The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) (13 page)

“Are you saying you want us to sacrifice you to get inside this temple, ya blundering fool? I don’t think I will ever understand you humans. This is ridiculous,” Dulgin scoffed.

“I believe in this quest, and I believe in you, Bridazak. A great shift in this world—to restore what it was meant to be—is upon us. My sacrifice is for that change. It is my choice and my wish.”

“It’s not my choice, nor my wish,” Bridazak protested. “Abawken, we need to find another way.”

The human fighter withdrew a two-inch tall statue of what was known as a lizard man.

“What is that?”

“This is a magical figurine.” Abawken spoke a word in his native tongue of Zoarian, tossing the figure to the ground. Within seconds it grew into a five-foot-tall lizard man, holding a long sword and shield. It was combatready, and very alive. It spoke with a slithering lisp, “Your wissssshhhh masssssterrr?” It waited for Abawken’s response.

“Hello, friend. I ask that you protect me.”

“Azzzz you wisssshhh massssterrr. Froommm whhooom?”

He looked at Bridazak, “Honor me in this realm, and know that I will be holding the doors of the afterlife to greet you when you arrive.” He turned back to address the lizardman, “Protect me from the Dwarf and Ordakian.”

“What!?” they both resounded in unison. The scaly opponent suddenly brought its shield up to bear, and its longsword rose in a posture of offense. Bridazak and Dulgin backed away. Abawken turned, exhaling a deep breath, and approached the door.

“No! Don’t do it!”

Time elapsed rapidly and all breathing was held in check, as they could do no more than helplessly watch Abawken’s choice play out before them. Knowing he could not get to the brazen human in time to stop him, Dulgin whispered a Dwarven blessing, “Diegg mu domosh.”

The booming voice of the Orb spoke, “Do not open the door, Abawken. You have passed the test given to you.”

The sound of an animal’s gurgled baying behind them forced their attention away. There, caught in a thicket of vines, was a horned ramshod. It’s spiraled keratin was worthy of a trophy. It squawked again.

Bridazak quickly turned toward Abawken, only to find the human already standing behind him, in awe of the provision. Each of them let out a sigh of relief. Dulgin extended his arm toward Abawken in congratulations, but retracted hastily when the lizardman swung its steel blade in his direction. The human quickly spoke, “Shirezz!” and it diminished back to its figurine form. He picked it up, whispering, “Thank you, my friend,” and placed it back into his belt pouch. He then embraced Dulgin and Bridazak.

They followed the instructions, laced rope through the loop holes and then took positions behind the barriers. The Ramshod was wrapped in the vines and placed at the foot of the doorway. As they pulled, hundreds of the tiny openings glowed red, and then shot out an intensified blast of energy. The sacrificial creature was engulfed by the intense heat of the magic released. It disintegrated instantly. They quickly ducked, avoiding the sweltering wave as it passed over the stone wall in front of them. The energy finally settled and the adventurers approached with trepidation. Now open, a passage led deeper inside the strange temple. Abawken turned and knelt down on one knee. The Ordakian watched him as he gave a silent moment of thanks.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I am prepared for whatever lies ahead. Ready your weapons, Master Dak, for I sense combat approaches,” he unsheathed his curved blade.

.

9

The Fallen Temple

T
heir senses were heightened in the breadth of the moment when all natural light was severed and countless years worth of dank, stale air met them as they entered the temple. Torches magically sprang to life along the walls to the left and right of them. The entry room was completely bare. On the other side, a wide corridor continued into more blackness, as did the vaulted ceiling, which stretched far above them. Faded murals decorated the walls, severely damaged by the years of neglect. A fine dust had settled on the floor and revealed no tracks; no one had set foot in here for countless years. Bridazak marveled at the workmanship and began to lightly touch the ancient paintings that time had forgotten. Abawken continued to scan the room for any threats.

“Stay alert,” he said.

“Nothing gets by these Dwarven eyes, Huey. Me and my axe are ready.”

Bridazak seemed lost in the cracked and faded pigments, trying to find something of importance. A shivering sensation caused him to snap out of it.

