reply. Thinking He might speak. But nothing came. Only silence. Silence that mixed with the leaves, the babbling fountains, and the singing birds…silence that wooed him to sleep.

 

• • •

 

“My King,” a familiar voice called from far away. “The men are ready. We leave at your command.”

Luik looked up. His slumber hung heavy on his eyes, and his head was thick. Jrio was standing over him, a hand on his sword, the other behind his back.

“The men,” Luik repeated, remembering. He ran a hand over his face, blinking. “Then we shall leave at once.” He made to get up, and Jrio helped him to his feet.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Luik asked him, holding fast to Jrio’s forearm.

Jrio smiled. “As sure as I am living and certain I won’t see another sunrise.” Then he chuckled. “You know, I’ve been asking myself, ‘What else is there to live for?’”

Luik thought the question oddly familiar. “And?”

“And I haven’t thought of anything. To live for this beautiful thing called life, or to die trying to hold onto it. Either way it’s meaningless.”

“Meaningless?” Luik eyed him narrowly.

“I mean, without Him. Without His love. And without people to love as He loves us.” Jrio looked up into the brightness of the afternoon sky and then back to Luik. “You know, Luik, my life used to be so simple. I mean, as boys. You remember?” Luik nodded. “Working our lands with our parents, dancing in the festivals, and playing rokla whenever we could steal away from sight of our mothers.”

“I have many such memories.”

“As do we all. But the thing I miss most—the thing whose absence haunts me in my sleep—is not the sorrow of those past times long gone. I thought it was. For a while, I did. But nay, it is meaningless in and of itself. My parents, bless them, were meaningless. My friendships, including yours, are meaningless. Then it hit me. Whom have I but the Great God? If He is not, then what is? Without His voice, without His presence: is there really anything more satisfying? More worthy to die for? If He betrays me, though I have my life, I have nothing.” Jrio took a deep breath, his eyes settling on the grass between his feet. “So you see. What does it matter that I lose my life this night? If I remain here to endure the absence of His voice, I will fight for its return. And if I am taken away, gored on the hands of my enemies, then I speed to the Great Throne Room and see His shining face for myself.” He looked back to Luik. “Either way, I live for no other. I live for Him. And if it’s love you long to rescue, may we demonstrate the power of His love which He is about to reveal.”

Luik was moved by his words. He admired this man…this friend. They had walked together from the beginning, from leaving the Gvindollion to this very moment. Faithful. And now his words spoke of something yet to come, of something eternal. And Luik knew each word he spoke to be true.

“Whatever love we have, whatever we feel, it can only be from Him,” Luik said. “The very fact that we, flawed and abandoned, should be able to partake of it in this, our weakest state, only speaks of His mercy. For though I cannot hear His voice I cannot deny love. And somehow, dear friend I see it in you. Now. I see Him.”

They embraced there in the garden as warriors do, but even more as friends.

 

• • •

 

The hike south was swift. No provisions were needed, as no one intended to stay long, nor ever to return home. They brought a few skins of fresh water and only what they could carry in weaponry: swords, shields, spears, bows and arrows, and polearms.

They ran most of the time, single file, moving along the craggy trail that dipped from one mountain peak to the next. No one spoke. The only sounds were those of heavy footfalls beating against the ground, adorned with the clink of metal and tap of hardened leather.

Two hundred men in all made the journey…two hundred who harbored no illusions about returning. It was a death errand that no one had ever done. But with everything already lost, even the defending of Mt. Dakka seemed a failing chore. So most who had the heart and energy reasoned it would be better to meet the enemy face to face than to die with their backs against a wall. And so they joined Luik and the others, devoid of fear.

By the time the sun dipped low toward the eastern horizon, the Sif Gate appeared on the peak of the next mountain. The warband picked up speed, raced down the narrow track and then wound back up the opposite side, pressing toward the monolithic stone structure that rose above them.

“It still stands,” Fane said as they neared.

“And looks intact,” replied Li-Saide, moving closer to the aged stones.

Fane knelt to examine the dirt on the north-facing side. “It’s been used recently.”

“A good sign,” said Gorn.

Li-Saide stretched out his hand and moved it slowly toward the structure. When his fingers touched the cold stones, he jerked his hand away. The men nearest just stared at him.

“What is it?” Luik asked, doubt suddenly filling his chest.

“Evil,” the dwarf said. He reached out to touch it again.

Fane moved to the opposite column and applied his hand. The stones were cut at right angles and bore strange markings as if etched by the hand of a tormented writer. Demons most likely, the warband thought.

Fane could feel the power, too—a dark, foreboding mood sweeping over his spirit. He closed his eyes and fought to stave the force off. But the cloud edged closer and closer. Try as he might, he could not keep the impending evil at bay.

“It’s too strong,” he called over to Li-Saide.

“Remain focused,” the dwarf replied, eyes also shut. “The power in you is far greater. Remember.”

The evil seemed to be surrounding Fane now, coming at him from all sides. He wanted to pull his hand away. He wanted to run.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his back. “Remember.”

It was Luik.

And then another hand. “Remember,” Gorn added.

All at once the burden was lightened. Not eliminated. But lessened. In his mind’s eye he could see the black clouds halt that loomed over him, their progress arrested by a contrary wind. Lightning flashed. Something was moving them back…something was scaring them.

“It’s working,” Fane lit up. “It’s working!”

“Aye, now stay fixed,” Li-Saide ordered.

Together they worked, their hands on the columns, willing the wicked to bow. Li-Saide squinted with the effort, and Fane’s brow glinted with perspiration. They pushed their spirits forward, interceding with all intent to win. To overcome. To reveal.

While no one else heard anything but the evening air washing through the mountains, Li-Saide and Fane heard the crashing of thunder and the howling of violent winds.

They watched as the death clouds gave way to a rock wall adorned with a single hole. Li-Saide knew it at once.

“The key hole,” the dwarf shouted. “Do you see it?”

“Aye!” said Fane. Then paused in frustration. “But where’s the key?”

“Reach for it, with me!”

Fane strained in his spirit and there before him appeared a black key, deathly ominous, intermittently illuminated by flashes of lightning. It was suspended in the air, held aloft by an unseen force. But as he willed it forward, the key did not disappoint.

“Keep going,” Li-Saide urged. “Guide it in to the lock!”

The clouds rumbled overhead, threatening to swallow Fane whole at any moment. But the key was so near, edging ever closer. He felt more hands on his back and then Li-Saide’s voice in his ear.

“Insert the key, and twist. You can do it.”

Fane was startled by the dwarf’s being so near. Perhaps that was only in his mind. It made sense. But they worked together, forcing the black key into the hole and then with a sudden jerk, twisting…

Fane fell back from the columns and gasped. The others caught him and he looked around. There beside him was Li-Saide.

“But I thought you—”

“Nay, you didn’t need me. In fact, I couldn’t help.  Only the pure Mosfar born of Ad, Keepers of the Sacred Words, can open these gates.”

“Then why—”

“Hush.” Li-Saide motioned toward the gate.

A white spark flickered in the center of the space between the stones. A chill prickled everyone’s spines. Then a loud pop: and a thin, transparent wall of brilliant blue appeared that stretched from column to column, from ground to spanning arch above.

“Well done,” Gorn said, hitting Fane on the back. Those nearby congratulated him in like kind.

“Why so eager to thank me for your deaths?” Fane inquired. The congratulating stopped.

“Come,” Luik stepped up. “Li-Saide, how does it work?”

“Honestly, I’ve never gone through. But I would imagine it is a portal into the second natural state, the supernatural as some would say. We simply walk through.”

“Like the Sea Caves?” Fyfler asked.

“Hopefully not as painful,” said Jrio.

Benigan pushed everyone aside, his imposing size making ample room before the gate. “Nothing’s going to be as painful as being run through by a Dairneag. So let’s get on with this.” He looked to Luik.

“After you,” said the High King.

Benigan drew his sword and lowered his head. “For Dionia,” he said softly.

“For Dionia,” they all replied.

The hulking man strode into the blue wall. The edges of his form caused ripples like those in a pond. A moment later the shimmering wall enveloped him and he was gone.

“Great God of Athera,” the men muttered.

“Next?” Luik piped up.

“Well, I’m not letting him win my kills!” Kinfen pushed past everyone. “Let me through.” And without another word the blue wall closed in around him.

The rest of the men formed up and drew their swords. Luik eyed them all and thanked them for their bravery, their steadfast resolve. Then he turned and led them through the Sif Gate.

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Read the blog? Like getting stuff for free? Consider a $0.99 donation to help me continue to create great content. Or if you want to read the book faster, try buying the print version.

Read the blog? Like getting stuff for free? Consider a $0.99 donation to help me continue to create great content. Or if you want to read the book faster, try buying the print version.

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Chapter Twenty-Six

INTO OBLIVION

Try as she might, Anorra’s pleas with the Most High went unanswered. Despite the urgency of His last instruction, she did not have the strength to rise, let alone come up with a way to serve Him in the requested task. Rescue him? How was such a venture possible, even with all her strength restored? Surely this was another of the enemy’s ploys to draw her into submission, to catch her in an act of defiance—an act surely punishable by death.

But was she not already on death’s door? If Morgui wished her gone, would he not have already sent his minions to dispatch her? Or even do the deed himself? The fact that he lingered so long disturbed her. Why wait?

Another searing jolt of pain seized her head. The ache was unbearable. Had she still had her eyes, she would have squeezed them shut. She pulled up her knees, but the movement pressed on her broken ribs and stole her breath away. Anorra gasped for air, and then choked on her own bile. She coughed violently, her poor form writhing on the stones. The pain in her head grew stronger, and her stomach retched though there was little enough to come up.

“Where are you, my God?” Just the effort to speak was exhausting. “Why do you not answer me?”

Then a voice spoke inside of her—less like His and more like her own.

But He has spoken to you.

Her body trembled from the recent outburst, but she managed to keep herself under control, preventing another wave of torment.

The question remains. Will you obey?

She shuddered. The stones were hot against her skin, yet somehow she felt so cold. So alone. Sweat soaked her skin, her torn clothing clinging to her body.

If it was Morgui that prompted this, was she not already dead anyway? Whether now or later, in an effort to defy him, it made no difference. But if this was her Maker—if this was indeed the voice of her Beloved—she must not keep Him waiting. And His Swift Sure Hand would supply for what His Voice had commanded.

“I am Yours,” she replied. “Always. And forever more.”

Lying there in her cell, nothing changed. She felt no warmth, no comforting shaft of light. No voice replied in recognition of her noble words. And for the briefest of moments she doubted if it was really He who had spoken at all—apparently failing to respond in kind. But she knew better. For even if it was the voice of the enemy that prompted her, she trusted His Hand to protect her in the midst of her ignorance. He was that good.

She strained to sit upright as the stones bit into her palms like thorns. Every muscle in her slight body ached, and it was all she could do to resist the urge to vomit once more. And then she focused on seeing.

Her Second Sight came more easily to her this time, the image of her cell snapping to life inside her mind. Her gaze wandered over the bars in front of her, searching for a gap. But she saw none. She turned around slowly and looked for some space in the rock wall behind her, a crevice in the floor. Anything. But the chamber was sealed up tight. She thought to look up, but that too was a thwarted idea as the ceiling was solid rock.

“Most High,” she said under her breath, “You know my heart. I am Yours. But I cannot go where You don’t provide a path. Help me. Please.”

Doubt filled her mind. Had He helped her at all since she had been taken into the bowels of death? Had He been there when she had stood before the Demon Lord himself? Had He been there when her vision had been stolen from her atop the wall?

“I believe,” she said. “I still believe.”

A subtle click shook in the lock casing on her cell door. She glanced toward it. The metal bars seemed to be slightly offset in their hanging. Could it be? Not wasting a moment, and not entirely sure she could trust her feelings, she scrambled forward, shoving the pain out of her mind. She stopped short in front of the gate and raised herself to one knee. Then, like a mouse investigating a crumb, she eased out her fingers and let them settle on the iron.

Then pushed.

The door swung open just a hand’s breadth. Anorra gasped and stole her hand back as if not believing it was true. But it was.

“O, Great God! You heard me!” Surprised by her own loudness, she shrank back and glanced sideways. She held her breath, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. She was free.

She stood, pushed the gate open further, and then slipped out.

Glowing red light flickered against the rock ledges and cast shadows against the walls beside her. The stalagmites looked like teeth gaping for prey, and she edged around them cautiously. Just below she could clearly see the sea of liquid fire that continuously swallowed its victims, only to drain once more revealing the writhing mass of souls bound beneath the grates. And above them stood the guardians, spears and whips in hand, dispensing their wrath to restless sufferers.

She shrank behind a rock ledge just as a whip snapped, lashing out and producing a shriek from far below. She remembered her pain then and slid down the rock surface to her knees. Fear reached for her.

You will get caught. Turn back to your cell.

“No,” she pressed her hands to her temples. “I will not go back. If I perish, I perish. But I will not go back.”

She took a deep breath and found her feet again. She glanced down to the sights of the sea below and studied the demons who looked down from their ledges. None of them had noticed her presence. She turned back toward her cell. Nothing. Then she surveyed the path in front of her. A narrow escarpment climbed its way higher, hugging the rock wall of the cavern and moving into the next room. She waited for the chaos below her to escalate before making a move into the next chamber. Racing up along the path, she ducked behind pillars of rock, glancing quickly to make sure she hadn’t been seen, and then continued on up the track. Her body screamed for her to cease, to turn back. But she willed herself on. The sea below her had filled and receded twice before she summited the path and turned into the next cavern, this one much larger than the first.

Hanging directly in front of her, suspended over thin air, were the mutilated remains of a poor wretch, beaten to the pulp of his innards—yet still mumbling in a morbid stupor. She looked away, and this time her Second Sight obeyed, hiding in the cover of her arm. She moved farther along the path, now descending along the wide cavern wall. Once out of direct view of the living-corpse, she stepped inside a crack in the wall to catch her breath.

She could hear her pulse in her ears and sucked in deep breaths. Her muscles ached, and she knew she was losing blood from somewhere on her mangled body. The bruising internally was severe, and she was aware it wouldn’t be long before her energy was spent.

What will you do even if you reach this lost soul? came the voice in her head.

She hadn’t thought of that.

But her Maker would see her through, she reckoned. He had opened the gate, after all, had He not? Surely He of all people could see her through to whatever means He so desired.

Wouldn’t He?

Shrieking suddenly filled the cavern, and Anorra mumbled under her breath. She had been found out, surely. She waited there, hidden in shadow as the shrieking grew louder. Was she being pursued? She wanted to cover her ears against the terror, but she dared not make the slightest move for fear of being noticed. So she stood there utterly still.

When the screaming finally died down, Anorra edged closer to the opening and peered back down the path. She knew more guardian demons and tormented souls lay below; she had seen it in the vision. And if she remembered correctly, the long tunnel leading to the prison chamber lay at the end of this cavern.

She drew in a deep, caustic breath and then emerged back onto the path. The sulfur burned her nostrils, but she preferred it over the smell of burning flesh. She quickly moved down the sloping track and hugged the cavern wall as best she could. She stopped from time to time, hiding behind a rock outcrop and timing her movements with the rise and fall of the lava below. A few times she was sure she had been spotted, but then realized the demons had nothing else to do and were not accustomed to be on the lookout for princesses wandering through their lair.

Every step brought her closer to the far side of the cavern, and every movement sent pain shooting up her legs and rattled her ribs. If her eyes could have produced tears she would have been weeping. But she supposed not crying was one dignity she had been allowed to keep.

Eventually she moved out of the large cavern into the long, toothy tunnel. Happy to be beyond the lava pits, Anorra quickened her pace and moved more freely along the unoccupied corridor. The going was a bit more tedious, as this path snaked its way among the massive teeth that grew out of the floor. And it was clearly less traveled than the other.

More than once she tripped on a large stone, landing on her face and driving her hands into the ground. She winced in pain, but found that she was getting used to the constant agony that her body endured. That, or she was losing feeling.

One particular fall toward the end of the tunnel caused her immense pain, and blood flowed from a fresh gash under her chin. She hit hard on the rocky floor and felt a new wave of fatigue wrap around her body. It drew her into the darkness, and her Second Sight faded. She was so tired…

…so weary…

And then she was asleep. Blood pooled around her face as she lay on the jagged ground. She lay there alone and exposed, her broken body in the middle of the meandering path. She did not dream, nor did she get much rest, for not long after she was awakened by a piercing scream…

Anorra lifted her head off the ground, congealed blood clinging to her cheek. The deafening sound cut through the space like a sword, ringing throughout the caverns like a warning bell. It cut the air above her head and echoed out beyond into the prison chamber. And then, all at once, it ceased. And she was sure of why it had come. They had found her empty cell.

She pushed herself up and stumbled forward into a run. Her first few steps were too short and she fell into a large boulder, bouncing off to one side. She made a few more steps before hitting the left wall with her head and shoulder. A fresh cut opened on the side of her head. But she didn’t even notice. The Dairne-Reih were coming.

Moments later she moved out into the high-ceilinged room full of pigeon-hole cells. Heart beating quickly, she looked up, searching for the gateless cell she had been shown. After the fifth or sixth level, the wall was swallowed by darkness. She willed herself to remember the image of the cell. It had been very high up, so high that the ground below was swallowed in black. But lack of light was not an issue for Anorra. For with spiritual eyes, a soul can see in the dark.

“I’m coming, lost one,” she offered up.

The subtle sound traveled up the wall and rang through every cell. All at once there was a rustling from overhead. Something above her was moving. A great many things were moving.

She took a few steps toward the wall and then reached out, letting her fingers find their first hold on what would be a long climb. She stretched higher with her other hand and met a rock, and then her feet followed. In a few swift motions she passed beyond the second tier of cells, and then past the third and fourth. While her body resisted the expenditure of energy, she knew she had to keep moving. Her enemy was very near.

Anorra’s left foot slipped, and she let out a grunt. She heard her voice echo through the space, answered this time with more rustling. Movement. It seemed to be coming from within the cells.

She reached up with her right arm, her fingers searching for their next hold.

A hand grasped her around the wrist.

Anorra screamed.

Suddenly the entire hall burst into a cacophony of shrieking, arms straining out between the bars of the cells, grasping toward her. She screamed louder and tried to wrest her arm free. But the hand would not let go.

Another hand reached out and grabbed her left ankle from below. The jerk downward was sudden and tore her foot from the wall. Her right foot slipped away too, and she dangled five levels above the floor, held only by her left hand.

The hall was racked with another long, angry shriek from back through the tunnel. The Dairne-Reih were closing in. The outburst had a sobering effect on the prisoners, however, who darted back into the darkness of their cells in total silence. Anorra did not need another invitation to settle herself back on the wall and made quick work upward.

Moments later the lost souls braved the world outside their cells again and strained to reach her as she climbed. Hands brushed against her arms and tugged at her hair. But she managed to fend them away with a blow here and a sharp kick there. As demonic as it all seemed, she noticed that the hands reaching for her had strangely human qualities to them. Somehow, she felt, these beings were her kin.

Anorra kept moving higher and higher up the wall, making quick work of the heights and losing count of how many levels she had passed. The hands continued to search her out, but she retaliated as best she could and pressed on. Her arms and legs screamed for relief, so badly wanting just to stop and rest for but a moment. But she knew it would mean her death. She had come too far. She could not give herself any quarter—her enemy would do no differently.

When she reached the level she thought the gateless cell was at, she heard a familiar clicking sound fill the chamber floor far below her. They were here. The prisoners once more retreated into the safety of their rooms, and all was silent. She didn’t dare move.

Very slowly, Anorra peeked between the gap of her arm and hip, looking straight down to the ground. Five demons milled about, looking all around. Another three joined them, and then more spilled in from the tunnel. They began walking along the base of the wall, peering into the cells and jabbing prisoners with their long spears. The sorry souls bellowed and howled but did not produce what the Dairneags wanted.

Anorra glanced back up and searched for her prize. She allowed her mind’s eye to pull away from the wall where she clung and get a larger view of the upper cells.

There.

One more level up and three over to the left. She could make out a hole in the wall with no bars over it. That was her room.

Could the demons climb this wall?

Ever so slowly she reached for her next handhold and pulled herself up, supported by her feet. She passed over the next set of cells and then began the tedious lateral traverse to the open cell. She paused only once to spy on her pursuers, all of which seemed busy moving along the length of the wide-reaching wall, apparently not even considering that their prey would be high above them. What prey moved further into captivity?

A few moments later she arrived at the cell and paused, just beyond sight, to the right side. She took a deep breath, sure that the demons beneath could hear her shaking muscles racked with fatigue.

“Help, Most High,” she whispered, barely audible. “I need You.”

She reached a hand around the corner of the cell and, finding a hole for her fingers, brought her foot in as well. One more motion and she was standing on solid ground, now towering high above the chamber floor that crawled with a prowling host of bloodthirsty demons.

She stared into the darkness, and there her eyes made out the form she had seen in the vision…what seemed to be a man crouched at the far end, shaking, with an arm swung over his head. He wore a red tunic, torn and soiled, and the tattered remains of a purple cloak that hung lifelessly from his shoulders. His skin was scabbed and stained with grime, not a clean patch anywhere to be seen. And his hair was long and wild, as was his grizzled beard. When the man had enough courage to look up from his cowering stoop, he cast a fearful eye toward Anorra.

Unsure of how he’d respond, all Anorra could think to say was, “I am Anorra, daughter of King Thorn of Ligeon. I am here by the prompting of the Most High to rescue you.”

The man only stared at her with his one visible eye.

There seemed to be a commotion from among the demons below.

“I am here to rescue you,” she said again.

Tell him I am coming soon. If he wants freedom, it will be granted.

The words confused her greatly. Panic was squeezing in her chest. What could He possibly mean by that?

Do as I say.

“The Most High is coming,” she said, not quite convinced herself. “If you desire freedom, He will grant it to you.”

This time the man turned to face her and made to move forward. His fragile voice cracked in the air.

“Ife de veirsin ti leq shemaeh?”

Anorra froze. She was amazed he could speak.

“Leq shemaeh? Ife de veirsin ti leq shemaeh?”

She merely gazed at him, unsure what to say. Clearly he had something he was trying to tell her. But she couldn’t understand him. And his tone was growing more urgent. The Dairne-Reih would hear him.

The tongue he used was old, older than any she knew. Probably first Dionian, she suspected. Fane had taught her some words over the summers, as had Gyinan. She tried to work it out in her head.

Shemaeh—high mount. Her mind raced.

“Ti leq shemaeh?” He seemed to be begging her now.

Horse. Something about a horse. He was clearly mad.

“Ife de veirsin ti leq shemaeh unua meh frestehk?”

Have you seen my horse?

She could place it all. But he was getting more animated. She raised a finger to shush him and took a step forward.

Suddenly he lunged toward her and caught her by the wrists. Anorra made to step away, but the open air was all that was behind her. The man pleaded with her again, now louder.

“Ti leq shemaeh?”

“Hush, sir. You’ll get us both caught. I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Ti leq shemaeh! Leq shamaeh!”

“Nay, I haven’t seen your horse! Please,” she struggled against him. “Let me go!”

This wasn’t at all what she expected. This man didn’t want her help. He was crazy! What was the Great God thinking?

She leaned out and away from the man, though he was the only thing keeping her from falling back into space. She looked down and saw a Darineag stare up at her. Recognition dawned over its face, and it screamed out, drawing the attention of the others. The rest looked at her and immediately started up the wall with lightning speed.

“Sir! Please! The Dairne-Reih are coming for us both now! Please let me go!”

But his grip remained fixed. And his eyes were intent. She was aware of his stink, the foul stench of waste and bile and death.

“Tadellis,” he finally said, softening. “Ti ama pelleh Tadellis ap Trinade.”

