The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) (14 page)

Awake and behold The Truth for it will be the bridge to the Holy City of God. Everlasting joy will crown the heads of those who seek righteousness. My Truth will be crushed for you and for all. The Tree of Death’s roots have spread deep and wide, but I will uproot it and its deadly branches will no longer cast their shadow of darkness over the realm. I will cover the transgressions of those who believe.”
The writing slowly faded as he finished. He saw Billwick proudly smiling.

The golden Orb appeared before them all and rose to eye level. Light from the candles in the room began to intensify as it bounced off of the sphere. Then it spoke aloud.

“The stars of heaven and their constellations will soon conceal their light. The rising sun will be darkened, and the moon shall not cause her light to shine. The realms will be punished for its evil, the wicked for their crimes. I will put an end to the arrogance and humble the pride of the ruthless. All the stars of the heavens will be dissolved and the sky rolled up like a scroll; all the starry host will fall like withered leaves from the vine. My sword has drunk its fill in the heavens, it now descends in judgment. The nobles of the land will have nothing to be called a kingdom; all the princes will vanish away. Thorns will overrun the citadels, nettles and brambles the strongholds. And it shall be a habitation of dragons, and a court for owls. The people walking in darkness will see a great light. To those living in the land of the shadow of death, a new light will dawn.”

The Orb disappeared, and once again Bridazak could feel the weight of it back in his pocket. A strong heaviness inside his soul also accompanied it, as he was overwhelmed by the impactful words. It was hard to believe he had come all this way, for this moment, at this time, but was there an end in sight? He thought it was done when they found Billwick and the temple, but he says there is more.
Haven’t I given enough? Sacrificing all I have, for what? I know that if Spilf was here, he would want me to go to wherever this crazy adventure ended. Am I willing to lose more of my friends; to lose myself?

“What does this mean, Billwick? What are we supposed to do?”

Billwick placed his hand onto Bridazak’s shoulder, “You are now to go and find a healer called Xan. His pain is great and he has been out in the wilderness for a long time, waiting for you.”

“Why? What happened to him?”

“He, much like yourself, awaits answers to his deepest longings, and when you find him you are to tell him: ‘The time has come and has already come.’ Once he hears this message, he will show you what to do next.”

When Billwick finished this last message there was a sudden shift within the room. A gust of air burst forth behind them, causing their hair to cascade over their faces and several hundred candles to be extinguished. Grey smoke drifted and then began to swirl together next to the bronze door. A portal appeared. It was filled with darkness, and strange whispers came from within.

“If this is the portal we need to go through, then you can forget about it!” Dulgin yelled.

“No, this is not the way. We must hurry. They have found you and are coming through.”

He grabbed his staff and spoke a single word, “Lishno!” A wall of brilliant colors shot forth from the staff, separating them from the opening. Bright and vibrant, it swirled about, humming with electric energy. Billwick turned and focused on the altar with his gathered items. He knelt down and began a ceremony. His hands were raised up toward the ceiling and he spoke a language they could not identify.

From the dark gateway came the black-leather armored men they had encountered in Oculus’ lair and Lonely Tear; they were King Manasseh’s men, and the same red-robed mystic accompanied them. Dulgin’s anger erupted, and he charged. There was nothing that Bridazak or Abawken could do, but Dulgin soon found out that he could do nothing himself, as he slammed into the prismatic wall; he was shot backward and fell to the ground. His friends were by his side, quickly lifting him back to his feet. The men on the other side were trying to get through the wall, but without success, as each of them were also launched backward. Colors swirled about in agitation and sparked toward anyone approaching. At least ten of them had gathered, with more coming through. A sudden burst of light came from behind the heroes, and they turned to see a brightly lit opening just beyond the marble altar.

Billwick Softfoot stood and turned toward them, “It is time, heroes of Ruauck-El.”

“Come with us!” Bridazak pleaded.