“It feels strangely cold in here all of a sudden,” he announced, clenching his hands around his arms. He looked up to where Abawken’s attention was focused and saw through the pitch-darkness two sets of yellow, glowing eyes; a stare that was familiar to him. He had seen eyes like these in Gathford, outside their cottage. There was a hiss of hatred as two shadow creatures descended upon them. A cold feeling of death emanated from the dark, wispy assailants.

“REEGS!” Dulgin shouted.

Abawken shoved the Ordakian out of the way of the first attack wave. They were attracted to life itself, trying desperately to consume it, to destroy it. The fighter made several swipes at one of the fiends, and hit it solidly. There was a shriek as the magic of his blade pulsed with the impact. The creature cringed backward, but immediately retaliated with greater speed. The Reeg penetrated Abawken’s defense—the single touch of the cold-bearing effects lingered; his knees weakened as he felt his strength diminishing.

Humanoid in shape only, these beings were made from the lifeless void of darkness itself. They darted and flew through the air like spirits called to the opposite of their essence; a shadow whose only purpose was to devour the light of life.

Bridazak dodged the evil touch, but then took a miscalculated glance toward his friends and the creature of the dark struck him square in the chest. He felt no pain, though he should have. His body clenched in anticipation, but there was no ill effect. The dark shadow stood stationary for a moment, confused. Before he could try again, a bright flash came from within Bridazak himself. Like lightning, it blasted the creature. A huge thunderclap erupted within the temple room from the awesome magic released.

Abawken and Dulgin were propelled into the wall from the force of the blast. They witnessed the brief magnificent light eat away at the shadow, dissipating it before their eyes. The incorporeal shade’s horrific screech faded away. Bridazak leaned against the wall in shock.

“Are you alright, Master?” Abawken asked.

“I—I think so. What happened?”

“I was hoping you could shed some light on that question.”

“I don’t see the other Reeg. It must have fled after that blast,” Dulgin chimed, surveying the room.

“These were summoned creatures from the darkness of abyss itself,” the fighter stated, peering back up into the area they came from.

“Damn things came out from that cursed chasm, Kerrith Ravine,” Dulgin said in disgust.

They dusted themselves off and began to head deeper into the mysterious, alluring temple. The wide corridor continued, and with every step a magical torch ignited on either side of them. At each burst of light they could see a little further down, until they reached a bronze door littered with ancient engravings in a language long forgotten. They approached it cautiously, and when Bridazak was within arm’s reach, the door slowly opened. It swung wide without a creak, to reveal a candlelit sanctuary. Hundreds of small flames outlined the large chamber on different levels of stone shelving. Directly opposite them were steps leading up to a platform, bearing an altar made of marble. A figure, facing away, wearing the purest white hooded robes they had ever seen, knelt near it. It appeared to be of small stature like Bridazak, or perhaps a human child.

“Hello,” Bridazak broke the silence, his voice echoing through the room.

The being rose and turned to face them, at the same time pulling the hood away to reveal itself. A male Ordakian greeted them with a brilliant smile that shined from his purplehued eyes. He was completely bald, with gold earrings laced from the bottom of his lobes to the top. His skin appeared to be soft, without blemish, and slightly glowing. A white ivory staff with a hooked end rested nearby. He had no other belongings.

“We were told to come here,” Bridazak continued.

“Yes, yes, the time has come,” he responded, excitedly making his way toward them.

“Time for what?”

“I will need a strand of hair from each of you in order for you to enter the portal once it is opened,” he calmly stated.

They stared at him with questioning looks. “Specifically, one from your foot Bridazak, one from your beard Dulgin, and one from Abawken’s head.”

“I don’t think so, little-one! How did you know our names?” Dulgin leaned in to the Dak’s face to intimidate him.

“I know lots of things.” His purple eyes bore into Dulgin. There was an unshakable confidence that the Dwarf had never seen before.

Bridazak could feel a strange connection to the mysterious Dak. There was a peace about him that reminded him of the Orb. Questions started formulating in his mind.
Who is this person? Why is he here? How old is he?
Bridazak tried to calm his Dwarven friend and reached his hand to his broad armored shoulder, “It will be okay.”

He broke from the stare, “I’m tired of going through open portals without knowing—” Suddenly Dulgin flinched backward.

“That will do fine, Dulgin. Thank you,” the odd Ordakian said, revealing a red piece of hair pulled from his beard.