Anorra was arrested. Her heart stopped.

The demons were halfway up the wall.

“What did you say?” she cocked her head sideways in wonder.

“Ti ama pelleh Tadellis ap Trinade.”

“Your name is Tadellis…son of Trinade.”

It was then she realized exactly who the Most High had sent her to rescue. And they regarded one another in silent awe as the first demon stretched out its hand for Anorra’s leg.

- – -
Read the blog? Like getting stuff for free? Consider a $0.99 donation to help me continue to create great content. Or if you want to read the book faster, try buying the print version.

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- – -

Chapter Twenty-Five

LEAVING ALL BEHIND

“Where are we?” Luik asked.

“Very close to the portals,” Li-Saide replied. “This way, but we must be swift. And quiet.”

The path they followed was much more a rocky trail weaving through a deep cavern than the hand-made tunnel leaving the Library. Water dripped from stalactites in the ceiling, pooling on the ground, each plop echoing softly in the warband’s ears. Their footfalls reverberated hollowly, and wind moaned up ahead like a melancholy lost soul. The walls closed in around them, jagged rocks reaching out in suspended motion. Then the path opened up moments later into a large thoroughfare. The team continued on, moving deeper and deeper into the cavern, skirting around boulders and massive chunks of rock that had departed from their roosts in the ceiling long ago.

They walked quickly, never uttering a word, until Li-Saide held up a hand. Luik could hear a commotion up ahead; the path forked and he could see a faint light reflecting off the ragged wall in the next turn to the right.

“What is it?” he whispered to Li-Saide.

“The Cave,” replied the dwarf.

“You mean—?”

“Aye,” Li-Saide nodded. “I said we were near the portals. But I need to see the garden…” his voice trailed off. “I need to see what’s been done.”

Luik swallowed, knowing how hard this could be. He turned to the warband. “Stay here. Ta na, Brax, Fane, Bi-Bablar, Spid—with us.”

The seven of them left the group and moved on up ahead. As they rounded the next turn, Luik and the others hid behind a rock outcropping. Luik peered into the main cave, and his eyes met a sight that stole his breath.

The focal point of the room, as always, was the Tree—or what was left of her. She listed completely to one side, leaning against the cavern’s wall and dismembered of her limbs, each one burned or ripped from the trunk. Her base had been completely severed, cut through by a massive saw that still lay upon the stump. The bark was a mutilated covering, one charred by ghastly gashes that exposed the flesh beneath. Demons crawled along her form, and Luik noted their utter satisfaction with their work. Her once magnificent shape was now a playground for the vile, the Dairne-Reih’s pride evident, their defiling complete.

In the garden beneath the Tree, Luik and the others were horrified to see not a man or dwarf among the living. Water and lava mixed together as smoke drifted upward, the smell of sulfur and burnt flesh filling the air.

“They’ve—they’ve cut her down!” Bi-Bablar said with tears in his eyes. Spid grabbed his friend as Bi-Bablar began moving from side to side with his eyes closed. “Nay, nay, nay!” he bellowed, and then repeated it over and over again as if trying to will the image out of his mind.

All at once the cave shook around them; dirt and rock fell from the ceiling. Luik braced himself but could not look away from the Tree. Soon the quake subsided and he turned to the Chief. But the dwarf was overwhelmed.

Li-Saide gripped the rock in front of him and pulled back from the scene, his knees weakening. “Luik, I—” he faltered. And then he looked up into the High King’s face. Steeling his resolve, he cleared his throat and regained his composure. “We must move on,” he said, looking back out over the scene and indicated the stone archway that led to the portals.

“It’s a long ways,” Luik stated, figuring they were on the far side of the cave. Things could not be worse. “I thought you said it was close?”

“Closer than we were before,” Li-Saide forced a shallow smile, trying to find some humor.

It was right then that Luik noticed a change in the dwarves’ demeanors; not only were they stricken with obvious grief, but something else had changed—something that foreshadowed their lives altering. Of their lives fading.

Li-Saide slumped back against the rock, holding his chest and gasping for air.

“What is it?” Luik pleaded. “Talk to me!” He knelt down in front of the Chief.

Fane looked to Spid and Bi-Bablar, also acting strangely, above and beyond any expected shows of sorrow.  “Something’s happening to them, Luik,” he said.

“It’s the Tree?” Luik offered, trying to get Li-Saide to look him in the eyes. The dwarf nodded solemnly, his brow furrowed in pain. The cave began rumbling again, this time more violently. They all reached out to brace themselves and shielded their heads from the failing debris. Then, as before, the shaking ceased.

“We’ll…be…we’ll be fine, my King,” said the Chief.

“Just wait here,” Luik offered.

“Nay!” Li-Saide held up a hand. “We must continue on. Morgui will destroy everything! We cannot remain. Lives are more important than scrolls or trees.”

“And the others?” Brax asked, noting the absence of the bulk of their fighting force.

“We must assume most of them made it out alive, pushed back by the lava flow,” Ragnar offered. “And that we will rejoin them in Mt. Dakka soon enough.”

Li-Saide reached for Luik’s hand; the King helped him stand. “Spid.” The little dwarf was still holding his head and weeping softly. “Spid, I need you to get to the other side,” Li-Saide ordered.

But Spid still didn’t respond. Luik stepped over to him and squatted, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Spid, listen to me. I need you now; your country needs you now.”

“She is lost,” he whimpered. “She’s gone.”

“I know,” Luik said. It was eerie how he heard the Tree’s end drawing nigh even as he spoke. “I know, and there is nothing you can do about her. But you can do something for us—for your people. They need you.” He paused. “I need you.”

The dwarf looked up, trails of water streaking down his cheeks. “You need me?” he repeated, surprised.

“Aye. I’ve seen how you move. I need to know what’s on the other side, in the cave to the portals. I need to know what enemies we face and how many. Only you can get over there. No one will ever see you. And even if they did, who could catch you?”

The dwarf grinned and wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe, smearing hot tears and mucus across his face.

“All right,” he finally said, pulling up his courage. “I’ll do it.”

“Right you are!” Brax said and slapped him on the back. The dwarf stumbled forward, and Luik caught him.

“Easy,” Luik mouthed to Brax, eyes wide. Brax smiled and apologized sheepishly.

“As fast as you can,” Li-Saide instructed. “No delays. Find out what lies in each of the corridors and who guards the pools. Then return here at once.”

“Very well,” replied Spid. He offered up a slight smile and then lowered his head.

The next instant he was gone.

The five of them leaned around the rock outcropping and watched as a faint wisp dashed along the raised ground and weaved between unsuspecting Dairneags. The men gasped as demons lumbered about, swinging tree limbs and wreaking havoc in the garden, sure Spid would be struck or worse. But the little dwarf never once faltered, able to move around the Dairne-Reih as if they were but statues oblivious to his presence.

And then he was gone, lost in the caves beyond.

“He made it,” Brax sighed and patted Luik on the shoulder. “He made it!”

“Aye, let’s see what he finds.”

They waited impatiently, counting the time that passed with unease.

“Well, it’s pretty much empty of demons,” came a voice behind them.

The group turned in surprise. Spid was standing right behind them.

“Hey’a—how did you—?” Brax was stunned, as were they all.

“Pretty much empty?” Li-Saide inquired.

“A few demons wander through the corridors, but they clearly don’t know what to make of the portals and appear very disinterested.”

“We have a chance then,” Fane put in.

“Li-Saide?” Luik asked for the Chief’s next suggestion.

“Crossing through the garden will be too dangerous. We’ll be exposed. There are many tunnels that the Tribes never developed. They should lead us to the portals.”

“Should?” asked Brax. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“But crossing the garden—it’s too risky,” Ragnar surmised. “We’ll be easy targets, and we don’t stand a chance against such numbers.”

“Aye,” agreed Luik, rubbing his temples. “And these tunnels?”

“Back where the men are waiting,” Li-Saide pointed. “The left fork takes us into the catacombs, an undeveloped network of natural tunnels we’ve used for burying the dead.”

“I thought you didn’t die?” asked Brax.

“We don’t,” he glared at him. “You do.”

“And all your animals,” Bi-Bablar added. “You think we leave them in Grandath?”

But Li-Saide raised a hand to his assistant. “It’s not the time. Come,” he addressed the group. “We must be moving. The cave won’t last much longer.”

 

• • •

 

A Dairneag busied itself with moving a heap of corpses, both demon and man, into a standing pool of liquid fire. It watched the bodies sizzle and pop, sending up thick black smoke that reeked of burnt flesh. Soon, however, its task was finished and boredom set in. Another creature bumped into it, carrying a load of bodies; the former lashed out viciously, shoving the monster aside, and the morbid load tumbled to the ground. A small skirmish ensued, but soon the first Dairneag left the other to collect its work and move on.

It looked around and studied the havoc encompassing the cave; the devastation was complete. Dairne-Reih scoured the walls, tearing at elegantly carved railings and porticos. They ripped doors from their hinges and threw furniture from the interior rooms, casting them down into fire pits. Anything they couldn’t extract, they burned. Columns of smoke emanated from doorways all along the cave’s interior like little chimneys that vented smoldering hearth fires.

Then the Dairneag detected a new scent on the wind…

…something still alive.

It turned its head to discern the source, and spied a small crack in the wall not two tens of paces from where it stood. Its eyes narrowed. Easing itself down from the small mound, it worked its way through the putrid liquid that now rose to its upper legs; the demon avoided the lava that glowed beneath boiling blood and water, swirling together in morbid beauty. Approaching the wall, it slowed and crept more stealthily. Hands wrapping around an outcropping, the beast glared into the darkness of the tunnel and inhaled. The long, cool breath brought the scent of warm flesh and sweat. It sniffed the rocks and touched the floor; the presence was but moments old.

The Dairneag spun around and clicked forcefully; five other demons in the immediate vicinity answered the call. It turned its glare back into the tunnel and moved forward to stalk its prey.

 

• • •

 

The warband weaved its way through the massive network of tunnels, Spid often running ahead to navigate the paths that Li-Saide had forgotten from lack of use. The speedy dwarf would return just as the warband came to a chamber that presented multiple routes. He’d indicate which route brought them closer to the portals and then vanish once again.

Not long after they set out, however, the quaking resumed. But this time it was much more forceful; many men were cast into the rock walls, others crashed to the ground.

“Watch yourself!” Ragnar shouted and shoved two men aside as a large rock dislodged itself from the ceiling. The warriors sprawled on their stomachs, and Ragnar narrowly missed being crushed.

A fissure burst open underneath them, and a blast of hot air sent rock shards bouncing off the walls. One dwarf screamed as the fragments stung his eyes.

Fane scooped him up, blood staining his cloak. “We’ve got to move!” he shouted.

The sound of rock grinding against rock was deafening, like thunder, boring into their heads.

Luik steadied himself, a hand on the wall. “Quickly, men!” He turned to Spid, the little dwarf sidestepping back and forth just to keep his balance. “Which way?”

“Through there,” he yelled, indicating a low passage up ahead.

Above the rumbling came another sound—one they could not forget. A series of shrieks bounced off the walls behind them.

“We’re being followed!” Fane hollered. “Biea Varos!”

“This is unbelievable,” said Brax. “Don’t they ever give up?”

Li-Saide helped a tribesman gain his legs and then plunged ahead. Luik caught up and aided two more injured men to their feet. The group bounced around and then started forward again. Spid stayed a few paces ahead, leading the warband through narrow turns and selecting the fastest routes. They ducked under massive boulders and squeezed between pointed outcroppings, Brax catching his shoulder for a moment and more than one dwarf hung up by their portly girth.

While passing through a large chamber, another fissure ripped open, and steam shot up from the ground. The floor heaved and tossed one man over, sliding down toward the opening.

Brax dove and grabbed the man’s hand. But the hot air scalded the warrior’s legs and he couldn’t hold on; he slipped over and was swallowed into the chasm below.

Brax lay there for a moment, struggling with the man’s passing so suddenly.

“Come, Brax!” He felt Ragnar’s hands around his ankles, hoisting him away from the fissure.

Another series of shrieks cut through the tunnel, and Luik stepped aside. “Keep going!” He shouted to Li-Saide and Spid, pushing men on past him. “I’ll meet you at the portals!” More dwarves and warriors passed, and then Brax and Ragnar.

“What are you doing?” Brax yelled.

“Defending our retreat! Quick now, draw swords!”

The three of them began covering the end of the line, racing forward but glancing over their shoulders every few steps. “Let me take the rear, Luik,” Brax said, letting his King pass by.

The walls continued to shake and rocks fell, slamming into their shoulders and denting their armor. More than one hit them in the head, bringing stars to their eyes and blood trickling through their hair.

Brax stepped over a newly-fallen rock and felt something dig into his back. He twisted away from the pain. But the pressure remained and then pulled him backward off his feet.

“Luik!” he screamed.

Luik and Ragnar spun around, shocked to see a Dairneag holding Brax up in the air by his armor. “Nay!” Luik yelled. He ran back, hands tight around his sword.

The monster glared at him, curious.

Brax struggled to get away, swinging his sword frantically behind him.

The demon eyed Brax…

…then looked back to Luik.

“Naaay!” Luik shouted, running as fast as he could, mumbling the Tongues of the Dibor. It was then Luik could actually see the demon thinking…

…and Luik realized he just wasn’t fast enough.

Eyes fixed back on Brax, the demon reached its free hand up to his chest and drove horned fingers into the plate armor, piecing metal and bone in a single plunge.

Brax’s eyes widened.

The demon looked for a reaction from the High King.

“O God!” Luik screamed.

Brax tried to say something, mouthing empty words. He looked down from his lofty position and stared impassively at the hand dug into his body.

The cave rattled like a child’s toy. Luik tripped and fell to the floor. He glanced up.

Brax was smiling.

The rocks quaked violently, and then a huge boulder shook loose from the cave ceiling above.

Luik reached out as if to stop it—but its course was fixed.

Brax looked longingly into Luik’s eyes, and then he was no more. The boulder slammed down in a spray of rock and blood and sealed off the tunnel.

Luik could hardly see through the tears filling his eyes.

Brax had saved his life. Had nursed him back to health. Had been his closest friend in Mt. Dakka.

He was his sword brother.

Now he was gone. In the blink of an eye. There had been no time to say goodbye. No time to thank him. No time to tell him that he loved him.

Ragnar reached down and grabbed Luik’s shoulders, hoisting him to his feet.

“Let me be!” he sobbed.

“We must go, Son! Now!”

“I can’t believe it! I can’t leave him here!” The thought of Brax being buried in this tomb tore his heart.

Ragnar struggled to turn him.

“Son! We must leave!”

“Nay! I will not leave him here!” Blackness filled his heart. It was worse than fear.

It was dread.

“Luik! We must go! You have a people to lead!” Ragnar twisted him around, rocks crashing down everywhere.

But Luik resisted. Ragnar slapped him across the face.

Luik finally looked into his father’s eyes, stunned.

“You must carry on! There is more life to live! Let him go! There is nothing more you can do!” He paused. “But I can’t force you!”

Luik hesitated, and then relented, falling into his father’s arms. Ragnar turned him forward, and with one arm under his shoulder, helped him exit through the tunnel ahead.

They had taken no more than ten steps before a voice echoed through the tunnel. But not one they knew; it was louder and stronger than the men calling from up ahead. It was fuller and carried a dark emotion…on a dark wind…with a dark purpose.

“Do you not know?”

The voice hissed the words, sweet and slow. Luik and Ragnar paused. They looked ahead but saw no one. They turned to one another.

“Do you not know that I have won?”

It was Morgui.

“Don’t listen to him,” Ragnar said.

As if hearing the suggestion, the voice laughed slow and long, echoing throughout all of Ot.

“Don’t you know victory is mine? Why do you even flee? Don’t you know?”

This time Luik stepped forward and freed himself of his father’s assistance. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t you know that I’ve killed him?”

The two men stopped. Icy chills pricked across Luik’s flesh.

“Don’t listen to him, Son.”

“Nay,” Luik raised a hand. “I will hear him out.”

“Don’t you know I’ve killed him? I’ve slain the King’s Son myself!”

Ragnar meant to move them both forward, burying what he, too, had read long ago. “He couldn’t possibly—”

“Wait,” Luik thought.

He paused there amongst the imploding cavern, rocks bursting all about him. Time slowed, and the sound faded away.

He was with Li-Saide in the locked room of scrolls, poring over the pages. The story of Earth played out in his mind’s eye as he heard the ancient prophecies read aloud…

…the story of the King’s Son.

And of His death.

“He’s right,” Luik agreed. “The King’s Son is dead.”

- – -
Read the blog? Like getting stuff for free? Consider a $0.99 donation to help me continue to create great content. Or if you want to read the book faster, try buying the print version.

Read the blog? Like getting stuff for free? Consider a $0.99 donation to help me continue to create great content. Or if you want to read the book faster, try buying the print version.

- – -

Chapter Twenty-Four

THE READING ROOM

“Reinforce the doors!” Luik ordered, standing with his back against them and sheathing his blade. The clawing and screeching increased as the demons without increased in their lust for a prize. Men and dwarves picked up the giant beams, anchored them in their newly-fashioned floor mounts, and let them drop into place, slamming them down with a heavy ka-thunk.

“If they don’t break through soon, the fires certainly will,” Ragnar pointed out. They could feel the heat penetrating even then.

“Come,” summoned Li-Saide. He ushered the men down the entry corridor and into the first of the large archival rooms, lit by only a handful of torches. Many of the warriors limped or carried wounded dwarves in their arms. More than half their numbers had been cut down in the short assault on the platform.

Luik leaned down to speak privately with the dwarf. “We cannot make a stand with so few men.”

Li-Saide regarded him.

Thud. A muffled blow struck the doors from the outside. Dust fell from the ceiling.

Bi-Bablar walked over, as did Spid. “What would you have us do, Mighty Chief?” they inquired.

Thud.

Fane drew near as well. “Sir, we have a number of men who need attention.” Luik looked over to those indicated, studying their painful expressions. Blood already stained the wood and carpet, their moans mixed with the terrors outside.

Thud. It came again, followed by a crack!

“My Chief,” Bi-Bablar pressed. The doors were weakening. But Li-Saide was deep in thought, focused far away, as if searching the Great Library from within his mind, for something. Anything.

The sounds coming through the door grew louder, the shrieks of the demons now prodded by the flames that devoured the Tree. Luik looked over his shoulder, testing the integrity of their defenses with his eyes. Brax nodded. “She won’t hold much longer.”

Luik turned to Li-Saide. “My Chief? I need options.”

Thud-crack!

“We must make it to the Reading Room,” Li-Saide finally replied.

But Bi-Bablar looked to the injured. “Chief, that is a great distance from here. I’m not certain that—”

“Save it,” he glared. “They will make it.”

There seemed to be a small commotion among the dwarves, and Luik grew uneasy. “Where is this Reading Room?” he asked Li-Saide.

“It is the first room Ad had burrowed out for the Library when she was originally fashioned—the farthest away from here. It’s a long story. Must I?”

Luik shook his head.

“C’symia.” The dwarf turned to their small warband. “We have far to travel,” he announced. “But you must endure. It is our only hope of survival.” Everyone just stared at him. Survival by fleeing farther down a dead end? It was madness. For what, a few more precious moments of life?

“I trust you have a plan?” Luik asked the dwarf. He nodded warily. Luik sighed. “You heard him, men! On your feet! Let’s go!”

As if his words needed further backing, another thud-crack pummeled the doors, this time with a sliver of orange light seeping in through the middle. The warband glanced at it and leapt to their feet. Dead end or not, they were certainly not interested in being devoured here on the floor.

“Quickly now,” Bi-Bablar coxed, helping dwarves to their feet and pushing them along. “Heads up. Stay together.” Brax picked up a man who nursed a hacked leg, pieces of chain maille sunken in the wound.

“I’m not sure I can walk,” said the warrior.

“You can,” replied Brax. “You can, and you must.” The warrior limped awkwardly at first, wincing in pain. He turned to look back at Brax. The King winked. “You can do it.”

Luik glanced up at the doors now that most of the men were on their feet and moving. Li-Saide regarded the deepening damage as well. “How long do you think we have?”

“Only moments,” Li-Saide said. “Those are Hewgogs, infuriated and scalded ones at that.” He turned to Luik. “They can smell you.”

“Comforting,” Luik said.

Another blow to the doors sent the beams jouncing in their mounts. The crack widened.

“Come,” said the dwarf. “We must be off.”

 

• • •

 

Luik and Li-Saide easily caught up with the warband, half limping, half running down the dimly lit interior of the Library. Only the first room had been illuminated as usual; the rest were darkened, the wall torches and chandeliers extinguished for battle. Li-Saide, Bi-Bablar, Brax, and Luik carried torches now, with Luik and the Chief leading the way.

They moved between row after row of the legendary shelves, each at least five men high and crammed full of scrolls. But unlike Luik’s last time here, each enormous chamber room was as black as night, save for the fires in their hands. The orange glow reflected off the lacquered mahogany and shone only partially down the red-carpeted aisle before them. The warband skirted the meticulously-kept reading tables and passed underneath the low archways that separated each grand room from the next.

As the glow of the first chamber faded away behind them, so too did the sounds of the Dairne-Reih. The thudding was now a gentle thump and gave way to the warband’s patter of feet on the thick wool, as well as their labored breathing. The air grew cooler as they went, and the pungent smell of old parchment filled their nostrils.

A man stumbled; Luik caught him under the arm.

“I can’t go on,” he said, pleading. “May we rest?”

“Nay, brother,” trying his best to keep the man upright. “We must move along. There will be time for resting in Athera.” But as Luik said the words, he suddenly wished he hadn’t, implying that they were all headed there shortly.

Brax eyed him and then joined in helping the warrior to keep moving. “Couldn’t you have picked another location for resting?” he chided the High King.

Luik smiled, feeling the humor of the moment and allowing it to encourage him. “I was thinking of the beds in Mt. Dakka, but they’re much too hard.”

“Not as hard as the bread baked in Bensotha,” Brax added.

For that single moment, bantering back and forth, Luik felt like he was back on Kirstell, engaged in one of Gorn’s contests or sparring with the other boralee. It was a feeling of great comfort, one that he enjoyed so thoroughly, he grew sad when it slipped away into the blackness.

Craaaack!

The sound echoed down the hallways, racing through each chamber. The warband stopped.

“They’re through,” Li-Saide offered.

The chase began.

The men took off at a run. Those who labored before now bounded down the corridors, defiant of their pain. Some carried a dwarf on their backs; others cradled one in their arms. Luik noticed the sweat coming down his forehead and struggled to carry his shield, helmet and torch. So he discarded his helmet and opted for his shield. It would be more useful.

They raced under an archway and into the next chamber, which appeared exactly as those before it. Their firelight danced across the rows of shiny cases and tables; their feet were cushioned on the lush red carpet. Halfway through the room the warband heard the shrieks of pursuing demons.

Luik shuddered. “How much farther?”

“A ways,” Li-Saide said.

“A ways is far?” Brax asked, panting.

“Aye,” said Bi-Bablar.

“We need more time,” Ragnar grunted.

“We need a diversion,” Li-Saide added and came to a standstill. “Keep going,” he ordered Ragnar, Fane, and Bi-Bablar. “Luik. Brax. I need you.” The advisor moved the group along, now under the light of a single torch.

Luik and Brax slowed and wondered at the dwarf’s choice of tactics. “What’s your idea?” Luik asked, mindful of their approaching enemy.

Li-Saide glanced upward and whispered under his breath. “Forgive me, O Most High.” Then he held up his torch. “We place one in the corner of the two rooms. Different spots.”

“Start fires?” Luik asked.

“Not at first, but they will catch quickly. And they’ll think we’ve stopped to hide, following the glow. At least for a moment. We’ll use the third torch, however, to set the scrolls on fire.”