“It has been an honor, Bridazak. You must see this quest through to the end. Stay clear of the Reegs. Adon cahl-raw.” His final words spoken in Ancient Ordakian.

Bridazak was awkwardly compelled to embrace Billwick, and felt a rush of warmth as the affection was returned with an even stronger grasp. The moment in the quiet folds of the old one’s white robes brought peace to Bridazak. The mysterious Dak finally separated from him and then threw the hair samples he’d gathered earlier into the open doorway of light. A blue aura erupted; the alchemy of the final components. The smell of mountain air blew into the temple.

“Well met, Bridazak!”

Dulgin and Abawken walked through together. Bridazak entered the brilliant opening backward, slowly taking each step, keeping his eyes on the grandfatherly Dak as he disappeared into the blue light. The wall that had kept Mannaseh’s forces at bay came down. Billwick knelt and lifted his eyes toward the ceiling once again, with his arms outstretched and a smile of victory on his face. The darkly clad humans apprehended the Ordakian and the mystic leader commanded others to give chase and enter the portal. Swords drawn, two approached the lighted doorway; as they entered their flesh sizzled and they watched themselves dissolve before their own horrified eyes. Screams faded as their ashes spread throughout the chamber. The gateway snapped closed like a bolt of lightning. A thunderous crack resounded.

The staff of the wizard began to glow. An emerald hue revealed the twisted outlines and partial faces of Billwick’s captors, who turned the Ordakian to face the mage.

“Where are they?”

“Beyond reach. You are too late.”

“Who are you?”

Billwick responded with silence. The mystic leaned in, “We have ways of making you talk, so I suggest you be forthcoming, Halfling.”

He did not speak, but instead smiled brightly.

“Fine! Take him away!”

The two militia tried to push him forward but they were unable. Their hands, gripping his softly glowing skin, began to slip, finding nothing to grasp. More men came in, but the mystic gestured for them to hold. They stopped and watched the mysterious halfling transform into pure white light and ascend beyond the ceiling above. Each man raised his arms to shield his eyes from the brilliance, and then the darkness returned. Billwick Softfoot was gone.

Out of rage, the mystic pointed his staff and a searing jet of fire ignited the two who had failed to retain their captive. The others backed away from the human bonfire.

“Manasseh will not be pleased.”

The trio now stood in a rocky valley with mountains on either side of them, near a small creek running through the sandstone. The land was bare, with little vegetation growing in the warm and dry terrain. The sunlight was already waning as it descended behind the mountain.

“Well, I suggest we follow the creek and see where it takes us,” Abawken suggested.

“I’m glad you guys are here with me. I couldn’t imagine doing this alone,” Bridazak professed.

“Ah, don’t get all sentimental on us now, ya blundering fool. My axe is getting hungry so we best be finding it some food, if you know what I mean. That damn mystic would really hit the spot right about now.”

“Master Dwarf, you are one amazing individual. I pray I never encounter your equal.”

“Not to worry about that, Huey, I’m the only one left in my family.”

They began their descent into the valley, following the creek in search of someone named Xan. Bridazak stretched open the Scroll of Remembrance and thought about his name, Bridazak Baiulus, which felt both foreign and familiar at the same time. Could this artifact really connect him to his unknown past? He laughed inside; this was not about him, it was about the Orb. He walked alongside his friends, an old one, and now a new one, and refocused on finding the peculiar healer who somehow managed to live in pain. He smiled as he thought of Billwick Softfoot, and couldn’t deny the strange feeling inside, the stirring of deep emotions he had buried for so long. It felt like hope.

.

10

The Puppet King

“H
ow many times must a King see failure in his subjects before he says ‘enough’?” King Manasseh’s words lingered in the slightly drooped heads of six mystics in the circular, marble-floored tower. The Tower of Recall harbored four open ledges leading to the view outside. He menacingly approached the lead mystic, who dodged making eye contact with his master. The feared King scanned around at the other red robed subjects. The room remained deathly quiet.