“That hurt! How ‘bout I punch you in the face, and we call it even.”

Abawken stepped up, pulling out one long strand of hair. Bridazak plucked one from the top of his foot and then handed it over. Dulgin stormed off a few feet away, mumbling under his breath.

“We have done what you asked, and I think it is now time for you to give us some answers. To begin with, who are you?” Abawken asked.

“I am Billwick Softfoot, the protector of this temple.”

Bridazak and Abawken shot a glance at one another. They spotted Dulgin, his head tilted slightly sideways, a preposterous look on his face.

“Yeah, well tell that to the dead guy outside this temple of yours. You are an imposter. Bridazak, we shouldn’t trust this thing, whatever it is.”

“Oh, that was me alright, but I am more alive now than ever before.”

“What do you mean?” Bridazak motioned to his Dwarven friend to keep quiet, though he knew Dulgin and Abawken stood attentive and ready for action.

“I was sent back here to ensure your next step, as per the prophecy spoken over the realms.”

“Next step?” Bridazak coughed in surprise.

Abawken interjected, “Spoken by whom?”

“He has many names. He is the King of all Kings and the Lord of all Lords. It is the appointed time of the prophecy. There is an awakening inside of all mankind and the dawn of truth approaches.”

Dulgin stepped forward, “Well, if you are the protector, then you’re not doing such a good job.”

“You might see it that way, but I will reveal my strength through weakness.”

Billwick’s response brought Kiratta’s words to both of their minds. Abawken caught their peculiar exchange of glances, “What is it?”

“Kiratta, the one we told you about, said we would know the Prophet when he spoke those words.”

“So, that must have been you who blasted that light into those Reegs that attacked us in the corridor,” said Dulgin.

Billwick suddenly displayed a concerned demeanor, “Reegs? Then we don’t have much time.”

“What do you mean we don’t have much time? Why?”

“They have discovered where you are, and they will be coming.”

“How is that possible? No one should be able to find us.”

“Yes, you are correct, but the Reegs have reported back to their Master.”

“They report to King Manasseh?” Dulgin questioned.

“No, someone much more sinister and evil than him, or any of the known realms. It rules Kerrith Ravine and has orchestrated the tyranny sweeping across the land. They
will
be coming. We need to begin.”

“Great, another portal, I can’t wait. Where are we going, anyway?” Dulgin huffed.

“Come in. Come in. No more questions.” He waved them to enter and the door behind slowly closed.

Several minutes passed and the group settled in as the mysterious Ordakian began to gather items; everything from an unlit candle to a chip of white marble was placed by the altar.

“Might I have a word with the keeper of the Orb?” Billwick peered at Bridazak, continuing to arrange the objects. “You have questions, there is no doubt.”

“The Orb told us to come here, but I thought we were bringing it to you.”

He laughed, “Dear child no, not me. You were called, Bridazak, to bring the truth within the Orb back to its people.”

“But why? What is it?”

A smile of joy washed over Billwick’s face, “Imagine you learned the location of a great treasure but you did not own the land. Would you sell all you have to buy it?”

“Of course.”

“Then sacrifice all you have Bridazak, and press on toward the prize.” Billwick reached into the right sleeve of his robe and pulled forth an ancient parchment, edges frayed and tattered.

“What is that?”

“This is the Scroll of Remembrance, and it was written just for you.”

“For me? How is that possible?”

“The One that was, that is, and that will always be, knew of you before you were even born, and knew you would be here at this time, in this place, for this reason.”

“What does it say?”

“That is for you to find out.” Billwick handed him the scroll. Bridazak timidly took hold of it and then unfurled the thick paper. He looked at the blank page and before he could say anything, he noticed faint writings seeping through. The blue ink strengthened and the words seemed to jump off the page as he began to read,
“Bridazak Baiulus, you have been chosen from the beginning to carry The Truth. Though you feel you are weak, my strength will shine brightly for all to see. I was despised and rejected by men. Full of sorrow, I am familiar with suffering. I long to be in the hearts of men once again. Though you travel not fully knowing your destination, know the God of All has heard your heart’s cry. My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. My Word will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and will achieve the purpose for which I sent it.