“But the records?” Brax asked.

“They’re ruined anyway,” said the dwarf. “What does it matter if it’s by our hand or theirs? Luik, you run to the third room ahead. Light everything that will burn.” Luik just stared at him, unable to believe what he was hearing. But he knew it was the only chance they had to gain more time. “Brax, place this torch back in between the walls at those cases,” the dwarf indicated a tight grouping of tall shelves that would hide the torch, but not its glow. “I’ll plant the next one.”

They nodded, and Luik turned and raced down the room just as another series of shrieks echoed through the corridors. The Dairne-Reih had come much closer.

Luik passed through the next chamber quickly, ducked under the archway and bounded in. He stopped, torch flame flickering in front of his face. “Great God, forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he prayed. He ran to the first case of scrolls and held the flame to a protruding, ragged papyrus edge, yellow with age. Luik could make out ink marks and figures just within the first curl of the bound page. He cringed. The fire licked up the parchment and blossomed upward, casting light all around him. He watched as the ravenous tongues spread and within moments enveloped a wall of scrolls in front of him. He stepped back, horrified by what he had done, and then turned to run across the aisle.

His hands trembled as he held the torch to another bundle of scrolls. The shelf’s contents erupted in a wall of fire, and thin embers broke off and floated up around him. He heard the screams of the searching demons rip through the air again. He stepped back into the central aisle, observing how quickly the fire spread through the room. The heat increased, as did the smoke, making it harder to breathe. He covered his mouth and then turned to look back through the arch, eyes searching for his friends.

The flames spread to the remaining cases in the hall and forced Luik to retreat toward the next room farther in. He looked back again and caught sight of a figure running through the smoke toward him.

“They’re coming!” Brax shouted, one hand over his mouth, the other waving Luik on.

Luik caught him by the shoulder, “Where’s Li-Saide?”

“He’s not with you?” Brax looked around.

“Nay,” Luik said and then coughed.

The room roared with fire, torrents of spinning fury twisting off the shelves and consuming the ancient documents, now but ash flung in the air. The two kings ducked to avoid the smoke and winced at the extreme heat. The massive shelf nearest them snapped in two and one portion fell toward them. Brax pulled Luik out of the way as the wood slammed against the floor in a spray of sparks.

“We’ve got to move on!” Brax said.

“But Li-Saide! I will not leave without him.”

“Luik, we must go,” Brax pleaded, shouting over the noise of the fire.

It was then Luik saw something moving through the fire behind them. He nodded, and they both peered through the distorted air. Frantic hands waved in the smoke, and a billowy hat appeared, flames set upon it.

“Quick!” Luik shouted and sprinted toward the dwarf, Brax on his heels.

Li-Saide stumbled through the flames that devoured the carpet, his robe and beard on fire. Luik grabbed him by one arm, Brax under the other, and together they raced back down the aisle. Their exposed flesh smoldered, smoke bringing tears to their eyes. Li-Saide struggled against the heat that licked his face but didn’t so much as whimper.

Once under the arch into the next room, the Kings dropped the dwarf to the floor and smothered the flames about him with their tunics. They helped him to his feet and, seeing that he was able to stand, turned and watched the raging inferno in the room behind them. There was nothing but intense heat and a white-hot glow feeding on the legacy of written pages. Li-Saide bowed his head.

“We must move on,” Brax suggested as the heat stung their faces. “This will not stay them forever.”

“Agreed,” Li-Saide said, lifting his head. “We must catch up with the others.”

“And when we do?” Luik asked as he peered down into the dwarf’s face, his once regal beard now a charred thicket.

“A secret passage,” Li-Saide replied, still maintaining his ever-present sense of mystery. “If we make it in time, it will secure our retreat. Come.” With that he turned away. Luik and Brax followed, the light of the fire illuminating their path through the next room. And not too soon, as deafening screams chased after them, a multitude of Dairne-Reih infuriated by the delay the flames presented.

The three of them bounded under the arch and into the next room, and the next. Sweat poured down their faces and soaked their undergarments. Up ahead they could see the faint glow of flickering torchlight: the rest of their warband plunging through the darkness. Moments later they had caught up to the group, and Li-Saide pressed ahead to the front of the pack.

“This way,” he shouted and, once under the next arch, turned abruptly and ran along the inside wall. He grabbed a torch out of the closest man’s hand and raced ahead. He reached the side wall and then turned to run along its length as well, stopping halfway down.

Brax was right behind him. “What is it?”

“We’re here,” he replied and thrust the torch into Brax’s hand.

The dwarf knelt down and ran his fingers along the boards, searching for a seam. He summoned the torch closer and blew dust away to reveal a small aberration in the wooden floor’s pattern.

“What is it?” Brax asked.

As if to answer the question, Li-Saide’s fingers found a metal ring layered in dust and pulled it up. With a firm tug, the outline of a small door appeared. Brax and Fane helped him pull it back and made to toss it aside.

“Nay,” Li-Saide caught his arm. “We’ll need it to cover our escape.” The dwarf held the torch into the hole: a set of steep stone stairs leading down into blackness. “Get everyone down,” he said as he handed the torch to Bi-Bablar. “We’ll follow shortly behind.”

More shrieks filled the chambers behind them, but nearer. “They’re through,” Luik gasped, eyes alert and searching the shadows behind.

“Quickly!” Li-Saide took the last remaining torch from a warrior’s tense grip and raced to an adjacent shelf. He lit the scrolls in front of him then passed the torch to Luik. “Light those,” he pointed, “and then toss it across the aisle.”

Luik waved the flame across a broad section of the old parchment and then tossed it fluttering through the air, to land beside another shelf on the other side of the room. He watched as the torch flame seemed to ebb, flickering on the ground; but a moment later the carpet runner caught flame, as did the scrolls nearest the floor.

“Draw swords!” Luik ordered. The remaining warriors pulled out their weapons, blades running against scabbards. Spid helped the warband through the door, pushing their heads down as they ducked into the tunnel. More screams tore through the air.

The last of the dwarves slipped into the stairwell, followed by the other men. “Let’s go!” Li-Saide turned and slipped down the stairs followed by Brax and Luik, just as the heat from the shelves became overwhelming. From below Brax moved the lid back over the hole and seated it securely.

They stumbled blindly down the stairs, for only the one torch far ahead gave any light. The tunnel was dank and musty, unused for ages. Luik’s feet continued to miss steps. He put his free hand up to run along the rough walls. The light ahead disappeared around a corner, and their course turned to the right. Where is this taking us?

As they rounded yet another bend, a heavy thud echoed through the tunnel from above. The group stopped to listen further. It could be a collapsing shelf, Luik thought. Another impact. Li-Saide shouted, and they resumed running. Labored breathing, clanking metal, and the chaos of footfalls traveled with them…down…down into the tunnel. Was it their own, or that of the demons behind them?

No one dared speak, only descend hurriedly, taking three or four steps at a time. A few men stumbled, caught by those behind them and carried along until they could find their feet again.

The air was growing cold; Luik felt a chill move up his spine. Or was it that the enemy neared? He cast a quick look behind him, catching Brax’s eyes and then further past into the black.

The stairs ended and the path leveled. The warband raced along and eventually came to a wooden door as tall as a man. The group packed up close to it, everyone studying the intricately weaving knot work carved into its surface. Bi-Bablar held up the light and produced a small key from within his robes. He inserted it into a slender keyhole and then turned it.

The key snapped.

Bi-Bablar’s eyes widened. He turned, trying to hide his surprise, and looked for Li-Saide.

“What is it?” the Chief asked, noting his brother’s worried stare. Bi-Bablar held up the broken piece of the key.

“What does that mean?” one of the warriors asked, panic in his eyes.

“It means we have to break it down,” Luik answered, pushing his way amongst the men. Brax followed.

Another heavy thump echoed from above them.

“Defend our retreat!” Luik ordered those with swords. “They’ll be through sooner than later, I wager.”

Bi-Bablar stepped aside, and Brax and Luik both rammed the door with their shoulders. While it may have been old, it was far from weak; the door didn’t move in the least. They doubled their efforts but to no avail.

“It’s too strong,” Brax said, massaging his shoulder.

Everyone heard a muffled shriek go up from above. Then a loud crash! of wood splintering into the tunnel.

Luik held his sword in both hands and addressed the door. He gazed at the rich wood carvings that danced in the firelight. Then he closed his eyes and began speaking in the Ancient Tongue, his mouth finding the words afresh and anew each time. His hands tingled, and an inner prompting rose within him. He felt the climax burn within and released it, opening his eyes as he drove the sword into the door.

The wood filled with white light, cracks splintering through the surface. Everyone shielded their faces. Then the door burst into fragments, showering them with smoldering bits of timber. The remaining torch flickered, but did not go out.

“Everyone inside,” Li-Saide prompted.

The warband needed no further instructions and raced in, Bi-Bablar holding the torch. The illuminated room was a grand, circular chamber with a domed ceiling barely visible in the firelight. A large, round rug was centered on the floor, while lavish chairs were spread throughout; some were even elongated, able to hold many people. Luik had never seen such furniture.

Low tables sat next to each chair surmounted with large iron candelabras. And beyond, massive paintings hung along the walls, thick wooden frames bordering each piece of art.

Luik’s eyes searched the walls, scanning for a door. But instead they fell upon a startling image. There, hanging on the far wall, was a painting of a great white lion, paw outstretched and claws extended. Its fierce yellow eyes looked down upon a helpless man lying on a white marble floor, a starlit sky above him.

Luik walked toward it, taking in the man’s stricken expression…

…his sandy blond hair…

…the way the armor was worn…

…and the emblazoned mantle, markings of Bensotha, and then of Casterness.

Luik’s heart stopped. This man was Dionia’s High King. It was himself.

Chills ran down his arms and legs. He noticed he wasn’t breathing and stumbled back, unable to take his eyes from the painting. How could this be? Countless questions entered his mind. This painting was surely generations old! He bumped into someone. Li-Saide caught his hand and turned him around.

“It is as you have seen it?” the dwarf asked calmly.

Luik stared into the Chief’s eyes and nodded. It was him. “What is this place? How could—?” But Li-Saide only shook his head knowingly.

“Those are not the questions you should be asking, Good King.”

“How about the question of how we’re getting out of here?” interrupted Brax.

Shrieks and clicking raced down the tunnel and spilled into the Reading Room.

“Everyone to the center of the carpet!” Li-Saide shouted. Luik had turned and looked back to the painting, oblivious to the commotion. “Take a last look,” Li-Saide said. “We may yet have time for talking later.” Luik nodded, the image burning into his mind’s eye, mirroring the same image from his dreams.

The group stood in a huddle now, swords drawn and facing toward the destroyed doorway.

“That’s it?” Brax inquired toward the Chief, voice strained. “We make a stand here? Like this? That’s the plan?” He was incredulous. “You’re the Chief of all dwarves with the wisdom of the ages—and this is your plan?”

Li-Saide cast him a lethal stare, and Brax withdrew. The Chief walked to the edge of the carpet and reached out to one of the candelabras. He chose an iron stem and then pulled it down. It was then Luik remembered the entrance to the Lion’s Lair.

Li-Saide walked back to join the others. “We’ll be going for a ride,” he said casually. The group turned from the door and balked. But the distraction was short-lived. A ruckus drew their attention back to the opening.

The first Dairneag appeared deep in the tunnel, the torchlight bringing out its demonic eyes and gaping mouth. It raced forward and screamed with a twist of its head, rows of razor-sharp teeth displayed.

“Brace yourselves!” Luik readied them for the impact, swords lowering.

But it never came.

The floor dropped away beneath them. An instant later they were sailing downward, plunging toward the carpeted floor that seemed to float just below. They left the Reading Room above in blackness, and Bi-Bablar floated with the torch in his hand, the flame whipping about.

A scream echoed above, and Luik looked up. To his utter astonishment one of the demons was falling down with them, presumably the one in the door moments before. Its arms were tucked to its sides, diving headlong after them.

Accustomed to free flight from the Lion’s Lair, Luik reached over and took a spear from one of his men, the sorry soul tumbling about in midair. Then he looked back and pointed the weapon straight up toward the flying Dairneag.

“We’re coming to the end!” Li-Saide shouted above the whoosh of the air. “Watch for the floor!”

As the mechanical protraction of the floor neared its end, Luik could feel the carpet touch under his feet and his weight return to his legs. Likewise, Luik braced the end of the spear against the floor and aimed the head at the ever-nearing Dairneag. Without the aid of the floor to slow it down, the demon closed in, aware now of the spear shaft. It had nowhere to go, eyes terrified.

The floor slowed further, and the spear point penetrated just under its chin into the neck and then up into the chest cavity. The Dairneag screamed, arms and legs flailing wildly like a beetle slipping down the shaft of a pin. When the floor came to a jarring halt, Luik rolled away as the monster fully impaled itself on the spear and crashed into the ground.

“Well, that was easy,” Brax chided him.

But any joy in their escape was short-lived. Despite their rapid descent, they heard the frustrated wails of the Dairne-Reih closing from above. Those that could climb raced down the walls and would be upon them within moments.

“This way!” The Chief indicated a narrow gap in the wall, a crack formed in the rock just big enough for a man to slip through. The injured slid through first and then the dwarves. More clicking traveled down the cave. Brax and Luik looked up.

“My Kings!” Bi-Bablar called to them. “Your turn! We must hurry!”

Bits of rock and dirt showered down over them, dislodged from the walls far above. Brax went through, but Luik turned and noticed Li-Saide standing back by the candelabra; the Chief nodded to Luik knowingly. The High King slipped through the opening and heard the twisting and grinding of gears. With the system in motion, Li-Saide raced across the carpet and into the crack.

Then all at once the air was sucked out of the tunnel as the floor shot upward. Their ears popped, and they gasped for breath. But a moment later they breathed more easily and heard the distant sounds of bodies breaking against the speeding platform as it returned to the Reading Room.

Brax grabbed Li-Saide and stared at him in the torchlight. “That was a good plan.”

- – -
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- – -

Chapter Twenty-Three

FORGOTTEN SOULS

Anorra clung to the bars of her cell, white knuckles and trembling arms racked by fear and exhaustion. She peered with her Second Sight out into the vast sea of horror before her, her face half hidden in the shadows of the hot steel. The cracks in her flesh were scabbed over, and her eye sockets swollen with infection. But she couldn’t feel the pain in her body. It was her heart that hurt the most.

The cavern in front of her was a tumultuous sea of writhing limbs swirling wildly like a forest on fire, beaten by gusting winds. Hands, feet, and arms stretched into the air through metal grates that covered massive pits in the ground. She could only guess what matter of vile fury lay below as billowing smoke and bits of molten rock shot upward, bringing horrific screams with each blast.

The screams, however, seemed familiar. Those of people. She studied what she could make out of the extremities more carefully. She saw individual fingers. They were indeed human hands, grasping at the air. For anything.

The anguish she felt then threatened to crush her chest. Dear Most High!

When the infernal shrieking seemed to reach a climax, the entire cavern trembled with a subtle quake. A churning pool of molten rock then flooded the floor below. It rushed up through the prisoner-laden cells and spewed between the grates overhead. The captives disappeared beneath the torturous deluge, and the room had a new floor, a churning mass of boiling lava that burned cherry red. All was calm.

It was then Anorra noticed the watchmen, demons standing along charred pathways that looked over the giant pool. They strode back and forth, eyeing the bubbling surface below with keen stares. They each carried a long whip in one hand and an overlong spear in the other: a breed of Dairneag with enough hand-articulation to carry weapons.

A deep clunk echoed up from the depths, and the lava began to recede. It seeped back down through the grates, and the cavern resumed its former appearance, save for the captives. All was silent.

But she assumed too much too soon.

Miraculously, a lone hand rose up from between glowing red bars, fingers gnarled and twisted. Surely no mortal could endure such a horrific bath! But the victim seemed undeterred, though at least wary. Resilient perhaps? Or, from what happened next, perhaps just new to the order of things here…

Swiftly one of the watchmen nearest the unlucky victim sent its whip trailing through the air like a snake’s tongue. The length of the weapon uncurled and snapped at the outstretched arm, lashing around three-fold. Then with one sharp yank the whip jerked taut, and the captive hollered as joints separated and ligaments tore. Anorra covered her eyes instinctively, but the action availed no relief. Her spirit saw it all with unending clarity.

Trying to save the one, other hands reached up and endeavored to free the victim, fingers prying at the bond. But the watchman was keen and ready for this. A flip of the wrist, and the whip end was loose again, only to be answered by a jeering howl of voices below. But their revelry was short-lived as the guard’s spear shaft was sent swinging over their heads in an instant, cutting through flesh and bone like a scythe through ripened wheat.

Soon the severed limbs were joined by the masses and, amazingly, the plight of those encaved below resumed just as it had before, the cycle complete.

Anorra sank to the floor of her cell, unable to bear the scene any longer. And for once, her Second Sight obeyed. She coughed. Her broken ribs stole her breath away, and she tasted blood in her mouth.

She needed to hear Him again. She needed His presence. If not, she knew she would be no different from those poor souls caged up in the pools below, writhing monsters with the blood of Ad still running in their veins.

I need you now, my daughter.

Though she could barely discern the words, more prompting than audible, she knew it was Him by the way He spoke. She had always known Him. And even here in this place His voice was not foreign. If anything, it was more welcome.

“Aye, my King. I am ever yours.” The words slipped from her swollen lips, heard by no one but her Maker.

Her vision opened once more, projecting the writhing arena as before. Then, as if carried on the wings of a bird, the image in her spirit moved out the far side of the cavern and into another twice as large as the first. Smoke filled the room, and she could taste the sulfur in her mouth. Burning bodies swung from the ceiling on metal chains, and watchman slashed at them for a game.

The room passed, and she traveled down a long corridor. Enormous stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor, like enormous teeth waiting to feed on any who passed by. She hovered between them and raced down the length of the tunnel and into a strange room, wide and tall but extremely shallow in depth. Small cells were pock-marked all along the wall in front of her like swallow nests in the side of an embankment. Except these chambers had no access and their gates were permanently sealed: the inhabitants were never intended to leave.

She cast a long stare down the length of the corridor, the cells stretching on out of sight to the right and left. Anorra could feel that there was something much different about the atmosphere in this room; these souls were unlike those in the lava pits. None of them screamed out; no hands reached between the bars. Everything was silent. She passed up through the small chambers, passing row after row, looking into the shadows. Lurid eyes stared back but never recognized her—their once-gleaming faces now barren and haunted, full of despair. Full of defeat.

It was then she understood.

These souls were forgotten.

Her view raced on along the wall, high up now. She cast a quick glance down and suddenly wished she hadn’t, for the floor far below was swallowed in darkness. Then her progress slowed and she hovered before a cell that bore no bars.

“What is this?” she asked of her Creator. She peered into the darkness but saw nothing.

Look closer.

She edged nearer.

A set of old eyes opened.

Anorra lurched back in her cell, but her vision did not move.

These eyes were different again. There was something about them…as if this being could see her. It was gazing back at her! All at once a man’s face appeared. Sallow and grave, he fumbled forward. Seeking rescue? A gnarled hand stretched forward, just bones beneath seared flesh. Anorra screamed, hearing her own voice echo in her cell.

The vision vanished.

She sat against the far wall of her cage, listening to her own labored breathing. “Who was that, my Lord? Why show me such a thing?”

I want you to rescue him.

- – -
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- – -

Chapter Twenty-Two

BATTLE FOR OT

Luik stood beneath the Tree, gazing about the cave. The space was a flurry of activity, the atmosphere nothing like it was the last time he had been there. The methodical changing out of the Scriptorium and orderly filing of the Archives had been replaced by shouting as thousands of dwarves busied themselves with the preparations for war. The garden floor was already beginning to flood with water and massive wooden spikes protruded high into the air. The lavish beauty of the garden had been pushed aside to prepare for the inevitable atrocities of war.

Men spilled in from the corridors that led from the portals, stumbling into the walls and collapsing in the ankle-deep water. The anxiety of travel was a shock to them, most heaving the contents of their stomachs or holding their heads in pain. Luik remembered the feelings all too well and pitied them, but the truth was that their turmoil was nothing compared to what was to come.

As the wave of agony passed, each man looked up, gazing at the miraculous wonder of the Tree that towered above them. Their eyes followed the massive trunk up into the leaves that disappeared into the blackness beyond, everything below them cast in its mesmerizing glow. But their awe was cut short as they took orders from one of the commanding dwarves. The guardians of Ot helped each warrior to his feet and then pushed them along.

“You’ve done that before?” Brax asked Luik, rubbing his temples. He walked slowly to where Luik stood in the garden.

“Aye,” Luik said with a grin. “Too much for you?”

Brax just grunted and closed his eyes.

“Jrio and Fyfler?”

“They’re coming,” Brax said. “Just behind.”

Luik looked just in time to see Fyfler double over and vomit, holding himself against a pillar with one hand. Jrio followed a few steps behind but managed to keep everything down.

“Everything’s under way?” Brax continued.

“Aye, and moving along quickly. These dwarves are masters of efficiency,” Luik said.

“So it seems,” said Brax, observing the flurry of activity.

“Excuse me, King Luik?”

Startled, Luik looked down to his right where a small dwarf stood; he hadn’t even heard him approach. “And you are?”

“My name is Spidanu, of the Tribe of Loy.” He spoke very quickly. “Loy-Spidanu, really. But everyone tells me that’s a mouthful. It is, I know. So everyone here just calls me Spid. Instead of Loy-Spi—”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Luik cut in, holding out his arm. The little dwarf met it before Luik could blink, shook twice, and withdrew his hand. It all happened so fast. The King was left still holding his hand in midair. “I see. Spid,” Luik repeated his name. He looked at his hand and then back at the dwarf. Unlike Li-Saide’s aged appearance, this dwarf looked incredibly youthful. His hair was short and spiky though he wore a similar robe as all the rest. “Well, what can I do for you, good Spid?”

“Your father summons you,” said Spid.

“My father?” Luik was surprised. “Lead the way.” And with that, Spid was gone, vanishing before Luik had a chance to see just which way he went.

Luik was astonished. “Well, I never—”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” came another voice.

Luik turned. A new dwarf stood beside him.

“I’m going to have to get used to all this commotion,” said Brax. “I don’t remember it being like this before. There are so many of them!”

Luik chuckled. “Aye, brother. That there are.” He looked down at the new dwarf. This one was more what Luik was used to, portly and with a jovial round face, one that always seemed to be smiling no matter the actual emotion. He had red hair and matching beard, not as old as Li-Saide, but definitely Spid’s elder.

“You’ll have to forgive Spid,” he said. “He is quite good at running errands—the fastest we have, in fact—but poor when it comes to having others keep up with him.”

“So I can see,” Luik replied.

“Ah, I digress,” he thrust a hand out. “My name is Bi-Bablar.” Luik smiled at the name. “I’ll lead you to your father, as you’ll surely find I’m a bit easier to follow than Spid.”

“C’symia, my friend. My legs thank you.”

Luik gave Brax a knowing nod and left him to tend to Fyfler and Jrio, who would then be helping assign the men to their posts. Bi-Bablar led Luik around through the garden in knee-high water and up one of the grand staircases that hugged the outer wall.

Luik could feel the tension in the air. The ground around them thumped and pulsed, a product either of the dwarves’ activity or of the presence of their enemies above. But in any case Luik knew a tremendous battle was about to ensue. He tried to make small talk to ease Bi-Bablar’s nerves. Or perhaps his own.

“So you like to write?”

What kind of a question is that? Luik thought. He’s a dwarf!

“I like to ride,” replied Bi-Bablar.

“Ride?”

“Horses,” Bi-Bablar replied. “I believe that’s what most people refer to when riding.”

“And you would be correct,” Luik nodded. “The error is mine.”