“How does an Ordakian continue to elude my best?” There was no response from anyone.

“ANSWER ME!!!” The King shouted at the top of his lungs. Spittle flew from his enraged lips into the face of the wizard in front of him.

The trembling voice crackled to life, “My King, it has had some help.”

“A Dwarf and a human? That is what you consider help? That is what’s besting my best? Then perhaps I need to find better!”

“My liege, there is something different about this group.”

“Different? Explain yourself.”

“Your magnificence, I have sensed a power that radiates from the Ordakian. It is something that I have not felt before. Perhaps it is a magical item. We have discussed this amongst ourselves, and—”

“Discussed?” the enraged King interrupted him. “I am the one who gives permission to discuss, Constable! Your group of misfits sicken me!”

“Forgive us, King Manasseh.”

“Three times they were in your sights and three times you failed to retrieve for me the lowliest, the weakest, the most insignificant creature in all the realms! I will not stand for this, Vevrin!”

“Yes, my King. I will not fail you again.”

Manasseh laughed aloud, “I decree upon your words that any further failure will result in your immediate removal from existence. I will see firsthand to the torture of your body and soul for a hundred years.”

“Yes, my—”

“Get out of my sight! You disgust me! All of you!”

Each head bowed to the sound of shuffling feet quickly exiting the sparse room. The walls were made of a black stone and the grey marbled floor had veins of red that swirled in random patterns. In the center of the chamber was a large, five-foot-wide pedestal with a silver basin at the top, filled with murky dark water. Manasseh walked to the southern balcony and leaned his hands on the black stone railing. He stood on the highest point of his castle and gazed upon his vast kingdom, but all he could see was the gaping wound of failure left behind by incompetence. There was no more room for error; he would take no further chances on Vevrin. It was time for him to take matters into his own hands.

For a moment he watched the laborers working on a new section of his castle expansion below. The hammering and chipping of stone spoke to him of progress. A training arena to groom better soldiers was being prepared. He had already started to gather the young men from the villages, towns and cities.

Off in the distance, his pet dragons and their riders practiced maneuvers over the desert. The grey sand, like ash from a volcano, was the endless marker for those travelling toward Kerrith Ravine. This castle was one of a dozen throughout his land; a military deployment center. His men trained in a place feared by all, The Desert of Guilt. The deadly and mysterious Reegs from Kerrith Ravine roamed the dunes.

He spotted one of his commanders sending out a group of ten training soldiers into the ashen terrain. This was their final test, after all of the combat techniques were ingrained into their bodies. Half would return, hopefully, and become part of his elite. In months he would be ready to start invading the other Horn Kings, and then nothing would stand in his way, if only he could find this elusive Dak, and gain the favor of the Dark Lord.

“What are you doing Halfling? Where are you going?” He whispered the questions as he looked out onto the horizon.

King Manasseh turned to face the empty room. His black cape caught the wind as he walked back inside to approach the waist high pedestal in the center. The cloudy liquid was still—he stared at his reflection. It was time for him to gain information to help him track down this fugitive.

He plunged his face into the magical Pool of Recall, gripping the rim of the basin. Bringing Vevrin to mind, and then the Halfling, he was shown the three encounters that had transpired—the lair of Oculus, the town of Lonely Tear, and then finally, the temple in Everwood. He waited for the pool to show him anything more he might have missed, bitterly viewing the temple scene—the site of his greatest disappointment so far—again and again. The Dark Lord, whose taunting tone still rang in his ears, ‘Another chance, my son,’ had come to inform him of their whereabouts. How had he found them when his mystics could not? Once given the location, Vevrin had embarrassed him with his failed attempt at opening a portal into their position. The Dark One stepped in and completed it with his own power, but Vevrin had still allowed them to escape. Where were these insolents now? He demanded the pool show him what he could not see—how could he reach them? He pulled himself upright, the murky water leaving dark tracks as it ran down and soaked into his tunic. His face wore a menacing grin of satisfaction.