“And I like to tell stories.”

“Stories? Of what you write?”

“Of what I see,” he corrected.

“Very good.” The conversation wasn’t helping anything, especially me, Luik thought. He felt it growing awkward.

“You know, my King, you ask many questions.”

“It is my job to inquire, I suppose.”

“You have no reason to be nervous, you know,” Bi-Bablar added. Luik was surprised at his forthrightness. Can he see that easily into me?

“I know,” Luik said. “Yet I still am anxious.”

Bi-Bablar stopped on a landing that overlooked the garden. “But the Great God is with you, my King. You have nothing to fear.”

Luik stood thinking. All throughout the giant cave the dwarves were busy at work. Luik saw some of his men begin to integrate with them, lending their stronger arms to carrying supplies and readying the defenses, as he and the others had planned. “Sometimes all I can see is fear, Bi-Bablar. Sometimes I wonder if the Most High even hears my cries. These are—”

“Dark days. I know,” said the dwarf. “But if you could only know what we know, what we see, then you would understand that the Most High does indeed hear your prayers. But long before you were born, and long after you are taken home to the Great Throne Room, He will still be dispensing the means of His will upon Creation. Whether your life comes or goes, it does not matter, so much as you were included, incorporated into His will with each breath you took. That is all He seeks. To have you a part of His masterwork. And most often that requires a feat of daring against those who would undo the tapestry of His legacy. You never know when your hardship means someone else’s salvation.”

They both stood staring at one another for a moment. Luik took great solace in the little man’s words. He marveled at this race—so quirky and unusual—yet so instantly prone to being a friend. Thank You, Most High.

“Come,” Bi-Bablar turned. “In here.” He pushed on a heavy door, hinges fighting. They walked down a low, lengthy corridor lined with doors on either side. Thick candles fluttered in their wall mounts as they passed. The passage opened into a larger anteroom with a tall door set in the far wall.

“I will leave you here,” said the dwarf.

“C’symia, Bi-Bablar,” Luik said holding out his hand. “I trust we will meet again.”

The dwarf snorted, “In the throes of battle, to be sure! And then in Athera, should the time ever come.” He smiled widely and his round chest shook with a laugh. “Or I can just wait here,” pointing to a small chair, “as I’m not allowed to leave you, yet I cannot go further.”

Luik gave him a smirk. Funny, too, Luik added to his thoughts on the qualities of dwarves. He moved to the door and knocked with the heavy gold ring. The answer came as the door swung toward him and he slipped inside.

An attendant held the door and Luik thanked him before looking further into the room. It was decorated sparingly, as was Otian style, and was prepared for the Race of Men, as all the fixtures were much larger than normal. More relief pictures lined the walls, as Luik recalled were in his room when last visiting Ot, save that these were somehow much older. And this room, though Luik couldn’t place it, had a personality about it—something distinct and almost royal—yet not without a certain air of leisure.

“It was Ad’s room,” Ragnar said, standing beside the bed. “His escape from Adriel, as if one could ever imagine it being needed.” Ragnar was outfitted in full battle dress, a black tunic over his chain mail with a long sword strapped to his side; Luik knew it immediately as the Sword of The Lion Vrie.

“Father,” Luik said, moving toward him. They clasped forearms and embraced.

“It is indeed good to see you, my son,” Ragnar said, standing back to admire his appearance. “You look ready to slay Morgui himself.”

“As do you,” Luik replied.

Luik looked around the chamber.

“This room has been my home these many moons,” Ragnar said. “And I find myself in good company, for the Spirit of the Most High has not been distant as my presence remains a secret for a little while longer.” He walked over and touched the hard-packed soil beside a hanging picture. “Perhaps it is these walls, each one having sheltered my forefathers before me in times when they sought audience with the Tribes of Ot. Or perhaps it is the Tree without that reminds me of days gone by. But the time has passed quickly, and now you are here.”

“I am only sad we could not spend it speaking more, or planning what adventure awaits us next,” Luik replied.

“But what an adventure awaits us this day!” Ragnar spoke up. “Though my body is older now, my hand is still fit for the sword.” He strode in front of Luik and clutched his arms. “And to meet my enemy with my son beside me,” he sighed, “there is no greater day.”

“C’symia, Father.” Luik still felt that he wanted to know this man more. He knew him as King, yes; but as a father—that was something altogether different. Perhaps one could only know such a father as a boy, and so Lair would always hold that position. Luik felt that somehow this man, his real father, was much more of an acquaintance than an intimate. And while he pleaded with the Most High for the time to remedy such a circumstance, in his heart he felt that it would not be granted. Even worse, such an end meant that he would lose another father to battle—something he knew he could not bear again.

“What is it, dear boy?” Ragnar questioned. He looked deep into his son’s eyes.

Luik thought of a dutiful answer. “It is the weight of Dionia,” he replied, skirting the issue.

“Ah, a weight I know all too well.” He patted him on the shoulder. “But you bear it well. And your battle plans are well formed.”

“You have seen them then?”

“Oh, aye. And better than anything I could have ever fashioned. Your skill at kingcraft is equally fit to your skill in battle. It would seem that your tutelage under Gorn was well worth your absence from our world.” Ragnar looked longingly into his son’s face. “While I do not know you as I would, never doubt the investment made into your life. You are a Son of the Living God, an heir to His inheritance. And it was not I, nor the Gvindollion that chose you for such an errand. It was He, and He alone.” Ragnar smiled then. “And I tend to think that He knows what He’s doing.”

“Aye, but sometimes I—”

There was a heavy pounding at the door. Luik looked over his shoulder, and then back to his father.

“You’ll be fine, Luik. And remember that I love you. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“As do I,” he replied.

“Enter,” Ragnar called to the door.

“My King?” said Bi-Bablar.

Both Luik and Ragnar answered. “Ha, it’s your title,” Ragnar grinned at Luik.

Luik turned to the door. “Aye?”

“King Luik, the gate is breaching. Li-Saide has requested your presence immediately.”

Luik looked to Ragnar.

“Let it be done,” Ragnar said, picking up his shield and helmet.

They followed Bi-Bablar through the anteroom, down the corridor and out into the central cave. Once without, they passed up two more flights of stairs before stepping inside one of the lifts. Brax was waiting inside. No sooner was the gate closed than the lift lurched upward and sailed swiftly between the Tree’s trunk and the side of the cave. The ground fell away at a hurried rate, and soon the large green leaves were racing by.

“Everything is ready?” Luik asked Brax.

“As ready as it can be.”

“Good. Where is Li-Saide?”

“Waiting for you in the Surface Tunnel.”

“And the men?”

“All to their stations. The portals are closed.” Brax paused and looked down. “I’d say we’re ready for a fight.”

Luik took a deep breath. “We’d better be.”

“We are, Son.” Ragnar placed a hand on Luik’s shoulder. “We are.”

The lift came to a stop, and the gate was flung open. They were at the highest point in the cave, looking down to the Tree a great distance below. A low boom filled the air every few moments, and bits of dirt fell from the vaulted ceiling above.

Luik stepped onto the platform and looked up. There, just as he had drawn out, was an enormous net affixed to countless lift pulleys all over the cave’s ceiling. It stretched out like a tightly woven blanket slung between tree limbs, ready to cradle anyone who fell in.

“I can’t believe they made it,” Luik admired.

“These dwarves are industrious beings,” Brax said. “You said so yourself.”

“Aye, it’s just so big.” He looked back down to the Tree’s upper section. “And the archers?”

“Positioned and awaiting your command. Grinddr sent half of his men into the Tree as well.”

“Well done.” Luik looked to the tunnel. “Onward.”

They marched up into a wide corridor, the same that eventually led to the surface. It was filled with men and dwarves, each busy with preparing the defenses as prescribed. The booming continued, and more soil and rocks fell on their heads. Luik brushed his hair of the debris and continued on. Long wooden spikes lay on either side of the floor, waiting to be inserted into the angled holes along the path, walls, and ceiling. And then he started to see the giant leaves attached overhead.

“They’re bigger than I expected,” Luik expressed.

“Aye, and swollen with water, just as you noted,” Brax replied, moisture dripping down on their heads and sizzling in the torches. “They’ll let them down and cover the tunnel as soon as we’re done here.”

“Good. And Li-Saide?” Luik asked Bi-Bablar.

“He’s just ahead, my King,” answered the dwarf, keeping pace behind them.

They climbed up the path, passing more layers of spikes and leaves until Luik could see Li-Saide in the torchlight. Fane stood beside him, examining the tunnel, which ended in a solid wall. Li-Saide was instructing a group of dwarves, each focused on a number of small cloth bundles being pressed into the tunnel walls.

“Li-Saide, I am—”

But the dwarf raised a silencing hand without even turning.

Luik stopped, as did the others. Bi-Bablar tugged on the King’s tunic.

“They’re setting the charges,” he whispered. “One false move and…” the dwarf made an explosive sound with his mouth and spread his hands apart.

Suddenly the group of dwarves backed away from the dead end and Li-Saide turned to Luik. “It’s all set,” the Chief said confidently. “If they use the portal, they’ll think twice on their next attempt. And if they dig through, they’ll have a new mess on their hands.” Li-Saide winked and put a finger to the air. “More digging either way!”

“Marvelous,” Luik said. “I still don’t know how this powder of yours works, but when have I ever questioned a dwarf?”

“Well, there have been—”

“Don’t answer that,” Luik put in.

They all turned back down the corridor.

“Is everything to your liking?” Li-Saide asked.

Luik nodded. Li-Saide waved a hand as they moved by the first set of spikes and leaves. The dwarves and warriors leapt to action, lowering the layers of leaves to completely cover the mouth of the tunnel, followed by placing the wooden spikes in a circular pattern around the tunnel floor and wall, all facing outward. If the Dairne-Reih came this route, and did indeed manage to dig themselves out of the cave-in resulting from Li-Saide’s trap, the thick leaves would not only quench the fire of their enemies’ torches, but hide the mouthful of spikes waiting to devour them in their rush for blood.

The six of them emerged back onto the landing beside the lift. Luik noticed men sawing away at the joints where the platform met the wall.

“The last ones through will pull her down,” Li-Saide noted.

“If they get this far, they’ll have a long drop,” Bi-Bablar chuckled just thinking about it.

They stepped into the lift and descended.

“Only one question remains,” said Brax looking to Luik. “Where do you want to be?”

Luik glanced at Brax, and then to Li-Saide and Bi-Bablar. “The Archives,” Luik finally said. Li-Saide was all too proud. “If there is something to protect, it would be our world’s history. The Great Tree will take care of herself, and I am no use with a bow. But give me my sword and my heritage to defend, and you’ll have me in the right place.”

“Then I’ll join you,” said Li-Saide.

“As will I,” said Bi-Bablar.

“And I,” said Fane. Ragnar nodded as well.

“And you, King Brax?” Luik asked.

“Ah, you know me,” he said. “My men are in the garden and will tend to those who make it that far. With plenty of water to keep the fires at bay and spikes to welcome those who journey down? I’ll only get in their way. Consider my sword yours.”

Luik hit him on the back. “You are a faithful friend and a mighty warrior, Dibor. May our swords strike true.”

Li-Saide pulled the line for the lift to stop at the next platform. They slowed and then adjoined the balcony and slipped past the gate. The landing was already filled with warriors extending down and up the stairs that bordered it on two sides, one set coming up from below and an adjacent set that continued upward, wrapping around the curve of the cave wall, each set on aiding Luik in his defense of the Library. In front of them was the familiar door of the Great Library and, beyond, the endless records of everything the dwarves had documented from the beginning of time, including the other worlds that the Most High had fashioned for His liking. Most notably, Luik remembered, the first world—Earth.

The three men and two dwarves exited the lift just before it was hoisted back into the air and raced to the Surface Tunnel above. Luik then turned to address the men now under his command. “We’ll make our stand here,” Luik shouted. “If we should fail, then we’ll defend from within the Library.”

“Defenses have been readied on the other side of the doors,” Bi-Bablar reminded him. “As ordered, sir.”

“Very good. Thank you for your diligence.” He looked into the eyes of all those entrusted to his care. The loud thumping from far above grew louder. The enemy was near. “Meet your enemies with terror in your eyes and courage in your hearts,” he exhorted. “Let your spears fly swiftly and your swords cut unhindered. This is our greatest hour, and we—must—not—fail.”

“Hey’a!” the men let up in unison.

Suddenly a horrendous explosion sounded from far above. The men looked directly overhead to see a puff of smoke and debris fly out of the Surface Tunnel and spew into the cave. The warriors and dwarves had not even finished cutting away the platform when the blast came, the shock wave blowing them and the platform off the wall. The lift swung wildly…

And then the line snapped.

The wooden crate along with the platform hurtled downward, bodies flailing in midair.

“Against the wall! Now!” Luik ordered. The men spread out along the inside of the stairs and pressed themselves against the wall as best they could. They watched in muted terror as the first of the fatalities played out before their eyes.

Within moments the wreckage flew past them, men screaming as they fell. Parts of the platform slammed into the balcony where Luik stood, shattering into oblivion. The scream of a man was silenced as he crashed into the upper staircase and ripped a portion of it down with him.

A dwarf landed with a sickening thud at Li-Saide’s feet, appearing as a heap of robes and a smattering of blood.

A moment later the carnage met its end on the cavern’s floor, echoes extending back up.

Ignoring the trauma that had just played out, Li-Saide said, “They’re in.”

There was a heavy pause as everyone in Ot became silent. All waited, listening for what would come next. No one stirred, or even dared breathe for fear of inviting what lay above them. Just utter stillness.

Then the booming resumed.

The Dairne-Reih were back to work.

“They’ll be coming through the main ceiling very soon, I should think,” said Bi-Bablar.

“Aye,” agreed Li-Saide. And suddenly his eyes grew distant.

Bi-Bablar turned to Luik. “They’ve been digging down from the surface for three days. They’re using Hewgogs.”

Luik was confused, having never heard the word before.

“A giant Dairneag,” replied the dwarf. “I’ve seen them with my own eyes. Gruesome creatures, to be sure.”

Luik looked to Li-Saide. The dwarf was staring out into the distance, his eyes fixed on the Tree’s trunk.

“Are you all right?” Luik asked.

But Li-Saide didn’t move. Luik removed his gauntlet and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. The dwarf stirred.

“Where were you?”

“Something’s not right,” Li-Saide said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I feel something terrible is about to happen.”

Luik knew Li-Saide never let his own fears get in the way of reality; he was a dwarf, after all, and they were immune to certain human dispositions. The statement worried him greatly.

“To what effect?”

“I’m not certain,” replied the dwarf. “I just sense something in the spirit—” He squinted his eyes. Suddenly a look of great pain seized his face, and his eyes flashed back open. “O Great God!” he cried and fell to his knees.

“Li-Saide!” Luik knelt down next to him. “What’s happening?” But the dwarf only groaned in pain. Luik heard more groaning from his other side. He looked and saw Bi-Bablar also crumpled on the ground.

“King Luik!” one of the men cried. “Look!”

Luik glanced up and noticed that any dwarf his eyes could find was doubled over, many of them weeping openly.

“Great God, what is this?” Luik whispered. Just then he heard Li-Saide trying to speak. He knelt lower.

“What is it?”

Then Luik heard Li-Saide say something he found unimaginable. “All is lost.”

Boooom!

An explosion ripped through the cavern’s ceiling, blasting through the final layers of rock with a deafening sound. Sunlight poured in through a gaping hole, streaming through the clouds of debris. Rocks and dirt showered down, most caught in the wide net overhead; but the larger bored holes right through the tight weave.

“Shields!” Luik cried and raised his shield over Li-Saide and himself. In the same movement he capped his head with his helmet. Rock fragments rained down, pelting their shields with pockmarks. But some pieces were much too large to be stayed off by weaponry and tore through portions of the wall-mounted structures, crushing men whole. Just to Luik’s side he saw a man kneeling with his shield covering his head; one moment he was enduring the assault with bravery, the next he was pulverized, crushed beneath his shield, showering those around him.

The debris thinned, and the air was filled with men coughing, many groaning in their final moments of life.

“Look lively, men!” Luik hollered, standing to his feet. He glanced up to the massive hole above and the net filling with stone and dirt that seeped out like mud in a sieve. Then he remembered Li-Saide.

“Li-Saide!” he cried, kneeling back down. “Are you all right?”

The dwarf rubbed his head. “I’m no worse for wear.”

“You were right, something was indeed about to happen. You must get up quickly.”

“My King,” replied the dwarf, as Luik helped him to his feet, “I was not talking about Dionia.”

Luik paused as the dwarf brushed himself off; the comment disturbed him.

“O?”

“Something has happened on Earth.”

Luik was stupefied. He didn’t know what to say, although his heart was telling him something dreadful. Memories filled his head, images of what he had heard behind these very doors in the Library.

Images of a grave travesty…

…of the unexplainable.

For it pleased the Father to crush His Son.

“They’re coming in!” Ragnar shouted.

Luik looked up to see the first wave of demons fill the space of the hole and block out the fading sunlight. They climbed through the opening with their claws digging into the ground. But as it crumpled in their hands, they fell headlong into the net. It was here that Luik’s plans were set into motion. The Dairne-Reih scrambled over one another and tried to reach the edges of the net while others, toppling over on themselves, looked for places to slash through. But in either case, the demons were exposed and vulnerable from beneath. The archers throughout the Treetop and along the walls let loose a volley of arrows so thick they could be heard by the onlookers below. The missiles raced through the netting and found their targets, drilling into any number of the beasts caught in the net.

As the Dairneags continued to file through the hole above, the net filled with more and more victims, helpless as they tried to maneuver over the bodies. They growled and shrieked, filling the cavern with freakish sounds. Spotters continued to point out targets for the archers, shouting to be heard over the ghastly throes of death from above. Luik watched as the great net began to sag, filling with arrow-riddled corpses. The flow of demons was unrelenting, streaming in like giant spiders.

“It will not hold much longer,” Fane noted. He held firm to his rowan staff.

Soon the net was so full that the archers could spy no new targets. The cords strained under the weight as more and more demons stood on top of their fallen kind. They raced to the edges and hung from the sides. But this proved fatal, as the bowmen unleashed their wrath. The Dairneags were met with mortal wounds, their fingers slipping from the net, their bodies hurtling to the spike-ridden ground far below.

“She’s going to give,” Brax shouted.

As if hearing his admission, the main cords of the net began to unwind, their lengths spinning wildly, snapping under the increased weight. Like sinew popping from too much stress, the bonds gave way one at a time. The pulleys squealed as lines raced through them, smoke pouring from the blocks.

“Take cover!” Luik ordered. Once again the shields went up and everyone knelt against the wall.

Just then the final cords tore free and snapped back like whips. The net churned one last time and heaved sideways, spilling its contents out into midair. A black mass of demon corpses issued forth like a wave pouring over a waterfall. There was nowhere to go but down. Dairneags that still lived shrieked in terror as they flew through the air, hurtling to their end. Most seemed to pour into the top of the Tree of Life, careening into branches that broke their bodies further, many impaled on the smaller upturned limbs.

But now the message was sent to Morgui’s forces: only those demons with the ability to climb could come through the hole. Luik and his men stood closely against the wall as bodies bounced off and flew past them. Then his eyes turned to the Surface Tunnel entrance. He saw wreckage spill out of it, and dirt fling into the air.

“They’ve dug through,” he said to Li-Saide.

“Aye,” replied the dwarf.

Back at the main hole, demons crept down from the surface and peered into the vast cave. Their gathering forces pushed down from above, and a few unlucky beasts were shoved free, screaming as they fell. But most studied the cavern and plotted their course. They reached around the edge of the hole and climbed along the ceiling with their claws dug into the hard-packed ground. The archers had no problem picking them off, watching them climb along and then dropping them with well-placed arrows.

Again, Luik noticed movement from the Surface Tunnel. He pointed up as a Dairneag emerged and stepped out into the open air. The men watched it fall, flying past their balcony. It was large and, from the bloodied body, had clearly borne the brunt of the spikes within. The demon also released an extinguished torch as it fell; the damp leaves had served their purpose.

Another demon followed behind the first, stopping just short of a fatal fall, but the pause was temporary. The Dairneag coming behind it did not slow and shoved the first out into the open, following with itself and a few more. Luik could hear the horde still in the cave begin to click and chatter, certainly passing along a warning.

“The first wave is over,” Luik surmised. “They know they can’t just barge in.”

There was a lull in the commotion as the Surface Tunnel activity ebbed, as did that pouring in from the hole above. But everyone knew the battle was far from over.

The archers readied their next missiles.

Luik drew his sword, a sound followed by countless more of the same. He squinted up through the cavern, now filled with a dusty haze.

A single coil of rope, tethered from above, shot down through the main hole, followed by four of five more. They unraveled speedily and dropped into the canopy of leaves. A moment later, the largest Dairneags Luik had ever seen descended through the space.

“Hewgogs,” Li-Saide cursed.

“What?” asked Luik.

“What we were telling you about,” Bi-Bablar reminded him. “The giants of Morgui’s army.”

“I’ve never seen such creatures,” Luik mumbled.

“That’s because they are something new,” said Li-Saide. “Morgui created them.”

“But I thought he can’t make anything new?”

“Ah,” Li-Saide corrected himself, staring up at the rappelling giants, “he bred them.”

“Excuse me?” Luik was disgusted.

“Can we save the lesson for later?” Brax interrupted. “Look!”

The Hewgogs, riddled with arrows, dropped from the ropes and fell into the uppermost branches of the Tree. As they met the canopy, branches cracked and ripped apart, leaves flying out from within. To Luik and the others it looked as if someone had reached in and shaken a bush with their hand. Luik noticed the sounds of countless bowstrings thwipping through the air, followed by deep growls. More crashing and then screams—

—of men.

Bodies fell through the upper limbs, bouncing around like pebbles, and then appearing in midair underneath the canopy of leaves.

“Look out!” Brax hollered down below. But the first few bodies surprised the warband beneath the Tree and landed among them.

Just then another wave of demons slid down the ropes, but these were the typical Dairneags. Luik imagined them moving easily through the limbs and working in conjunction with the Hewgogs. Without adequate swordsmen to protect them, the archers would not last much longer. More of the Dairne-Reih filled the tree, and soon a full-fledged battle ensued within the branches. More limbs cracked and bodies fell out of the leaves. And the battle was moving—down.

Luik heard a great commotion in the lower branches. Men were shouting, dwarves barking orders. And just then a lift descended from the canopy, lowering swiftly to the garden below.

“They’re retreating,” Fane said.

Luik looked back to the hole. Not only were more demons descending through the hole, but the more agile had resumed their method of climbing down along the ceiling. So many came, in fact, Luik could not count them, the effort immeasurably overwhelming. Even from the Surface Tunnel they came, crawling out of the tunnel and racing down the wall—right for them.

The lanky, swifter demons moved with remarkable speed, covering the distance in no time, as if running on level ground on two legs. They seemed to defy gravity. Luik was astonished. But equally pleased.

“Ready the ropes,” he ordered. Li-Saide raised his hand and the warriors all around reached for any of the number of ropes that dangled against the wall. Farther up, the lines attached to the wall, linked to something fixed within.

Luik squinted through the slits in his helmet and squeezed the sword in his hand. The Dairne-Reih were picking up speed. And they could see him—Luik knew it. They wanted King’s blood. There was nothing better to them.

“Hold!” Luik ordered.

Dirt was raining down on Luik’s warband as the wall was eaten away. Like a black shadow spanning across the ground, the crawling demons spewed out from the two holes above and blanketed the entire ceiling, pouring down the walls.

“Hold!”

He could see their mouths flare, teeth exposed.

Luik held his breath. Eyes keen.

“Hold!”

There must be legions of them, he thought. And then he thought no more…

It was time.

“Pull!” he hollered.

Li-Saide lowered his hand, and the warriors heaved with all their might. The lines snapped taut. From above, more wooden spikes, hinged from their bases, angled out from the wall. The demons had no time to react and plunged into row after row of the deadly dowels, jerking back violently. The force was tremendous, many breaking spikes in half, only to fall into the next set. Those not impaled jumped out from the wall. They sailed over those hanging in the spikes, but tried in vain to pull themselves back into the wall and fell to their deaths in the garden below.

Wood and flesh drifted down on top of Luik and those around him. The first charge had been stalled. But those pouring in from the tunnel and the hole continued with a second wave. It appeared like a coating of black oil that oozed down from the ceiling, covering the cave entirely as it went. Those that could not climb slid down the ropes into the Tree. And Dairneags were picking through the spikes above Luik’s head, regrouping for an assault on his platform.

He looked across the cavern and slightly below to where the Scriptorium platform was. The warriors were just now releasing the wall spikes above their location with the same devastating effects. But as the countless beasts filled in from the sides, Luik imagined the entire balcony to be swallowed whole in a matter of moments.

But then Luik noticed something else even more disheartening, something that stopped the breath in his lungs, something he had not noticed before: the light of the Tree was dimming.

“Li-Saide, look,” he pointed to the canopy.

“I know,” replied the dwarf.

The Tree of Life was not as it once was. The mesmerizing glow that gave light to fill the cave, and eternal life to the dwarves, was diminishing.

“Swords ready!” Brax commanded. Luik glanced up. The Dairne-Reih were on top of them.

A Dairneag left the wall and sailed down, horns and teeth bared. He crashed into a cluster of men, chomping on their swords and exposed limbs. Another landed beside Luik, thrashing wildly. He met him with a powerful jab in the side.

Suddenly Luik was smashed to the ground, weight bearing down on his shoulders and chest. His head slammed against the platform, rattled in his helmet.

He looked up.

The grotesque face of a Dairneag growled just a hand’s breadth away, staring him right in the eyes. The monster’s hot breath stung his skin, drool slipping in through the helmet’s breathing holes. His body was on the alert and didn’t even notice the pain as the monster squeezed its claws into his chain maille. He tried to twist away beneath it, but the effort did nothing to deter the beast.

Time slowed.

Luik felt the Spirit rise in his body.

All his training flashed before him and then stopped with Gorn in the Lion’s Lair. The Tongues of the Dibor.

He glared back at the demon on top of him. This monster would not win. Morgui would not win. So long as Luik had breath to breathe, so long as the Most High still sat upon His throne…

He recalled Gorn’s words. “It is not an accomplishment you are looking for, but a flowing with His Spirit to arrive at a place within His Will.”

What came next was less than an action and more of a thought.

Die.

Luik grabbed the creature around its throat with his left hand and then brought his sword up into its gut with his right. He whispered the Sacred Tongue and, in one swift motion, drove the sword all the way through the demon.

The action was so devastating that the Dairneag was torn in two, exploding all over Luik’s body.

Luik lay there, the power surge still coursing through his veins. He caught his breath. He remembered how his sword had decimated the granite rock in the Lair, and it was almost as if he could hear Gorn speaking to him now. Well done.

Time raced back, and he looked up to see more Dairne-Reih besetting the platform. He pushed himself up and noticed more coming up from beneath them, climbing over the balcony.

“There are too many!” Brax yelled out, swinging at a Dairneag and wresting it of its arm.

Luik engaged another beast, this time the Tongue coming more easily. He brought his sword back and swept across the demon’s midsection, speaking the words as he swung. His sword cleaved the demon in half, the upper section toppling over and onto the floor. A demon nearby examined the severed corpse and then looked at Luik.

For the first time Luik could recall, the demon stopped—and looked at him with fear.

“Brax!” Luik yelled over his shoulder.

Brax disemboweled a foe and then spun to Luik’s aid. He saw the demon Luik was staring at and noticed its expression. Ragnar and Fane also stole a glance. As Brax drew closer the demon looked over at him, now taking a step back.

“What did you do?” Brax asked, and then he looked to the ground and saw the carnage.

“The Tongues of the Dibor,” Luik replied, eyeing his new opponent.

“Of course!” Brax brightened, slightly frustrated why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Too much reliance on the natural. He spun and met his next adversary.

An agile monster leapt from the wall and drove at Brax. But he sidestepped, sending the demon off balance, and swung hard, willing the words to his mouth. But the lack of practice had a price. The Dairneag leaned away from the sword and jabbed a horn-knuckled punch at Brax’s head. He ducked, and then tried the words again.

Time slowed down.

Brax could sense the Spirit increase.

He drew his sword back and lowered his head.

Then he whispered.

The words boomed into a shout as his sword plunged into the demon’s armored chest, and then out as the beast flew clear off the balcony and far into the cavern.

Luik caught the motion out of the corner of his eye—his opponent did, too. And it was cause enough to take another step back.

Luik moved forward. The Dairneag looked back to him. Luik raised his sword, and the demon flinched.

“We’ve got them,” Luik said quietly, his words filling his helmet.

Suddenly the commotion on the platform ebbed as other demons noticed the standstill between Luik and the Dairneag. The beast was at a loss.

Luik began whispering the Sacred Tongue again. His hands tingled.

“O, no,” came Fane’s voice.

Luik glanced over. Fane was fixed on something high above…

…a glow in the mouth of the main hole…

…brighter than daylight.

There, issuing rapidly, came a river of fire, as if made up of thick oil or, worse, molten rock set aflame. Luik’s eyes widened. The flow cast an orange glow into the cavern, and all turned to watch it. The torrent was wide, catching demons around the hole and swallowing them instantly. It streamed down, filling the air with flames…

…and then, the unthinkable.

The liquid fire gushed onto the upper portion of the Tree, drenching the canopy and folding the leaves down. Instantly the branches were set ablaze, the greenery leaping with flames, white hot, leaf edges running with black lines. The lava cascaded downward, splashing off the Tree and showering the sides of the cavern.

Luik heard shouting and looked to the lower limbs. Men, dwarves, and Dairne-Reih alike stared up with terror, caught between the fire’s devouring appetite and a mortal fall to the garden below. While many chose the fall over burning alive, most did not have time to think. Luik watched in speechless horror as the liquid fire raced down the wood and poured over those in the Tree. His mind burned with the images of men holding hands up against the heat, dwarves covering themselves with their robes. And even demons who, consumed by the treachery of their own Lord, screamed upward into the flames, molten fire filling their gaping mouths. Even the mighty Hewgogs tumbled down through the flaming carnage, their bodies rolling through the mix and spewing out into the open air below the canopy.

The cavern filled with the scent of burning flesh and sulfur mixed with charred wood. The Tree limbs burst, propelling flaming fragments into the platforms around the cave. The entire space was cast in a lurid orange glow, a far cry from the once shimmering beauty of the Tree of Life. The demons around Luik and the others turned upon them with renewed aggression, feeling their victory now secure.

Luik forgot the words he was about to speak and was suddenly flung back against the cavern wall, his head slamming against the inside of his helmet with a jolt. Tiny specks of light danced across his dimming gaze. Sound was ebbing.

A sword flashed in front of him, and blood was spilt.

“Get up, Son!”

The words wafted toward him as if on a gentle breeze. Luik blinked, trying to clear his head. A strong hand latched under his arm and jerked him up upright.

“We must get out of here!” he heard the voice again.

Luik gained his feet beneath him and looked around. The sounds of battle returned, rushing at him full speed. There fighting in front of him was his father, Ragnar. He paused long enough to give Luik a wink and then continued slashing at the beasts nearest them.

“To your left!” Brax yelled.

Luik turned to meet an imposing foe, a Dairneag three times his size who, by the look of its hands and mouth, had already indulged in the flesh of numerous men and dwarves. Luik felt his sword strong in his hand and found the words of the Sacred Tongue without so much as thinking.

“Kee a-tah shuhe tey ahm-a—” and then the blast of his sword interrupted the speech, boring a hole the size of a man’s torso in the creature’s chest. With no lungs to even issue a scream, the demon dropped to its knees and collapsed before him.

But it was replaced by three more. Luik looked around. The platform was assailed from above and below, and his forces were being overwhelmed. The demons were pouring over the wall spikes and converging too quickly. The stairs leading down to the garden were flooded, and in the distance far below he could see a black mass of Dairne-Reih scaling the walls and closing in on the lower ranks.

“I suggest we make for the Library, as you’ve prepared, my King,” Li-Saide yelled above the din of battle and fire. “It’s our only hope.” He turned toward the giant doors.

Brax and Ragnar drew near, as did the remaining men and dwarves, defending their retreat toward the Library. Li-Saide and Fane gapped only one of the heavy twin doors, hinges groaning, and slipped inside. It was just enough for men to slide through, but not enough for the demons. Luik heard something thud on the opposite side, presumably a beam to keep the door from opening farther.

Suddenly Spid’s head popped around the corner. “Varos, High King!”

Luik was surprised to see him but had no time to dwell on it. He grabbed the closest warrior to him and shoved him through the gap, prompting more to go as Ragnar and Brax busied themselves with fending off the encroaching demons.

Within mere moments the platform was overrun with Dairneags, and the three kings were tested by the role of being the last ones through the door. Over their heads a few demons scratched at the gap in the doors, reaching their arms in, trying to squeeze through.

“We need to clear some space,” Ragnar hollered. “We’ll never be able to close the door!” He parried a thrust with his sword and blocked a horned fist with his shield.

“When I say duck, do so,” Luik ordered. “But for now, cover me.” Brax and Ragnar nodded and took up a position directly in front of him, their backs to the door. It was two against a multitude, but their swords went right to work.

Luik brought his sword back over his head, hands twisted over and the blade pointing out in front of him—high guard. Normally, it was a poor defensive position.

But he wasn’t playing defense.

He closed his eyes and tried his best to quiet his spirit. Everything was so loud around him.

He could hear Brax grunting…

…his father’s sword striking bone.

Demons clucking and hissing.

The fire chewing away at the Tree.

Men screaming in the throes of death.

Most High, I need you now.

He searched his heart and looked for The Presence. He felt as if he was wandering in a solemn maze, each turn presenting more of the same barren corridors, more of the same prize-less dead ends.

He took a deep breath and waited for the Spirit to fill his hands.

The maze presented a new turn up ahead. He ran toward it, eager to pass the corner. He could feel it. He could feel Him.

“Any time now,” Brax yelled over his shoulder.

But Luik was not listening. He could feel the Most High—he could see his prize.

The Spirit touched his hands, and Luik felt warmth move in his stomach, like a river stirring deep within his gut. It was the Living Water. He knew he must yield to it—that is how it worked every time: to relinquish control and give himself over. Not in a passive, apathetic way, but in a deliberate invitation to move with it. To dance.

He summoned the Sacred Words again, whispering.

The river of water in his stomach suddenly turned hot, as if liquid fire like that which burned the Tree—save more intense. Invisible flames ate up his chest and surged down his arms. Fire shot up in his bones. His hands felt as if the flesh would melt right off them, but he could not let go of his sword. Suddenly the blade resonated, humming with the power he felt within.

He opened his eyes.

The Dairne-Reih moved slowly, unaware of his state. He had time to look from one to the next, taking in their features with ease, time all but standing still. Brax’s blade was inching through a victim in mid-stride; Ragnar was deflecting a blow and soon to jab upward. But time for Luik was fluid, his actions as if nothing hindered them.

“Down!” he yelled. But the response was slow.

Brax painstakingly dropped to his knees while Ragnar finished his thrust and rolled to his side. When they were clear, Luik drew in a breath…

He was suspended in the moment.

Inhale.

Everything froze. The Dairne-Reih were still, some glaring at him, others at the two men on the ground. His entire body was alight with fire, his very marrow set aflame.

Exhale.

The Sacred Words issued forth, drenched with the Fire of the Spirit. His sword swung across, sending a blast with it much like a wave that rippled through the water, but this through the air. The concussion careened into all those standing, passing through them and then suddenly obliterating them into complete carnage, their forms decimated into oblivion.

But time still lingered.

Luik’s sword finished its arc and still trembled in his hands. He looked up to see those demons scratching at the door. With both hands firmly on the hilt, he thrust it upward, still well below the monsters. But the distance meant nothing. Sent from the tip like a lightning bolt, a flash of light leapt into the cluster of beasts gathered atop the doorframe. Their bodies shot up and away, pulverized by the blast, and collided with those above them.

Seeing the platform was clear, Luik ceased the words. The fire deep in his belly suddenly withdrew, and time accelerated to the present. The force of the return sent him off balance and he caught himself on Brax’s shoulder. An echo of the blast still resounded off the cavern walls, sounding as if thunder just boomed in the space.

“W-what,” Brax stammered, his eyes surveying the platform, “was that?”

Ragnar pressed himself up to a knee and stood wearily; his ears rang. He looked at his son. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know,” Luik said, helping them both to their feet. “But we need to get moving.”

While Luik’s actions had certainly bought them temporary reprieve, the bloodthirsty Dairneags were already feeling the lust in their tongues and regrouping up the steps and down the walls. Ragnar slipped through the gap, and Brax followed. Luik entered last and gave a final look back into the cavern. The Tree was now completely consumed in flame, the intense heat burning his face even as he lingered. Charred corpses hung in the limbs, leaves now only embers drifting through the air. And all around the cave Dairne-Reih poured over the walls like a wave of grease glazing down the sides.

He couldn’t see to the garden floor, but he could imagine the carnage that his eyes would have met: mutilated bodies consumed in flame, burning on spear point, or floating in the flood waters. Those who were not crushed from falling debris and corpses, or burned alive by the fiery flow, were now fighting for their lives, surely running back toward their only means of escape—the portals.

Luik was pulled away from his vision and gave the order to close the door. The hinges groaned for a final time as the ancient wood locked shut. The scene was gone—though not from Luik’s mind. The Dairne-Reih clawed ravenously on the opposite side, their shrieks and clicking evidence of their frustration. Luik leaned in, his helmet against the door. It vibrated with the violence. Brax, Fane, his father, and Li-Saide were among the only ones he knew as friends—as brothers—who had survived. Where his other Dibor were, Gorn and even Grinddr, he could only guess. And the guesses were not pleasant.

His thoughts were quick and clear. The battle for Ot had happened swiftly, and ended even more so. Luik had fought many a battle against Morgui: Adriel had been slow but total; Somahguard had been swift but fought with the taken. But this—this had surprised him. He had thought they at least had a chance. It was, after all, the Tree of Life. Who could have ever imagined her succumbing to the hand of Morgui? Who could have ever imagined the Most High allowing her to fall?

A violent crash came from the other side of the door, and Luik’s head popped away from the wood.

“They’re attempting to breach the door!” Bi-Bablar exclaimed.

“Correction,” said Li-Saide, “they are breaching the door.”

Luik and the others turned to the Chief of the Tribes, now leader of a race of homeless dwarves. The High King took off his bloodied helmet, the metal slipping in his gauntlets. His eyes swept the corridor that opened up into the first of the Great Library’s countless vaults, stacked to the ceiling with their prized scrolls. Then it dawned on him…

Not only had they lost Ot, and soon the entire texts of their civilization, but they had absolutely nowhere to run. Morgui had won. And Luik had never felt so alone. It was, indeed, the end. A fear unlike any he had ever known laced its tentacles around his chest and squeezed. There was no way out. This would be his grave.

“We’re trapped.”

- – -
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- – -

Chapter Twenty-One

IN THE LIGHT OF TRUTH

Dawn came all too quickly for Luik. Even if he had had a whole summer to rest, Anorra’s peril would have kept him from any sound slumber. But he was weary and did eventually manage to find at least a little rest before waking, bathing, and changing into battle dress. For today he was certain his sword would see blood.

Drying his face with a towel, he gazed southward out the window, staring at the mountain peaks on the horizon. He thought of his beloved Anorra, and his heart wilted. He longed to go to her—to rescue her if she still lived—and his heart said she did. But the heart was easily deceived in such matters, he knew. He thought of Hadrian and wondered how he fared in Mt. Dakka. And then of Fane, and regret returned to his soul. He wanted to make things right. And he would, if given the chance.

He walked to the massive chest that held his few belongings and examined the attire that had been set out for him. Luik took his time and donned leather breecs and boots and a maille shirt covered with a warrior’s tunic. A new wide leather belt he wrapped and folded on itself and secured his sword frog to the left side. He slung a large cloak over his shoulder and pulled a shiny pair of gauntlets over his hands, newly forged by the Tribes of Ot. He then secured his sheath with the Sword of the Lion Vrie and picked up the helmet of the Sacred Order, holding it securely under his arm.

Today will be the day, he thought…

…the day that Morgui will meet the Lion Vrie face to face on the fields of battle.

Luik stood before a grand mirror in his bedchamber. He looked at himself as the light sparkled in his eyes and danced off his armor. The herald emblazoned on his outer tunic bore the mighty paw of The White Lion, the crest of Dionia’s High King. And suddenly, in that moment, he was reminded of his dream.

He could see the massive creature standing over him, its hot breath spewing down. The Lion’s yellow eyes glared at him. Luik couldn’t move. And then the paw raised as it had countless times before in his sleep. The razor-sharp claws revealed themselves and glistened in the eerie twilight. And then it came—the deathblow. Then a knocking sound…

Luik snapped from the vision.

“My King, are you ready?” came a young lad’s voice. Luik looked behind himself in the mirror to a lad peeking in through the doorway.

“Aye,” he replied. Luik turned and straightened himself for the boy. “How do I look?”

The boy blanched, words escaping him. “You look—fine.”

“Fine? Perhaps maybe I should have gone with the other breecs then?”

“Uh—” The boy hesitated and was clearly unnerved.

“Do not worry,” Luik said, waving his hand. “Are the men assembled?” The boy nodded, glad for the interjection. “Very well. Let’s be off.”

He followed the boy down the grand hallway—as all hallways were in Mt. Dakka’s palace—until arriving at a side room blocked by a heavy wooden door.

“The men are gathered in the King’s Hall, but the others are here,” said the boy. “Shall I wait for you?”

“Nay,” Luik said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He could see fear in the boy’s eyes. He knelt down and looked in his face, suddenly feeling nostalgic. Could Luik have been this same age and size when he himself was summoned of to Kirstell? It seemed so long ago. “What is your name, lad?”

“Farquin,” he said timidly.

“That’s a strong name,” Luik said. “And your father and mother? Are they here with you?”

“My mother is. My father left to fight in Ligeon with King Anondo.”

“Ah, then your father is a hero.”

“Pardon?”

“Anyone who fights for King Anondo is surely of the bravest sort. He is a hero, young Farquin.”

“I suppose.” Farquin wondered if he’d ever see his father, Fadlemir, again.

“Nay, suppose nothing. Know that he is and believe.” Luik stared into the boy’s eyes. “You are the future, Farquin. You may not understand now. But you will in time. You are Dionia’s hope.” Stillness filled the air. “And remember, the King is coming.”

The boy looked at him oddly. It was this last phrase that perplexed him.

“Off you go,” Luik said and turned him around. Farquin took off, and the High King stood. And then entered the council chamber.

Standing around a large wooden table were Li-Saide, Gorn and the remaining Dibor, minus the brothers of Ligeon. Boran remained seated due to his injuries but had refused to miss the meeting. Grinddr and three of his men were also present. All of them were dressed in battle attire, save the dwarf who remained as he ever was. They saluted Luik and made the sign of blessing as he entered, their faces displaying the honor due him, and glad for it. Then they began clapping and he joined with them. They were together again, but without four; Najrion they knew was lost, and Anondo and his brothers were still unaccounted for.

When the applause died down and reunions had been made, everyone settled into chairs around the room. Extra furniture had been brought in to accommodate the larger-than-normal council. Luik spoke first.

“It is so good to see you all.” He looked carefully around the room. “We have been through much, and we dare not ask one another for too much detail, for our hearts could surely not bear the burdens we all carry. Just enough to move forward in wisdom. Yet we remain a brotherhood, a band of warriors bound by the Most High to protect Creation and to serve one another. As it is, it falls to us today to do the unthinkable, to defend the heart of our world and the center of recorded history. For that, I turn to Li-Saide of Ot, Chief of the Ancient Tribes.” He inclined his head to the dwarf.

Li-Saide sat in a large chair with a raised cushion so as to be seen by all the rest. His fluffy beard moved when he spoke, and his eyes remained ever vigilant. “Morgui is at our doorstep, as bold as he ever has been. And I fear we will not last the night without a proper defense. And even then the future is not certain. But first I have news of my own that must be shared, and I fear the telling of it.”

More than a few eyebrows were raised, and everyone felt a strange foreboding at Li-Saide’s words. Things already seemed dire enough as they were, but to add more? Luik was worried for the news and not sure it was the best timing for whatever it was the dwarf was about to share. But then again, Li-Saide had never been inappropriate and had indeed taught him most of what he knew when it came to discretion.

“My first news is that King Anondo lives, but barely so.”

There was a subtle gasp across the room. The Dibor leaned forward in their chairs and made to ask questions, but Li-Saide raised a hand. “Anondo’s forces were caught off guard with a surprise attack from the north.”

“The north?” Fyfler asked incredulously.

“How can that be?” Quoin added.

“The gates,” Rab reminded them. “Even Luik and Anorra found one in the mountains above the Great Forest, remember?”

“That is the most logical explanation,” Li-Saide continued. “The survivors of the attack fled west to Narin, pursued by the KiJinNard.”

“The hounds of the dead?” Daquin asked.

“The same. Only more than a rank of them.”

“So many,” whispered Boran.

“Fadlemir, Captain of Ligeon’s fighting men and armada, commanded three vessels from the Port of Narin northward in the hopes of landing in Tontha and returning to Mt. Dakka. But their landing was thwarted by a giant storm. A cloud snake, Anondo called it.”

“It must be the same as what we encountered in Kirstell,” Luik put in. “It ravaged the entire island and seemed to know exactly where we were.”

“It very well could be,” Li-Saide replied. “This storm hunted them all along the coast, at least from what Anondo could tell us.”

“He doesn’t remember?” questioned Luik. “Why not ask Fadlemir?”

“Because Fadlemir never made it. His last effort was to force Anondo’s unconscious body into a small hole in the rocks. He never knew it was one of your Sea Caves, Luik. We were waiting there, praying he’d find us. We believe the Great Spirit drew him there. But we’re sure he never knew.”

A somber stillness fell over the assembly. Everyone sat in quiet honor of the man who had given his life to protect the King of Ligeon.

“I would have liked to have met him,” Luik finally said.

“I’m sure you did,” Brax said. “You would remember his face if you saw it. He was a good man.”

“Aye…” Luik’s voice trailed off. All of them had been good men. “Continue,” he looked to the dwarf. “What of Thad and Thero?”

“That is another matter,” he said, his face suddenly pensive. “But not for me to tell, as it was not their wish.”

Luik looked to him and then to the others. “I—I don’t understand.”

Li-Saide slipped off his chair and walked to a side door, passing through it and returning a moment later with a tall man. His appearance was ruddy, and his eyes were deep-set and hard. At seeing all the men, however, he looked down.

“Do not be afraid,” Luik said, rising from his seat. “Li-Saide?”

“This is Blandon, son of Aramos, a son of Ligeon. He was with Thad and Thero in their final moments.”

“Their final moments?” Luik said. “Wait—”

“Blandon?” Li-Saide gestured him forward. Suddenly everyone in the room realized the gravity of what was about to be shared. Blandon stood uneasily before them until Cage offered up his chair. Blandon looked to thank him and noticed a single tear running down the Dibor’s face.

“It’s all right,” Cage said. “You will honor them with your words, I know.”

Blandon seemed strengthened by the gesture and sat accordingly. He took a deep breath and began the long account of their journey south into the Border Mountains. He shared about the tragedies in the mountain pass and their retreat down into Grandath. He related the dismal progress into the forest and the eventual decision of Thad and Thero, ordering the remaining ten men onward, not to “stop for anything, save the Dwarves of this realm.”

“And so our scouts found them wandering in the smoke-filled forest,” Li-Saide finished. “And not a moment to spare.”

“They died heroically,” Blandon offered up, knowing these were their closest kin and friends. “They served one another…served us all…right until the end.” He lowered his head in sorrow.

“Do not fear,” Luik said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder as all the others stood. “All is well, for they are in the Great Throne Room with the Father now. There is no weeping there, no sadness of heart.” Then Luik embraced the man and thanked him for his faithfulness.

“Nay,” said Blandon, “it is you we should honor. For you have been faithful to your people, to all of us. Thad and Thero were right—” his voice choked.

“About what?” Luik held him off.

“When they said you are the best of us all.”

A somber mood filled the silence until Luik released the man and Li-Saide stepped in. “C’symia, Blandon, son of Aramos, you are dismissed.” The man bowed and exited through the main doors.

Everyone settled back into their chairs, content to not say anything. The loss of their brothers was hard to bear. Of the original ten and eight Dibor, only ten and five remained. It felt as if they had lost an arm, knowing it was gone but expecting it to still be there to reach out for something.

“Might I remind you that the men are waiting,” Gorn finally said.

Luik looked up. “Aye. That they are.” He took a deep breath. “Li-Saide, what more is there to tell?”

“Our scouts report that the Dairne-Reih are encamped over Ot, filling the woods above.”

“And Morgui?” Gorn asked.

“They have not seen him, but I’m sure he is not far off.”

“Probably down in Haides with An—” Brax was cut off by a stern look from the dwarf. The comment, for all its truth, was inappropriate and misspoken.

Luik’s face tightened. He could feel rage filling his head with the thoughts of his lost love, suffering in the fires of the underworld.

Li-Saide placed a hand on his arm and spoke softly, “We will retrieve her, my King. There is still time.” He readdressed the men. “In the meantime, we will defend Ot with all we have. To lose the Scriptorium would be to erase the history of our peoples, and of Earth, breaking our connection and understanding with them.” He paused. “But there is still more.”

The men looked on intently.

“There is the issue of the Two Trees,” Li-Saide said.

Everyone glanced around, but Luik raised his hand. “Let him finish.” He turned to the dwarf. “Go on.”

“The Tree of Life still stands, but if Morgui were to destroy it, our link to the eternal would be severed. Mortality would reign in Dionia.”

“Mortality?” Fyfler questioned. “You mean we’d die?”

“Instead of passing from this life to the next at the Most High’s command, we’d have a painful finite span,” Luik clarified. “That and the dwarves—”

“You need not concern yourselves with us,” Li-Said interrupted.

“Nay, I’d have you speak, friend,” Gorn demanded, sitting forward.

The room filled with murmurings.

“Please, brothers,” Luik lifted an arm. But still they talked among themselves. “Silence!”

The discussions ceased.

“Let—him—finish,” Luik ordered, and then looked back to the dwarf.

“The Tribes of Ot were created by the Most High to serve and to protect the Sons of Ad. Knowing that we must maintain the knowledge of history, both here and elsewhere, we were granted a peculiar trait, a gift if it could be so called. We know neither death nor the calling home into the Great Throne Room. Our existence is and forever will be to serve Dionia. And our life’s source is the Tree of Life. Without it, we are mortal. And given our age already, I do not know how long—”

“We understand,” Luik interrupted this time. Everyone remained fixed on the dwarf.

“We’ve known that Morgui would return, bent on destroying the Tree, our tribes, and our history. Thus we inquired of you,” he looked to each of the Dibor, “at the Counsel of Kings…the Gvindollion…to ensure our survival. And that is why we passed the secrets of our order, the Secrets of the Mosfar, on to another should we fall, to one Fane, son of Fadner.”

The men were stunned, especially those who knew Fane personally. They talked among themselves, and Luik again had to calm them down.

“But, Sire,” Boran looked to Luik then to the dwarf, “Fane is a traitor, is he not?” Heads nodded.

Luik was startled. He had not spoken such things to anyone. “So, word has spread?”

No one spoke.

“There were only two who knew of Fane’s behavior. One is my love, and she was convinced of his innocence, and the other—” He paused, suddenly deep in thought, piecing everything together. Hadrian. “The other will answer to me.”

“There is still the other Tree,” Li-Saide said, looking to Luik.

Luik suddenly remembered their time in Ot together. He was taken back to the thick bramble path that led into the darkened cave. And there, the grotesque, charred ruins of an ancient beauty that held a secret power over the souls of man. He saw Li-Saide bending over and opening the flesh of the exposed root, revealing green within.

It lives.

“Tell them,” Luik said. “We need to know.”

Li-Saide stood and waved a hand through the air. But rather than a fruitless gesture, his hand moved through something like water, spreading ripples out over the table. The fluttering apparition began to shimmer and soon developed into a beautiful scene, a meadow filled with lush greenery dancing in the light of the sun. Flowers of every kind blossomed in that moment, and the sky was filled with radiance and the song and flight of birds.

The men sat spellbound at the miraculous vision before them. It looked so much like a place and time they fondly remembered but had forgotten.

Li-Saide spoke solemnly. “In the beginning, the Most High fashioned two trees to adorn the garden he made: one the Tree of Life, the other the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.”

The scene showed two massive Trees stretching high into the sky, taller and stronger than any of the other trees in the garden. They were alive somehow, as if they could themselves talk and be heard by Creation. The Great God had given them life and was delighted in them.

“The one, the Tree of Life, was the source of mankind’s hope, the sustenance that would see them through eternity. She was their link to Athera, the one that afforded paradise in this perfect world. If they ate of her, they would never die.

“The other, equally beautiful and strong, was the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. To her was given the fruit of the one thing that Ad was never designed to carry: knowledge of what his life would be without the Almighty. A sufficiency without the Great Spirit would mean death, and no true sufficiency at all, proving that without Him, mankind is nothing.”

Suddenly violent flames leapt up and around the second Tree, consuming the branches and enveloping the image from trunk to leaves. And then a crrrrrack as the mighty foundation was severed and the Tree crashed to the ground.

“When Ad recognized the potential destruction promised in any failure to adhere to the Commandment not to eat of it, he ordered the second Tree cut down and burned. He watched and waited until the entire thing was gone—a blackened pile of coals and dust. If he could not be certain of his own ability to obey the Most High, then he felt it best to remove the temptation.”

Jrio interrupted the vision. “So what’s the concern?” The image slowly faded away, and the room was back to normal.

“That its seed has been slowly nursed back to health,” Li-Saide said. “That it lives once again.”

“It what?” Quoin exclaimed. The others looked on, incredulous.

“I’ve seen it,” Luik added. “It grows deep within the ground, its roots firm, surely ready to burst out and fill the sky once more.”

“So the fires weren’t just meant to find Ot,” Brax concluded.

“But to make way for a new tree,” finished Jrio.

“Or a new forest,” added Li-Saide.

The weight of the statement filled their hearts with dread. It couldn’t be! A new forest?

“And if the Tree and its offspring are the only trees in Dionia’s heart, then its fruit is also the sole product,” Li-Saide continued.

“A fruit that would bring the Curse upon our entire world,” Luik finished.

There was a long, drawn-out pause in the council chamber. No one moved, each man sitting pensively, left to ponder the plight they faced. Morgui’s plan was revealed. He wasn’t satisfied with the destruction of their heritage or an end to their immortal condition; nay, Morgui wanted it all. He wanted Dionia under his rule. He wanted mankind’s habitation of this life and the next—with him in Haides.

Finally Rab asked what many of them had been thinking. “Who has been cultivating the seed? Someone must have.”

“Ah, a valid question,” Li-Saide replied. “We had long suspected an intruder, watering and giving nourishment to the remains of the Tree deep within Ot.”

“One of your own?” Cage questioned.

“Not exactly. We suspected an outsider coming in through the portals.”

“Then why didn’t you close them off before this escalated?” asked Fyfler.

“Because if there was indeed an intruder in our midst, we wanted to catch him and stop him.”

“Catching him in the act was the only way,” Luik surmised.

“Correct.”

“So you captured him? Why did you close the portals?” Fyfler asked again.

“Nay. We believe that the traitor was just the errand boy. He was about to bring Morgui himself, and we had to weigh which was more important: catching our watering boy or facing Morgui in a surprise attack.”

“But after all this time, he didn’t bring Morgui, even when he had the chance,” Luik put in. “That’s very strange.”

“Aye,” Li-Saide grew puzzled. “If this invader was indeed a traitor, he failed to carry through his most heinous act.”

“Perhaps he was killed,” Cage suggested.

“Possibly,” Li-Saide said. “But right now we simply don’t know and can’t waste our time speculating. The Secret City is in its most perilous state and needs all of our help.”

“And our help she shall receive!” Luik said, rising to his feet.

The rest of the men followed with a mighty “Hey’a!”

“Brax, Jrio, Fyfler,” Luik listed, “you’ll have command of the armies, answering to me. Grinddr, you will have the Immortals. Gorn, you command the Lion Vrie. After we brief the men, we’ll head for the Lion’s Hall.”

“But the secrets of the Order?” Rab asked.

“If there is no Dionia, than secrets mean nothing. Today Morgui will know it all. The Lion Vrie. The life of my father, King Ragnar. Even the Mosfar. All things will be brought into light, and we will not sleep until we have victory.”

“Hey’a!” the men shouted as one. They drew their swords and held them aloft.

“For the glory of the Most High God!”

“For the King’s glory!” the men replied.

 

• • •

 

The Great Hall was filled with a grand audience. The massive stone arches and tall windows soared overhead, showering light onto a sea of expectant faces, all focused on the High King and his retinue that occupied the dais. These were the warrior men of Dionia, and only the Great Hall of Mt. Dakka was able to hold them all. Still they streamed out into the hallways and even into the main courtyard, completely silent, waiting for the words of their King to echo down the ancient halls. Not a man among them sat, and they each held a weapon in their hands. Some were no more than boys, barely able to hold swords, while others were well on in years; still, neither lacked in determination and heart. These were husbands, fathers, and brothers. These were sons.

In their eyes Luik noticed a familiar gaze, one of utter devotion, loyalty and zeal, but also of fear. Just hours from now they would come face to face with terrors no man was ever intended to witness. And those who had already stared death in the face, survivors of Adriel and elsewhere, knew they were about to revisit the nightmares of their past.

He saw many of the men he had fought alongside before, faithful men who had won great honor for themselves and their families; he saw men who had survived the brutal destruction of their homelands and the loss of their loved ones. These were his people—but more—these were his brothers.

“Men of Dionia, hear me! Today I look out over a multitude of faces and wonder how all this came to be. I see standing before me the inheritance of those who have gone before us, of those who would have given anything to see this day. For it is a great and terrible day. I see standing before me the legacy of the generations, a legacy which hinges on our actions and is borne on our shoulders.

“Morgui and his forces await us even now, encamped on the ground that hides the Forbidden City of Grandath, what we know as the Secret City of Ot, there to consume the records of our people and those of the Almighty’s Creation. But his fires have ravaged the Central Forest and have cleared the way for something even more terrible, the latent key to a curse that would destroy us all. For the seed of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil has sprung to life, aided by a traitor from among us. If it blossoms, there is no stopping our people from eating of it, bringing upon them the curse which Ad himself tried to dissolve. For if we cannot remember the covenants of our forefathers, then we also cannot respect the curses that await us if we break those covenants. And fight to preserve those covenants we must!

“Men of Dionia, hear me! I see your courage, and I would speak to your fear: if there is nothing to be fearful of losing, then there is nothing to live for. If you see fear, it is only because you have much to love. You, of all Creation, have known His glory and perfection. You have everything to lose because you know what it means to truly live. Today we do not meet our adversary as mere mortals groveling at the feet of a tyrant, hoping to be given some quarter—hoping to be granted some feeble existence. Today we meet him as superiors, as Sons of the Blessed King! It is not mankind that quakes with fear, for we are those created in the image of the Most High! We hold the high ground! We fight for life! Today they meet the inheritance of every generation, the legacy that says, ‘We will not surrender! We will not retreat!’”

 

• • •

 

In that moment, and for many more, the violent shouts of men could be heard echoing throughout all of Mt. Dakka. Every child on the street, every mother who busily cleaned at home to calm her nerves, every grandmother who paced in prayer, all heard the shouts and shut their eyes. It was the sound of defiance. The sound of rebellion to the fear that encroached upon them all, lurking in the shadows. And the shouting spoke: We will not give up. We will not go down without a fight. We will not stop until the Mighty King returns.

• • •

 

Luik joined with the men, raising his sword and shouting with all his might. The others with him did the same, their blood stirring from deep within. The deafening sound consumed the hall and shook their souls. It was magnificent.

When the roar finally ebbed, Luik once again looked out over his brave army, pride filling his heart. “By nightfall we will be well within the Secret City. There we will certainly find—”

There was a strange commotion in the back of the room.

Luik stopped his address. He strained to see what was the matter.

He heard one clear voice ringing out, and saw the throng of men near the doorway stepping aside.

“Make way!” said the voice. “Stand aside! We must see the High King!” More men parted and a path appeared through the middle of the expansive room. “Make way! Make way, I say!”

Coming into view were two men, one clearly older than the other and deeply troubled from a long journey. The older man’s clothing and long hair were disheveled and soiled. He was hunched over and strained for every step. But the younger man Luik soon recognized despite his bedraggled appearance; for indeed he would have known his face and hair anywhere. It was Fane.

“Make way!” Luik cried out to the astonishment of everyone around him, and bounded down the steps of the dais. The men parted hastily as Luik pushed through them, running to meet his old friend. A mix of emotions filled his chest, from those of anger and frustration to others of deep conviction. He neared the redheaded, freckle-faced figure, wrapped in a dark green cloak swollen with dampness and stains of soot and soil.

“Fane!” Luik cried, his arms spread wide in embrace.

But Fane stayed back, halting two arm’s lengths away. All those around were deathly still.  Li-Saide was quickly to the King’s side and stared into Fane’s face, searching for answers in the unseen.

“Fane—what is it?” Luik was troubled. He followed Fane’s stare to the man at his side, a sorry figure who was presently straining for great gasps of air. He looked even worse close up. The man’s face was sunken and pale, teeth yellowed, and deep circles beneath his eyes. His hair was red with locks of grey, looking more like a rat’s nest than a mantle of dignity. If Luik didn’t know better, he’d say this poor creature had been of the taken.

“I am—” The man coughed himself into a fit, clutching Fane’s arm. “I am Jadak—”

Time froze.

Luik glared at the man. Then at Fane. He felt his stomach tighten and his sight narrow.

Fane nodded his head.

“—Father of Hadrian.”

Recognition lit in the High King’s eyes. All at once the consequences of his actions became clear. It was Hadrian who had betrayed them. His redheaded friend had known that Hadrian had been lying all along. And Luik realized what Fane had done; if he could find Hadrian’s father, he could prove his innocence to Luik. But more than that, he could prove that Hadrian was acting covertly. And Luik was certain now that it was Hadrian who had been sneaking in to Ot—for he was the only other one outside of the Lion Vrie that knew about the portals. About the Sea Cave.

Indignation filled Luik’s head and he spun around. Hadrian will pay.

“Hadrian!” He looked to where his friend had stood moments before. But the space was empty. The men began talking amongst themselves. Luik bolted forward, running to the stairs, his eyes darting around franticly. “Where did he go?” But no one knew. They shrugged their shoulders and looked to each other. “Find him!”

Li-Saide was on it, summoning five of the Immortals. “If he is still in Mt. Dakka, we will find him,” said the dwarf, and was off.

Luik turned back to regard Fane and Jadak with a heavy heart, the gravity of the situation setting in. He had granted audience with a traitor, shunning his closest counselor and boyhood friend. And without consulting the Most High or heeding Anorra’s wisdom, he had aided a man who was secretly and, quite literally, watering the roots of evil under his watch.

More than being angry with Hadrian—a status not easily exceeded—Luik was angry with himself.

The men stopped mumbling, and the hall was quiet. Luik looked out among their faces, and to Fane and Jadak still standing in the middle.

“Fane, son of Fadner, my friend and confidant, has returned safely to Mt. Dakka and has undertaken a task which none of us, most of all myself, could ever repay. We owe him our lives for bringing a hemorrhage to light before it destroyed us further. We salute you.”

The entire throng grunted a mighty “Hey’a” in affirmation and made the sign of blessing toward him.

“And to you, Jadak, for whatever wrongs have been committed against you, I am deeply sorry. And for whatever evils you have endured, may you see a thousand days of goodness for each single day of plight. For you have returned to the Land of the Living and stand once again in the Light of the Sun, though it be sickly and pale from what you surely once knew. For this, we salute you, and speak a blessing on your enemies’ enemies.”

Again, the warband saluted Jadak, the sound echoing throughout the palace.

“Men of Dionia, tonight we defend the Secret City of Ot. Things which have been hidden for ages will no longer be, and things that were once in secret will be shouted from the rooftops. I cannot promise you your lives, for I cannot promise what is not mine to give. But I can promise you that He, the Great God of Athera, will be with you, making your spears fly true and your shields hold fast.”

Luik turned to the Dibor behind him. “Brax, Jrio, Fyfler—you have the floor. We leave on your command. I will see you in the Lion’s Lair.”

- – -
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- – -

Chapter Twenty

TRUE SIGHT

Anorra awoke in the same room as before. The fire was long spent and the meal had been cleared from the board. She looked around and pushed the thick blankets down. Candles flickered. She felt as if she had lived this before, just a moment ago. But yet everything seemed so new. The fragrance of flowers filled her head. How pleasant, she thought. It reminded her of the sumptuous fare she had just eaten.

She stood and moved slowly to the table. Her fingers brushed against the smooth board. Images flashed before her. It was as if she had been here before—doing this very thing. Like a bad dream playing out over and over again. But this can’t be a dream, she thought. It’s all so real—so peaceful.

She gazed at the face looking back in the polished wood. Her eyes were soft and beautiful and brown.

She pulled away.

Something is not right. She felt as if she was watching herself from a great distance, standing on a hillside, observing a course like a shadow being cast from her true self, high on a ridge above.

Anorra turned to look out the window beside her bed. But there was none. She spun and looked to the far wall, and then beside the hearth. Suddenly she became afraid. There were no windows at all. She remembered this, too, as if something she had already lived.

But had she lived this only once before, or a thousand times over? She strained for memories. She knew she remembered something—but what, exactly, was beyond her grasp. She searched her mind’s eye and then became frustrated. There were no memories outside of this room. Everything she knew, everything she had ever known, was right here. But that’s absurd, she thought.

She walked over in front of the hearth where she and the Prince had reclined, where they had stared into the flames and he had spoken of a great invitation. To join him. She could see the flames dancing once again, the passion of the moment aflame in her bosom. She felt satisfaction in it. And yet…

And yet—

Something deep in her was left wanting. Fire.

She felt parched. She touched her lips.

The kiss!

She had kissed him! The Prince! She had offered herself to him! Memories, horrible memories of betrayal riddled her with guilt. Suddenly the terrible realization of what she had done filled her head. She had said yes! To a man she hardly knew—but he was so beautiful.

“What have I done?” she gasped aloud.

But betrayal? It ate away at her soul. To whom? All the images came to the front of her mind, of the Prince and his invitation. There was no one else.

Anorra felt confused. Everything seemed disjointed, as if she were missing some part of the picture, something significant. But how could she be forgetting something so significant? Important things are not easily forgotten. Remember! O, now her head was throbbing. It hurt to think. She reached up and began to massage her temples.

“Let me help you,” he said.

Anorra screamed, and then spun around. It was the Prince. “How did you—”

Suddenly it was as if Anorra was watching herself in the same room—watching this scene play out as it had before. The Prince started laughing. And so did she. But she shouldn’t. No, something was terribly wrong here.

“I’m so sorry for startling you, my beauty. I didn’t mean to.”

Something didn’t fit.

“It’s fine,” Anorra laughed. “It’s my fault, I was—I was just lost in thought, I guess. I can’t even remember what consumed me so.” But she did know. It was him; he didn’t fit. None of this did.

“Well then, whatever plagues you, it is gone now.” And with that he cradled her cheek in his hand.

But it didn’t go away. In fact, Anorra suddenly saw everything for what it really was, as if a massive curtain had been pulled back to reveal a great mystery, now in plain view to all. She had been deceived.

“And you rested well?”

“Indeed,” she said. His eyes weren’t so beautiful now.

“Then I am pleased my dwelling suits you, for I would implore you to stay with me, Princess. Have you forgotten my offer?”

“Yes, your offer,” she stated rigidly.

He tilted his head at her tone. “To join me as my bride,” he said. “That I might share with you my kingdom and everything—”

“I remember,” Anorra interrupted him.

The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “And you have thought about—”

“Thought about who you are, good Prince? O, wait. Good isn’t the word most reasonable people would give to you, now would they?”

The Prince stiffened. His eyes grew dark, and the room around them seemed to shimmer, as if ebbing from the realm of reality.

“You see, I am not so easily taken, Prince. Or do you prefer the name we call you? Morgui.”

But as strong as Anorra was, she was not prepared for what befell next. The beautiful visage of the Prince melted right before her eyes. The flesh peeled back and fell in clumps, swollen with blood, twisting muscles snapping. A rancid smell stung her nostrils, and she winced as bile rose in her throat. The creature’s eyes grew stronger, blacker, and pulled back into the disfigured face, drawing her in with them. So empty. So devoid of life. Hopelessness overwhelmed her with one look, and she felt her heart give way, her eyes filling with tears.

The human form began to expand, soon bursting from within, the weak shell of a man revealing the mighty shape of a being much more powerful. A pungent cloud swirled about the black morphing mass, revealing a bulging, grotesque musculature, throbbing with veins. Once free of the flesh, Morgui stood looming above her and then bent down. She stared up at his face, a hollow block of darkness, fangs protruding in ill fashion. There was no color about him, no hint of light, only swirling abysses for eyes and an eternally hungry hole for a mouth, gaping over her. There was not a single magnificent thing about him.

Anorra spoke first. “You do not frighten me.”

When Morgui spoke, it was nearly unintelligible, ground out in a low, gravel-like thunder. “That is because I have not yet brought you harm.”

She stood silent, not knowing what to say.

Suddenly a searing pain thrashed across her eyes. She screamed and fell to her knees. Her fingertips touched the burnt flesh on both side of her nose, going deeper into the place where her eyes once were. The sockets were charred and empty.

It was then that everything came back to her. The entire story of her life raced by her in a series of flashes, ending with Luik’s face, the blue flame in the Lion’s Lair, and the brilliant flash of light on the ramparts in Mt. Dakka. Luik’s flame had been weak—had gone out. Hadn’t it? She scolded herself now for not staying long enough to find out. She’d assumed the worst. Though there were no eyes with which to cry, her chest heaved as she sobbed in agony. He had tried to seduce her. He had tried to lure her away from the Most High.

But he had failed.

She was on her side now, curled up like a child. Whimpering.

Morgui neared her, his presence just a hand’s breadth away. She could feel his emptiness. At least she knew this was reality.

“You are not thorough enough,” she said in a whisper, choking in pain.

She felt him hesitate, knowing, though, that he would not reply to such a vague train of thought. But she would spite him. She would not afford him the pleasure of knowing he had won, that he could torment her. As a child of the Great God, made perfect in His image, she was superior. And always would be.

“I saw my reflection in your table. You were good,” she chuckled, “but you weren’t good enough.” A shudder of pain momentarily halted her speech. “My eyes—if you ever took the time to see what the Most High made—are blue, not brown. I thought you should know for the next time you try to seduce a girl.”

A rumble emanated from around her, growing in strength and rising in volume. But with the trembling came an increase in her pain. She moaned and tried to shove it away. It drilled into her head and then coiled around her neck, her chest, and soon her whole being felt like it was being crushed. She cried out once more.

But she couldn’t hear her own voice. Just a ringing in her ears, an echo of the torment of her soul, so all-consuming that she asked just one request of the Most High, if He was even listening here in Haides: Please, take me home.

There was a flash, and a sudden flare of heat. Her face was mashed onto gravel, hot stones digging into her soft skin. A hot, sulfuric smell filled her head, and the pain lessened. Screams from without, mixed with creaking metal, stirring flames, and the lashing of whips, gave her to know she was back in her cell.

She tried to push her head up off the rocks, but she did not have the strength. It hurt so badly. Anorra could feel blood trickling down her neck. She clenched her teeth and growled to the air. She was so frustrated, so mad.

“I know you can hear me!” she screamed.

The demons listening must have assumed she was speaking to Morgui; even he, himself, was listening. But such an eroded being was far from her intended audience. She had an audience with the King of kings. With her Creator.

“If you will not rescue me, at least give me my sight!”

And then, for the first time in a long time, she heard Him.

My precious child, none of this is My wish for you. I have not forgotten you, nor is My hand short in rescuing you. But what you have asked, you already have been given. And your heart suffers for denying what you already own. Open your eyes…

Her heart soared. Here, in the deepest part of Haides, the place where she had felt He dared never go, she had heard Him. She had communed with the Most High. He would send His presence even here? Her spirit leapt within. And she had made up her mind: There was nothing she would not endure, no pain too wicked, no temptation too overwhelming, that she would ever doubt Him again.

And as for what He said, she knew it was truth. Why she had not seen it sooner, she did not know. But she would not blame herself; these were trying times.

Anorra lay there, her hands and face scalded on the gravel. She slowed her breathing and then allowed her mind to go back…

She saw herself atop her steed, riding through the fields of Ligeon. Gyinan was beside her, a noble smile on his handsome face. Their horses’ flanks were soaked in foam, and the green grass was long and vibrant, shimmering in the sunlight. The animals lunged for every stride, hoofs beating the solid track ahead of them, nostrils snorting in the summer air.

Anorra laughed, feeling the warm sun beat on her face. She laid the reins across her horse’s mane and spread her arms wide, basking in the glory of the moment. She was flying.

The moment passed in a flash, and she was atop a high peak. She knew it was Tontha. She stood there, one foot hanging perilously over a precipice. A blindfold was affixed over her eyes; she remembered the time well.

Another flash. Now she was bounding down the mountainside, leaping from rock to rock, racing down a river-worn track.

Flash. She was back on her horse, wheeling it around with her heels—one way and then back again. She lifted a bow and pulled the arrow to the corner of her mouth, lying backward over the horse’s haunches. Then she let the arrow fly…

Dazzling white light filled her head and she steadied herself. Renewed life stirred in her veins. It was Him. She knew it was. She felt the strength to rise and pushed against the hot floor. And as Anorra lifted her head, she looked around her cell. The stones were a burnt red, as were the iron bars; she crawled forward and reached for them. Then, pressing her face between the rungs of her cage, she looked down into a vast sea of churning fire, and suddenly wished she had not had the gift she asked for.

She could see Haides.

- – -
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- – -

Chapter Nineteen

IN THE MOUNTAIN’S SHADOW

Mt. Dakka was free that night, something Brax could hardly have imagined just a few days ago. He stood on the balcony of the King’s Chamber with a commanding view of the southern city. He wore a plain white wrap around his waist and left the air to warm his naked chest. The streets were emptying of people, the clansmen retiring for the night, eager for the hearth fires and conversation. Their hard day’s work deserved a good rest and the ministry of food and kin. Music had once more returned to the homes, lyrics and melody wafting upward through the chimneys with the curling smoke of the cook fires. A dog barked in the distance, and children ran through the streets, calls of mothers echoing after them. It was as if all was back to normal. But he did not share their revelry.

Brax stretched his arms and felt the numerous sources of pain throughout his body. The battle had taken its toll on his spirit and his flesh. He noticed in these recent days how he had become used to the ailments of his body; injury and pain seemed to linger far longer than when he had been a youth—than when he had been on Kirstell. He could remember Gorn’s words.

Pain is the absence of the Most High’s presence.

The King of Tontha lightly touched a large bruise that shaded his shoulder dark blue.

What did you replace Him with?

He moved the shoulder in circles, feeling the ache and clenching his teeth. He searched his heart. Where had he forsaken the Great God? Where had his vigilance failed? It had been so long since he’d felt the presence of the Most High, since he had heard the Master’s Voice. He wanted things back to normal, not just because the enemy had fled Mt. Dakka, but because the enemy had fled Dionia; but with such a powerful home established deep within this world’s bowels, Brax doubted it would be possible. He knew the enemy hadn’t retreated.

Despite everyone’s adamant declaration of Morgui’s defeat, Brax didn’t believe it for a second. Morgui had had them on the run. The city had been hours away from falling and the Dairne-Reih had simply left. They had taken Anorra. They had breached the City Wall. Morale had been low. Luik had been gone far too long, and there had been no word from Anondo in Ligeon. Tactically there had been no reason to flee—

—unless there was something greater to gain elsewhere.

In his spirit, Brax knew Morgui had found Ot. Maybe he wasn’t in Ot, but he knew where it was. And it scared Brax. The fading light turned the pink clouds to purple, but the black in the southern sky remained ominous and ever foreboding. While Brax had never doubted the enemy’s power or his intent, he had never really thought Morgui would overcome this beautiful world. Even when Brax had been taken from the High King’s chamber during the council of the Gvindollion, even when he had been whisked away to Kirstell and all knowledge of reality been disclosed to him, even after the fall of Adriel and his induction into the Lion Vrie, he had never doubted his countrymen’s abilities to vanquish the enemy; he had never doubted the Most High’s strength and desire to uphold His Creation. But right now, standing here on the portico, he was suddenly aware that Dionia was in trouble. And there was little he could do about it. And little he saw the Most High doing about it…

“Beautiful night,” Gorn said from behind him.

Brax remained fixed on the southern sky, his hands gripping the stone railing. “Aye, a beautiful night indeed.”

Gorn came to stand next to him in silence. They listened to the inhabitants of the city playing out into the evening watch. Brax liked Gorn. Not just because of his tutelage or experience, but because he knew how to revere a moment; he didn’t need to nervously fill every empty gap with words. Whatever he did say, he meant. There was no confusing his meanings. For this Gorn had earned the trust of many a king, Brax now one of them.

“She is in trouble,” Brax finally said.

Gorn waited.

“I have never thought her in jeopardy before now,” Brax continued. “Somehow, some way, I just knew we’d defeat Morgui. I knew we’d win. But perhaps I was naive.”

Gorn placed his hands on the railing and leaned into the sky, gazing off in the distance. When he spoke, it was slow and even. “There is still time, my King. Remember, you are a Lord now, a ruler of the realm, and with it comes new understanding—and a new awareness. Things have not changed so much from when you were a boy, or even from the days of the First Battle. The threat has always been the same. But you see more now. You feel it.”

Brax pondered his words. There was a great amount of truth in them, and he had failed to consider the fact that he was now connected with the land. To him it was always more of a myth than a reality: a King feeling the needs of Creation. But now it made sense. It was true.

“Morgui has found Ot,” Brax offered.

“I would say so,” Gorn replied. “Why else would he hasten away so quickly?”

“Aye,” Brax nodded. “And with the portal closed, we have no way to communicate with Li-Saide. How I wish he was here now.”

“But I am,” said a voice behind them both. They spun around and there, standing neatly in the doorway, was the famed chief of the Tribes of Ot, with his billowing, patch-worked hat and his bundled green robe. Brax found his presence an instant comfort.

“Li-Saide!” Brax sputtered. “What are you—? How did you—?”

“It’s good to see you, too, King Brax.” And with that he stepped forward, and Brax knelt and bestowed a large embrace, enveloping the dwarf.

Standing up, Brax turned to Gorn, who merely nodded to his old friend. “Li-Saide, it’s good to see you again.”

“And you, mighty warrior.” Li-Saide edged closer to the railing and peeked above it, surveying the city and the gathering darkness in the south.

Neither man wanted to resume the discussion, fearing what news it might bring. So the dwarf did.

“Morgui has found us,” he said.

The words were as a blow to the stomach. Brax dropped his head, and Gorn looked away.

“How long do you have?” Gorn questioned.

“Another day, maybe two.” He stared off into the night sky, gazing into the blackness, as if seeing into the future.

Gorn and Brax both noticed the dwarf’s eyes fill with a dark mist that swirled around his pupils. The air changed on the balcony around them, and when Li-Saide spoke next, his voice took on a strange quality, words carrying a mournful burden.

“His hounds are very close and the shield that hides the Secret City will not hold against Morgui’s powers much longer. He is growing stronger, the bloodlust full in his mouth. The barrier will break, and Morgui will cross over. Then the Dairne-Reih will pour into Ot and consume us. Nothing will survive.”

Li-Saide continued to stare off in the distance, allowing the words their full weight, disappearing out into the night air. The joy of the reunion was traded for heaviness of heart. Although Brax knew the words were spoken in truth, he would do everything in his power to stop it.

“We must keep this from happening,” Brax said. He looked at Li-Saide. “You speak the truth, I know. But as long as we have breath, we must confront evil, no matter how inevitable our fate.”

“And this is why I have come,” Li-Saide replied. “I will not give in so easily, even knowing how sure are the words of the Sacred Tongue. Of all those living, I know. But I will not bow my knee to him.”

Brax had never heard Li-Saide speak like this. There was a transparency about him he had never seen. He understood in that moment that Li-Saide was not greater or lesser than he. The dwarf was his equal, just as reliant on the Hand of the Most High as he was. Just as he had seen Gorn as mentor and teacher, Brax now understood both of them were his friends—both with limitations and shortcomings.

“Nor will I,” added Gorn. “And I will gladly give my life in defense of Dionia. As I have pledged, so I will do.”

“You have my sword,” Brax said, feeling a breeze rush against his chest.

“And you have my sword as well,” came a strong voice behind them. The three of them turned and stared in disbelief.

“Luik!” Brax hollered and stepped swiftly. The two clasped forearms and embraced, giving up a mutual laugh for seeing one another again. “It is good to see you, brother.”

“And you, King of Tontha.” Luik closed his eyes. “And you.”

“I say,” Li-Saide leaned in to Gorn, “It is a night of grand entrances and reunions.”

“Aye!” Gorn chuckled and then moved to greet Luik, followed by Li-Saide.

“How is your warband?” Brax questioned.

“Heavy losses,” Luik said. “More than half.” The three others lowered their heads in respect and made the sign of blessing.

“I’m sorry,” said Gorn.

“They knew the price well,” Luik said. “But their deaths will not be in vain. We adjust and carry on.” He paused out of reverence. “And what news from Ligeon?”

Brax lowered his voice. “No news, my King.” And he knew more bad news was coming.

“I see. And Mt. Dakka? The gatemen who let us in spoke of mighty tales. A victory for you already, King Brax?”

“The enemy departed, but it is not as they say.”

Luik looked puzzled.

Li-Saide spoke up, “They have found Ot.”

Luik’s face flushed. “So it’s true, then.” He reached for the rail to steady himself. “How long?”

“We haven’t much time,” Gorn said. “If we move now, we have a chance.”

“We’ve reopened the portals,” Li-Saide added.

“Then we can have men there at once.” Luik turned to Brax. “How many fighting men remain in the city?”

“Our losses were minimal.”

“Then we leave immediately,” Luik stated. The rest of them nodded, but no one spoke. Something was pressing them, he could feel it. He looked between them. “What is it?”

“There is more news to tell,” Gorn said.

“Then speak it.”

An awkward silence fell over the balcony. Luik looked to Brax. “What is it, Brax?” Suddenly his heart stopped beating.

He knew.

“We were defending the southern City Gate,” Brax began. “It was late in the day when they began pummeling the walls with their fedchults.”

“Where is she?” Luik demanded. No one spoke. His eyes darted between them.

When Brax looked away he grabbed him by the arms. “Where is she?”

“We told her to stay away from the wall, but she wouldn’t listen!”

“What did they do to her?” he seethed. Luik began shaking Brax, tears flowing from his eyes and anger burning in his mouth.

“A ball of fire hit the wall beneath her—”

“Tell me, Brax!” He shook him violently.

Gorn stepped in. “She lives, as far as we know, Luik.” He placed his hands on Luik’s arms and tried to ease him away. “She fell over the wall and was carried away.”

Luik turned his wrath on Gorn, glaring at him. “She—she what? You watched them carry her away? You didn’t even try to stop them?” Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. The long, battle-laden journey combined with his injuries had made Luik uneasy as it was. But no one blamed him for his aggression. They would have done the same. “How could you?”

Li-Saide stepped in between them and touched Luik’s elbow lightly. Suddenly a wave of peace washed over Luik, and his countenance softened. He looked down, now aware of the dwarf.

“What trickery do you play on me, dwarf?” But he could not move away.

“Only that which your own strength cannot afford you at present.” He continued to touch Luik until his whole body felt refreshed, if even in the slightest. “A man ruled by his emotions alone is no use to anyone and brings with him a fate worse than he would normally wish.”

Luik continued to feel the tension ease until he understood that his quarrel was not with his brothers. “We must get her back,” he finally said with resolve.

“Aye, and we will,” Gorn assured him.

“But we have a more pressing concern,” Li-Saide admitted. Luik made to argue, but he knew the truth of the matter. “Luik, she will hold her own. She is strong. If she is to be saved, we must believe that the Most High will uphold her until we are able to intercede.”

Luik bowed his head. The dwarf finally released his touch and gazed up into Luik’s downturned face. “She lives, mighty warrior. And she well waits for your rescue. We will go to her, do not fear.”

“Aye,” he replied finally. He closed his eyes. “I’m coming for you, my love.” There was a moment of silence that passed between them all, perhaps allowing Luik’s message to take wings on the wind and fly to Anorra, no matter how far away she might be. Love would never fail.

“There is much to be done,” Li-Saide finally said. “I move that we gather the remaining fighting men and prepare to defend Ot.”

“Agreed,” said Luik.

But Gorn put a hand on his shoulder. “You and those who traveled with you are to rest, however. We’ll do the rest.”

Luik started to object, but Brax spoke up. “My Lord, you are now in the Realm of Tontha, and according to Dionian Law, you are subject to the rule of the realm’s King, even as High King.” Brax noticed that Luik quickly glanced down to Li-Saide. But Li-Saide didn’t falter in the least. “So,” he continued, “I order you to take your leave. It would be ten and four days normally, according to protocol, but seeing as how we are pressed, we will leave at dawn.”

No one argued, least of all Luik, who, truth be told, was grateful for the order and needed the rest.

“There will be much to talk about, and much time in which to say it, when we are all in the Great Throne Room, eh, brothers?” Gorn said with a grin. “For now, we are men of action! Come, Luik,” he added, taking him by the arm, “I see that you are weak and will help you to your chamber. You do remember the way?” The two of them exited the King’s Chamber, leaving the dwarf and Brax to themselves on the balcony.

“Taking to studying Dionian Law lately, Lord Brax?”

Brax smiled widely. “It must be a bylaw somewhere, don’t you think?”

The dwarf laughed and patted Brax on the thigh. “Anything to get the High King to get some rest, or else we’ll all be daft, bereft of our sanity!”

- – -
Read the blog? Like getting stuff for free? Consider a $0.99 donation to help me continue to create great content. Or if you want to read the book faster, try buying the print version.

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- – -

Chapter Eighteen

THE CROSSING

As the sun reached the apex of its climb on the third day, a guard on the northern perimeter of the camp noticed horsemen coming in on the horizon. Luik was summoned and stood beside him, along with Grinddr and a few of the other Dibor.

“Jrio, my Lord,” said the warrior on watch.

“Aye, but with too few men,” Luik noticed. Of the two tens and five horses that drew near, only half of them bore riders.

“Something’s amiss,” Grinddr spoke up. The pack grew larger, a billowing dust cloud behind them. The shapes of the men became more distinct, and soon Luik noticed large packs on the backs of the riderless horses. His stomach churned.

“Bodies?” Cage questioned.

But no one spoke. They just stared and watched. Hoping. Dreading.

Men from all over the camp gathered around the High King. They spoke in hushed tones, but soon said nothing at all. The anticipation was palpable. Only the rhythm of horse hoofs beat through the ground. The dust was thicker and the scene more disheartening with every moment that passed. Soon the herd of horses was upon them, and the awaiting group could clearly make out the sacks slung over the animals. Yellow colored cloths were wrapped around man-sized bundles, each lashed to a board, presumably a litter.

No one dared say a thing.

Luik looked but did not see any sign of Jrio, nor of Fyfler or any of the brothers from Somahguard. He looked to the rider in the lead, moving toward him as he slowed. The man spoke before the King could open his mouth.

“Is all well, my King?”

Luik was a bit taken aback. “Aye, but I would ask the same of you.”

“Forgive me, my Lord, but the whole lot of you looks as though you’d just watched your brothers fall in battle,” the man replied. He then noticed everyone was eyeing the bundles quite hesitantly. “Ah! There is no cause for alarm,” he smiled, quite relieved for them. “This is King Jrio’s doing.”

“He lives?” Cage asked.

“Of course he lives! Did you think us slaughtered in the King’s own realm?”

“Well then, good man, is there a reason he is not among you?” Luik questioned.

The man beamed. “He said he’d prefer to trade the back of a horse for something more—how did he put it?—exhilarating is the word he used.”

Luik looked to Grinddr and was about to speak when the man pointed from atop his horse. “Here he comes now!”

Luik turned to look along the newly carved coastline and walked past the horses. He blinked in eerie disbelief. The rest of the warband began mumbling among themselves, obvious curiosity in their voices.

“I can’t believe it,” Cage said. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

In the distance were more than ten brightly colored yellow sails, flying like odd swooping gulls that dipped and rose in the wind. Each one was bowed, curved against the air and diving toward the sea as if about to plunge for fish, only to recover and surge skyward at the last moment. Barely visible to the eye were thin lines that led from each sail to a single man on the water, each erect, skimming along the surface and holding to a bar between both hands. Luik walked more quickly, a grin creeping across his face. Among the five men in the water, he noticed Jrio’s form in the lead. His feet were affixed to some sort of board which he rode over the waves, a wake kicking up behind him.

“That’s incredible!” Cage hollered and slapped the High King on the back. Luik glanced to his right and caught Grinddr’s eyes. The Immortal simply shrugged with an awkward smile. Then all three looked back to the horses and everything made sense.

By mid-afternoon Jrio and his team had unraveled the packs on the horses, set up the diji-hi, or water flyers as Jrio called them, and laid out the wooden boards. The finely woven canopies were expertly crafted, the yellow fabric bearing the crest of Trennesol—a gull hovering over a leaping dolphin. This novelty was something Jrio said his clan was known for, though no one outside of Trennesol was familiar with the invention.

“It’s something my father and I were working on,” Jrio said proudly. “Our tribes took to the sport quickly,” as any Trennesolian would with their long heritage in sailing. “I gathered these from a small village just north of us on the coast.”

Thin lines made from terren root fibers were laid out on the ground and affixed to a wooden dowel about the length of a sword’s handle and the width of a man’s arm. Jrio demonstrated to everyone how to hoist the sail into the air and maneuver it by turning the bar. But when he passed the dowel and flying canopy to the others, everyone realized just how much power was at their control, and sometimes not at their control. One man was picked right off his feet, dangling from the bar and hoisted a tree-length into the sky before letting go and slamming into the ground. He was no worse for wear, but his pride was far from intact.

“It’s all right,” Jrio comforted as he raced to help the man up, others fetching the collapsing diji. “It’s not easy. But you’ll adapt sure enough.”

Jrio and his team continued throughout the remainder of the day to give each man a turn with the sail and bar, more than one hundred diji aloft, all swooping like giant yellow birds. And before the sun set and the winds died, most took a turn with the diji in the water.  Jrio demonstrated how to enter the water along the shore, diji aloft, and straddle the wooden board. As he steered the canopy overhead, plunging it toward the horizon, the bar jerked in his hands and he surged forward on the board. Within moments the plank was on plane and he stood, riding it just as many of the ocean-dwelling clansmen did; the only difference was that Jrio didn’t have a wave. With the diji-hi he was the wave.

Jrio rode about, carving water with the board by leaning back against the strong pull of invention. He swerved this way and that, even changing direction numerous times to stay close to shore so everyone could see.

“Now he’s just showing off,” Cage muttered.

“He certainly makes it look easy,” Luik added. “Think everyone can learn?”

“If not, I’m sure Jrio will be glad to carry them across.”

“But that may hinder his style,” Luik mused, winking at Cage. As if on cue, Jrio pulled violently on the bar, whizzing the canopy in a wild change of direction overhead; the diji-hi hoisted him clear off the water’s surface, but not before Jrio grabbed the board and brought it with him, twisting in the air as he went sailing skyward. Everyone held their breath as he continued to climb, suspended in mid-air, before gently landing back in the water and continuing on in his course. The warband let up a mighty whoop, applauding the feat.

“Correction,” Cage added, “now he’s showing off.”

 

• • •

 

Just after dawn the next morning, Jrio and Luik had the men packed and ready. The winds were strong out of the northeast, making it an easy reach to the far shore. The horses were loosed of their burdens and tack, and then sent on their way back to their homeland in Jerovah; once on the other side of the new channel, the warband would have to make it on foot.

Based on everyone’s performance the evening before, Jrio selected those who most easily took to the diji-hi and instructed them on the procedure for the crossing. Luik, despite his wounds, was one of them, and he listened eagerly. Because there were more men than there were diji-hi, each crossing would need half of the men to return, each bearing the burden of an extra board and rolled-up canopy. It was not impossible, but they would need the most agile and proficient riders to execute the plan. Those that simply couldn’t manage the crossing were given the task of finding timber to construct rafts. But with scant few trees at their disposal, and Grandath still too far away to be of use, the rafts would be few in number.

By mid morning the first group was wading into the surf. The winds were picking up which, while making it easier to keep the sails aloft, also meant rougher seas. A number of the men were tossed about, falling off their boards, their sails tumbling into the sea. Jrio strode through the waist-high water, helping steady as many of the warriors as he could. With a little guidance and encouragement, the first wave was off, sailing across the channel on a single tack. Most stood on their boards, but more than a few remained seated, content to be dragged through the sea and not risk losing their balance.

In all, the first trip across was a success. Half the men stayed while the others returned with board and bundle tightly wound and carried under their arm. Maneuvering the bar with only one hand was much more challenging, many of the men choosing to sit down as standing was simply too awkward.

Upon their return, the bound diji-hi were rolled out, their sails hoisted skyward, ready for the next man. Luik steadied the sail and prepared to hand it off to a man just beside him. When only one hand reached for the bar, Luik instructed him.

“You’ll need both hands,” he said. Luik looked from the beautiful canopy soaring above to the man next to him. It was Sheffy, son of Wildaburn. He was suddenly embarrassed, but equally delighted to see him again, having not even noticed his whereabouts over the last few days. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“No harm done,” Sheffy said with a smile. “It’s good to see you too, my King. I think I can manage just fine,” he said, nodding at the sail above.

“Aye, that you will, Sheffy. Of that I have full confidence.” Luik felt forever bonded to the little man, his conversion back to the land of the living a momentous miracle for all those who lived to remembered it. Luik knew this man had much to be grateful for and would never again begrudge an indecency against him. His was the joy of knowing his life was afforded him, and no more. Whether one less hand, or one less leg, it did not matter so much as long as he awoke another day to see the light of the sun. Luik studied him as he edged to the shore and, with no little effort, sat atop his board and set off across the channel, smiling as he went.

A gentle tug on his tunic startled Luik. He turned to see Fia behind him.

“My dear friend,” he smiled and knelt down to her level. “How do you fare?”

“When do I get my turn?” she asked without room for argument.

“Fia, the task is one not even every full-grown man has the strength for, let alone a fair lady like yourself.”

“You are calling me weak?” She balled her fists and locked her arms.

“Easy there, child,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You are certainly far from weak. Still, I would have you ride with Jrio.” Fia looked over at the King of Trennesol as he helped a sea-swollen man back onto his board. Jrio’s handsome look brought the color to the little girl’s fair face. “Will you mind the company?” Luik asked. She bashfully looked down between her feet. “As I said,” he concluded, “you’ll make the trip with Jrio. See you on the other side.” He tousled her sandy hair with his hand and sent her running to the shore.

The air was hot; the sun soared high by the time the last trip was made. Luik and the remaining Dibor, along with the Immortals, who seemed equally suited for the diji-hi, raced along in the strength of the strong winds. Luik’s board skimmed across the waters, cresting waves and ripping across the swells. He found himself quite enjoying the sport and wondered why Jrio hadn’t shown him sooner. He raced west but found himself gazing to the southern horizon. Facing the Great Forest, Luik couldn’t help but notice that the intense black that hung over the region was growing. Ever darker, ever wider. He knew Grandath was being consumed, and he could only assume that Morgui was on the hunt. The traitor wanted Ot. He knew it.

And yet the ground had torn, and the sea had divided the land. Was this rift in Trennesol simply a diversion? Was this Morgui’s means of delaying Luik’s warband? If so, his powers were far greater than Luik had imagined, possibly growing stronger. Or was Creation purging itself of disease, to extinguish the flames that burned her from within? If so the timing was far from optimal with regard to their journey home. Or perhaps, was this the Swift Sure Hand of the Most High, trying to keep Luik from returning to Mt. Dakka? And why would He do so? Was the city compromised and the greater need now in Ot? What did this mean for his companions?

Luik wrestled all of these thoughts in the span of a breath. Doubt filled his spirit, stirring up endless conflict. He was eager to get on with things, to know the answers. Now. He had never tasted the bitterness of anxiety as he had over these last few days. It was something he despised, like a rotting corpse inside his flesh. But even with the disgust, he could not shake it off. He could not stop being anxious. The more he entertained it, the stronger the grasp became. He hated it! But he could not resist it. It tightened around his throat, squeezing his chest. Even as the High King savored the sea air and the priceless moment of ease, riding across the waves, he knew his integrity as a leader was being assaulted once again.

Luik shook his head but could not pull his attention from the scene in the south, where black smoke blotted out the sky. Morgui would destroy the Scriptorium if he could. Even the Great Libraries, too. But Luik knew there was something more that Morgui wanted, something he wished to uncover; this, the means to an easy victory. And there would be no stopping him then.

- – -

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- – -

Chapter Seventeen

A NEW LOVE

Anorra awoke in the same room as before. The rustling fire had died, leaving behind a bed of embers. Candles flickered in their iron mountings, each one a few fingers shorter than they had been earlier. The princess stretched and sat up, pushing off the warm pile of furs and blankets. The room was just as it had been, save that the table was cleared of food, and that she was alone.

The sleep had been sound, free of pain; she was happy for that. Anorra felt somehow that she had much to recover from. But what, exactly, she couldn’t remember. She’d been through something terrible…unspeakable. Yet it eluded her. Everything was just out of reach, like straining for a handful of mist, always visible, never tangible. Then the memories of her encounter with the man returned, filling her with unease. She knew him only as the Prince. But the emotions surrounding him, both awkward and somehow alluring, left her to feel that there was a great deal more to be known.

She stood and walked to the table, letting her fingers brush against the smooth board. The images of the sumptuous meal she had consumed filled her head. Her mouth watered. She was hungry again. Had she been asleep so long? But then another thought filled her head—one more intriguing than simple sleep or hunger. She gazed at the face looking back in the polished wood. It was if she had eaten at this table many times before. Perhaps many summers. She knew it—this space—like an old friend.

Anorra turned to look out the window. Then came a frightening realization: For all the beauty of this chamber, its furnishings, floorings, carvings, and candles, there were no windows. No portal into the outside world. It was in this moment she became afraid, aware that she knew not if it was day or night, dusk or dawn. She didn’t know how long she had been asleep, or even, for that matter, how long she had been in this room. Had this bothered her before?

She searched her mind’s eye and then became frustrated. There were no memories outside of this room. None before and only a few within it. But yet it seemed as if she had a history here, a long, even nostalgic affair with this place. She walked over to the hearth where she and the Prince had reclined, where they had stared into the flames and he had spoken of a great invitation. To join him.

She was wanted. She was desired.

Her heart fluttered and her face grew warm. Anorra took a step, backing away from the furs on the floor. Why am I here? There was a scratching at the door in her mind. She spun around. She knew that something had brought her here, some great hardship. She squinted hard, forcing herself to remember. What was it? Her hands were massaging her temples. But perhaps she had indeed been here so long that the past was too far forgotten even to will it back.

“Let me help you,” he said.

Anorra screamed, and then spun around. It was the Prince. “How did you—”

But she had scarcely spoken when he began to laugh. Not a sarcastic, demeaning laugh. No. This was a genuine, playful laugh, one that a lover might bestow on his maiden, joyfully relishing their mutual folly. The sound of his voice was marvelous. She was terribly startled, yet she let out a sheepish chuckle; his only grew louder. Anorra felt her heart with her palm and recovered her breath. Soon she was laughing with him, her face and belly aching.

Between laughs he finally said, “I’m so sorry for startling you, my beauty.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine,” she laughed. “It’s my fault, I was—I was just lost in thought, I guess.” His light manner put her at ease, as did his handsome face. “I can’t even remember what consumed me so.”

“Well, then, whatever plagues you, it is gone now.” And with that he cradled her cheek in his hand. It was as if everything that bothered her suddenly melted away. Now it was only he and she, alone in the bedchamber. “And you rested well?”

“Indeed,” she said, gazing up into his eyes. All she could focus on were his impressive eyes. So beautiful…

“Then I am pleased my dwelling suits you, for I would implore you to stay with me, Princess. Have you forgotten my offer?”

“Your offer?” It seemed so long ago. Was I not just asleep? Was he not here with me earlier this same day?

“To join me as my bride, that I might share with you my kingdom. Everything I own, it is yours.”

“Yes, I remember.” She was astounded by his words. There was something about him. So attractive. Though she felt completely out of place, exposed and vulnerable, she still maintained at least some of her wit. “But while I know at least of the charm and beauty of my future husband, I do not know of this kingdom which he speaks so highly of, as if he offers me some great prize. How would anyone rightly reply to such an offer?”

“Ah, you are right, my lovely,” he chided himself. “How nearsighted I am.” He eased closer to her now.

Something quickened in her bosom—she couldn’t help herself. Anorra felt something for him. He placed his strong hands on her shoulders and drew her ever close. He emanated power with every breath, and she found it captivating. She needed him.

“What would you like me to show you?”

Her body was pressed against him. She looked up into his face.

“Whatever you wish,” she replied. She could hardly believe her own words. But it was so much easier just to let go. To give in.

She found herself lost in his gaze, surrounded by his magnificence. Everything was happening so fast. Whatever life she had lived up until now was forgotten. “You are my future,” she whispered. Then she kissed him deeply.

- – -
Read the blog? Like getting stuff for free? Consider a $0.99 donation to help me continue to create great content. Or if you want to read the book faster, try buying the print version.

Read the blog? Like getting stuff for free? Consider a $0.99 donation to help me continue to create great content. Or if you want to read the book faster, try buying the print version.

- – -

Chapter Sixteen

THE GREAT SHAKING

The terrible storm had indeed wreaked havoc on the lovely island Luik and the other Dibor called home. At least every other tree had been uprooted, torn from their ancient beds and discarded in careless heaps. The Great Hall had fared reasonably well, save for a collapsed roof on the eastern side; a tree had been thrown through it like a javelin, speaking of the storm’s terrible power.

It took some time for the warband to emerge from their subterranean shelter and find their way to the lift on the north side of the island. Dazed by the bright sunlight, they squinted hard at first, surveying the incredible amount of damage. Luik’s tree house was nowhere to be seen, laid waste in a swath of destruction all the way to the north shore. Seeing the central square now, without its leafy arbor and canopy of vines and flowers, was almost more than he and the others could bear.  It was as if the sacred space of their tutelage had never been at all.

Luik walked down the beaten steps of the Great Hall and knelt by the ruins of the fire pit. A light breeze sifted through the wreckage, water dripping from everything. He shoved a tree branch aside and picked up a handful of the ashes, swollen and lumpy with moisture. He massaged the mass until his fingers were black, soiled with the memories of countless stories. Everything seemed so long ago for him: his first journey to Kirstell, his first sparring session with Gorn. Now just memories held in black cinders, forever lost.

The only happy sight was that of the dawning sun in the west. Its warmth and glow was a boon to their souls, its simplicity, and its regular arrival now the only real sense of normalcy they could lean on. Luik stood and collected his thoughts, preparing himself for the next leg of their journey.

The Immortals, along with Luik’s strongest men, helped the wounded down in the lift and to the rocks below. Once there, they needed to wait only a short time before the tide revealed the sandy strand leading to the mainland. And by midday the entire entourage was securely encamped in a grassy plain, the outskirts of Jerovah.

As the sun sank to its easterly home, Luik and Grinddr, along with Cage, Jrio, and two more of the Immortals, sat around a meager fire, the driftwood crackling and popping from too much rain.

“Our journey will be long with this many wounded,” Jrio said. His discouragement was tangible and certainly not lacking company.

“Cage?” Luik inclined his head to the Horse King.

“On horseback, we could make the border of Tontha in little over ten days. But we’re on foot, and with many who are in poor shape.” He paused, thinking carefully. “Two tens and five.”

“That’s nearly a new liyde,” said Donalik, one of Grinddr’s men.

“Aye,” nodded Grinddr.

Luik lowered his voice and said, “I fear many of the men will not last so long without the care of Mt. Dakka’s hearth fires.” None of them wanted to agree with him, but they knew he was right.

“Perhaps you and Grinddr should go on without us,” Jrio suggested. “We’ll stay behind with—”

“I will not hear of it,” Luik interjected. “The Sacred Order is split up enough as it is. I honor you for your selflessness, brother, but it will not be done, not while I am High King.”

Jrio bowed his head slightly.

A little wine was drunk as well as a little bread eaten, passed out to the entire camp. They retired shortly thereafter, stretching out on blankets and furs brought with them from Kirstell’s underground bounty. The night was cool but gave way to a brilliant display of Athera, stars in abundance and the twin moons of Dionia elegantly drifting through their courses. Only twice was Luik awakened by the deep tremors that had been plaguing Creation. The ground shook, trembled with a jolt, and then settled back down. He wished Fane were there to explain it to him; surely he would know its cause. But, alas, Luik had made a mess of that, too.

His midnight thoughts began to drift into a sore state, doubting first himself and then, eventually, doubting the one person he knew he mustn’t.

Just as light began to fill the western sky with a pink and purple splash of color, another sound pumped through the ground and awoke Luik with a start. It was another tremor. Or was it?

The rumbling soon clarified into a beating rhythm, a cadence with a familiar melody.

“King Luik!” someone shouted. “Look!”

Luik sprang from his pallet of furs and looked to the east. There, but a lean, dark line on the horizon, rode a sea of horses, a rising cloud of dust in their wake. Cage was by his side in an instant.

“Our rides,” he said to Luik.

“Indeed,” Luik said. “Indeed!” He looked back at the men. They, too, were standing to their feet, eyeing the horses. Soon they were all up, cheering at the provision of the Most High.

“May the Great God bless the ten that ride with them,” Luik said. “I shall reward them richly.” For indeed, it was Gyinan who had ordered the ten to stay behind with the nearly five hundred horses that had carried them out of Tontha on their journey to the Somahguard Islands.

“And if I’m not mistaken,” Jrio added with a wide grin, “they will also be carrying our arms and armor.”

 

• • •

 

By late morning the entire camp had been struck and everyone mounted in the saddle. Those who were too injured to ride alone doubled up. For them it was a little more strenuous, as the use of litters would slow the advance. But the sight of their mounts brought such joy that no one scorned the inconvenience. Especially Luik. Fedowah was first among the stallions to reach him, as Luik sought his ride out from among the throng. He whinnied, and Luik greeted him with open arms, slapping his neck and blowing in his nostrils. The exchange was brief, and Fedowah shook his mane with heartfelt glee to be reunited once again. Luik kissed his nose, savoring the sweet smell, and examined his saddle, still snug on his mount’s back.

“It’s good to see you, my friend,” Luik said. “You up for a run?”

Fedowah neighed and stomped the ground.

The ten men left in charge of the horses had waited patiently on the shore, watching and waiting over the Somahguard Islands. The horses, while content to graze in the fields, never had settled down, presumably displaying their angst in the distant strife of their masters. It wasn’t until the herd had begun to press south and then west along the coast that the men had had any real inclination that Luik and the warband were on the move. At first the herdsmen had tried to round up the stubborn animals, but when the entire pack had moved as one, they had been forced to accompany them or risk being left behind all together.

“So really, it wasn’t our idea at all,” one of the herdsmen recounted to Luik. “We just followed their lead.”

“For once,” Luik chuckled. “Either way, we are indebted to your courage, my friends. C’symia.” The men received the praise and made the sign of blessing.

The warband rode hard, pressing along the eastern front of Grandath, rotating through the herd of horses in order to keep their legs fresh. The count was nearly two horses for every man. While this was indeed a great benefit, it was also a reminder to Luik and the others of their incredible losses. Less than half the men who left Tontha would return. This meant fatherless children would run to the Main Gate in tragic expectation, accompanied by women about to learn of their new status: widow. Luik’s heart sank at the thought. As the waves of despair washed over him, it was all he could do just to remain in his seat.

He was convinced that his leadership had wrought all this. It was his inability to truly lead that had brought so much harm. If only he were wiser, a better suited King. But with those memories came a new plague, one of the future. What would become of Mt. Dakka? How did his brother Dibor in Ligeon fare?

He began playing scenarios in his mind, setting himself up for any number of calamities, all with their own conversations and outcomes. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, his heart trembling with each new image. He was worried. Worried about what would happen. Worried about tomorrow.

“My Lord,” Grinddr rode beside him and pointed from his saddle. “Grandath.”

The sun was sinking toward the eastern horizon, but the western sky was still all too dark. A heavy black cloud shrouded the distant trees and seeped upward, enveloping more of the western sky as they rode north. The column of smoke that Luik had seen just two days before had now billowed into a gaping monster that consumed most of the Great Forest, at least as far as he could tell. “They are searching for Ot,” Luik assumed. “Morgui will burn it to the ground before he is satisfied.”

“Surely he won’t find it,” Jrio said, but it almost sounded like a question.

“No, my brother. I think he means to.”

“We can pray,” Grinddr put in.

“Aye,” Luik agreed. “That is all we can do for the time being.”

 

• • •

 

On the dawn of the seventh day the war band had journeyed well into Trennesol, Jrio’s homeland, and were in view of the western mountains of Tontha, still two-and-a-half days’ ride out. The mountain peaks were shrouded in cloud cover, hidden from the rest of the world. Luik wondered what remained of his countrymen high up in their reaches. His eye followed the base of the mountains back down into Trennesol, where a gentle morning fog hung low over the western plains and slipped into the Great Forest. From there, the fog turned into a dark cloud of smoke that consumed the rest of the woodland, casting it in an ever gloomy hue of black.

He returned to lashing his sword and pack to his saddle when he felt the onset of yet another tremor. It began like all the rest.

“Hold on, men,” he ordered. “It will pass.”

But this one didn’t. The ground heaved violently, a jolt that threw everyone off balance, and many right off their feet.

“Whoa,” Luik said, steadying Fedowah. The horse was uneasy. Ears up, Fedowah looked around frantically, dancing in circles as Luik tried to calm him down. “Whoa!”

The vibration continued until another heavy blow issued from beneath them, this one much more severe than the first. Luik actually felt himself lifted into the air before slamming to the ground. Horses fell, and not a few on top of their riders. Soon everyone was shouting. But the sound was drowned out by the roar of quaking.

“Stand away!” Luik shouted, waving his hands to get the men away from their horses. But he could barely hear himself. “Stand away! Look out!” Even as he tried to get their attention, more horses fell, crushing many of the men in the chaos. Luik attempted to stand, but the ground shook so violently it was nearly impossible to get to his knees.

Although the tremor lasted for only moments, it felt like an eternity, each event unfolding with a slow, daunting pace. Men fell backward, thrown against the ground with ease; horses stumbled and bucked, terrified by the shaking beneath them. Bodies collided, the greater mass crushing the lesser into the dirt. Mouths agape let out noiseless screams; hoofs flailing for solid ground.

And then it seemed to ebb, the shaking ceasing much faster than before. Vibrations still carried through the ground, but the jolting had subsided as well as the noise. Now the air was filled with the cries of men, many of them trampled and broken. Most of the horses had gained their feet and ran wildly, ripping through the tall grass, unable to be caught.

“Attend those men there!” Luik ordered, pointing to a cluster of his warband on the ground. “And there!” he ordered some of the Immortals to another group. “Jrio—”

He was cut off. Another quake started, but this a monstrous one, paling all previous. The violent heave threw everyone down, slamming them hard against the solid ground. And then came the thunder of rock and soil splitting from deep beneath them. It cut to the soul of every man who heard it, a tearing of the deepest sort. Deafening the ear and tormenting the soul, the violent shaking continued.

Luik’s head hit the ground, disorienting him for a moment. He rolled and then pulled his knees up under his stomach. With great effort he pushed his shoulders up and looked around. There, a great distance in front of him toward the mountain range, rock and dust shot into the air, flinging debris into the sky. The quaking continued, escalating as the ground began to contract against itself where he looked. Great segments of rock raised themselves into the air, protruding from the once seamless valley, now a disheveled battlefield of unnatural mayhem.

The ground was separating into a massive fissure that stretched from the Isthmus of Ninsessa all the way to Grandath. The ground tore more deeply with every moment that passed, the sound blasting their ears. Soon it incorporated a new sound: that of rushing water. Luik looked to his right. Flowing in from the north, like a wave from a broken dam, came a torrent of water pounding down the channel. It careened through the fissure with amazing speed, drenching both sides of the split, bursting over rocks and consuming mounds of dirt. The water was brown, carrying debris all the way from the Nollen Sea, blasting away at whatever was in its path.

And still the ground shook. Luik then noticed cracks appearing around him and his men, opening up into fractures large enough to swallow a man. Many did. And more than one horse tumbled to its fate.

“Luik! Help!”

Luik looked over his shoulder. Fyfler was slipping into a small fissure. He was grasping at tufts of grass on a section of tilting ground.

“I’m coming!” Luik scampered on his hands and knees, first climbing over the exposed plate of rock rising into the air. Then he slid down the other side, easing his way toward Fyfler. “I have you,” Luik said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him up. But still the ground trembled, making the work laborious.

“Pull!” Fyfler pleaded. Luik fought against the inclination of the ground, heaving with all his might, but Fyfler’s weight was too much. The grass in his left hand gave way, and the two of them slid toward the gaping mouth below. Just then, a hand caught Luik by the scruff of his collar. It was Kinfen.

“Need some help?” he hollered. Both men looked up into his face, a look of relief on their faces. Kinfen pulled them over the ledge and back onto more stable ground.

As soon as he could, Luik looked back to the valley before them, the crack now a growing, water-filled chasm. Rocks still shattered and moved wherever water touched the shore, sending up a spray of stone fragments. And in the channel, a maddening current churned, ever boiling in the rage of the quake. Soon the commotion ebbed, leveling off to a constant din, still loud, but manageable.

“The water is rising!” Quoin shouted, examining the growing body of water.

“Nay,” said Grinddr, “I believe the land is separating.”

“What?” Cage asked.

“That fissure is no mere crack,” Luik added. Those gathered around him looked on. “Dionia—she’s breaking apart.”

No one said a word. They just watched as the space between what was now the northern side of Trennesol and the southern side of Trennesol moved farther and farther apart. The trembling continued, grinding away in the ears. Water filled the cracks that ran around the warband and soon spilled all over the threshold of the mainland, creating shallow pools. The men found themselves wading up to their knees, leading the horses back up to dry ground. And still water rushed in to fill the increasing space between the two landmasses. Grinddr had been right. The ground was separating; Dionia was breaking apart.

Luik felt a nudge from behind him. It was Fedowah. He swung into the saddle, and the horse led him over to a group of men struggling to get up in the shallows. He dismounted and helped them up, loading them on horseback, and then sending them off to dry ground. After everyone was out of harm’s way, Luik led Fedowah to join the others, wringing out his shirt and running a trembling hand through his hair.

“You all right?” Cage inquired.

“Aye, given the fact that I just watched Trennesol get ripped apart.”

Jrio sidled up to them on his mount. “It runs all the way into Grandath. Look.” The small group followed the waterway south as it plunged into the Great Forest—now three times as wide as the Hefkiln River at its widest point. The massive trees that remained intact along the shore leaned over, dangerously low to the water, as if they would fall in at any moment. Beyond that, the men lost sight of the channel.

“Great God of Athera, help us.” Luik looked skyward and squinted his eyes. The trembling in the ground labored on as the two landmasses continued to drift farther apart. The far shore was now so distant that many of them doubted they could even swim it. Eventually the swirling of the water seemed to dissipate, and before long the entire scene began to look as if it had always been, as if there were some name to this waterway, one which they had all forgotten. Finally the grinding ceased, and the tremors grew weak.

“So I have a new question,” Cage asked, looking to those around him. “How do we get across?”

“I have an idea,” Jrio said with a grin.

“Don’t keep us in the dark, brother,” Cage ordered. “We’re all ears.”

With the tumultuous churning of the ground beneath them finally subsiding, Luik and his warband looked out toward Tontha. The span between the two landmasses was broad, far from being fordable by men or horses. They needed ships.

Luik surmised that he would eventually name the waterway, deriving it from one of his men or a memory or some such thing, just as Ad had done when Creation was new. But for now he was still in awe of what they had just witnessed. The only explanation he could come up with was that Creation was doing its best to purge the evil within it, yearning in agony to be relieved. That, or perhaps Morgui—

No, he thought. That is too grievous a notion. I will not think it.

Jrio turned to the High King. “You wish us across with haste, aye, my Lord?”

“Certainly,” Luik replied, only half paying attention.

“What about the dolphins?” Naron asked.

“They’re surely still in the south. Warmer waters,” Fyfler said. “No fish or animal could have survived that anyway.”

“Right you are. Any ships are well out of reach as well, perhaps some three or four days away. And even then they must be in working condition and sailed back here,” Jrio stated.

“Is this helping us?” Luik stared at him.

“Nay, but it proves we need a swifter method.”

“And you have one?”

“Really, brother,” Rab said. “Spit it out, man!”

“Aye, I do.”

“And?” questioned Luik.

“Give me three days,” Jrio asked. Luik looked at him. Jrio wore a curious grin, one which Luik knew all too well.

“Might I remind you that lives are at stake, Jrio? We have no time for reckless endeavors or faulty plans. This must be time well spent.”

“I give you my word, O King; you will not be disappointed.”

“Very well. Three days. Take what men and supplies you need. We’ll make camp and take care of the wounded.” Jrio nodded and turned to ride away. “Jrio,” Luik caught him. “Three days. And no more. It’s about lives.”

- – -
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