The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) (28 page)

Vevrin walked in front of the deformed frame of the Hammer as they made their way to kill the halfling prisoners. The confusing labyrinth of dungeon corridors were marked clearly for Vevrin; the torches lining the walls were controlled by one of his favorite spells—Torch Walk. The smell of burning oil increased and each flame released a burst of heightened brightness, directing him toward the destination he wished to find. He turned left at the four-way intersection as the torches revealed the direction, but suddenly halted in surprise when he saw a human and Dwarf walking toward them.

“Well, well, well. Look what we found,” Dulgin jabbed Abawken.

A shocked expression briefly flashed across Vevrin’s face, “How did you…? No matter, you will soon regret coming here.”

“The mystic is mine, Abawken. You get Ugly.”

“Dulgin, it is not wise to take on a mystic alone,” he whispered to his friend.

“Kill the human, leave the Dwarf to me!” Vevrin ordered.

The Hammer stepped in front. Abawken moved forward to a door on the right halfway down the corridor and opened it. The gigantic, deformed human pursued him with a hobbled trot into the empty guard room. Vevrin and Dulgin remained in the hallway and stared at one another for a long moment.

“No more portals, no more escapes. I’ve been waiting for this,” Dulgin began.

“Is that so? I’m surprised you’ve lasted as long as you have,” Vevrin sneered.

“You’ve been an itch that I haven’t been able to scratch.”

“So, is this to be a duel of swords Dwarf?”

“Nah, just me introducing your body to my axe.”

“So clever,” he scoffed, “but unfortunately your axe will never get close enough.”

“We’ll see about that, wizard,” Dulgin snapped, and began to walk toward him.

Vevrin waved his staff and whispered words of the arcane. Three long swords magically appeared and hovered in the air in front of him. They moved to intercept the Dwarf, as if invisible foes wielded them.

Meanwhile, Abawken stood on top of a wooden table and waited for The Hammer. The grotesque butcher entered and then slammed the door shut behind him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Abawken stated.

“I shwill smashoo,” he slurped the saliva that gathered inside his mouth as he stepped in and brought his hammer hand down. Abawken jumped. The table shattered, and The Hammer lifted his arm to see that the fighter was gone.

“I’m up here,” Abawken alerted him from above. He was standing on the ceiling.

The Hammer was confused by the illogical feat against gravity, but he reached into a front pocket on his apron to grab something he could use against his out of range target. A clenched fist opened to reveal tiny pebbles of sulphur. “Shire sheez,” he said, then let them fall to the ground.

The pebbles instantly began to vibrate on the floor, and then they hatched.

“Oh, ‘fire bees’,” Abawken realized what they were.

“Yesh, shire sheez.” Spittle dripped down onto his clothes.

The hundreds of bees ignited into fire. The buzzing sound intensified as they raced toward Abawken.

The sound of clashing steel echoed down the corridor as Dulgin parried the three magical weapons attacking him. Vevrin laughed aloud as he walked closer. Dulgin kept trying to quickly pass them to get to the mage, but each time he was forced back. He had sustained a few cuts already, so he switched his focus to destroying the conjured swords. The Dwarf soon recognized that the weapons were not defensive, so hitting them was not difficult; breaking them was the real challenge. One lunged in, and he deflected, knocking it to the ground. Before it could rise to formation again, he put all his strength into pinning it down with his foot. The other two swords thrust in at the Dwarfs vulnerable opening, and each one stabbed him—one in his side and the other his shoulder. Dulgin roared loudly as his axe came down on the weapon he had pinned. The powerful impact broke the blade and it disappeared.

Vevrin’s smile lessened and he moved forward while casting another spell. He launched a missile of mystical force from his fingertip. It slammed into the Dwarf just as he shattered the second sword.

“One more to go, Misty,” Dulgin threatened as he grimaced from the multiple wounds.

“Oh, you have a lot more to go, Dwarf. I will bleed you dry before we are finished here.”

Another force missile hit him.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“Is there anything that you do like about me?” Vevrin playfully asked.

The last sword finally burst as his axe swung it into a wall, the pieces clanking to the ground. Dulgin fought through the pain and moved toward the mystic. With each step he took, his brown eyes narrowed and his growl increased. Three more of the magical bolts of energy rocketed in and hit the Dwarf.

Vevrin confidently advanced several steps toward the sealed entrance the Hammer and Abawken had gone through, readying his next attack. The door groaned, then suddenly ripped off the hinges and smashed into the unsuspecting mage. Along with it came the Hammer; both landed on top of Vevrin. A screaming gale wind blew out of the room—the source of which caused the door to come unhinged. Dulgin charged his downed red-robed enemy. As he arrived, a force shot the door and deformed human back where they had come from, as Vevrin began to levitate.

“Enough!” the mystic shouted.

He pointed his staff at the enraged Dwarf who was almost upon him with his mighty axe. Suddenly, Dulgin’s weapon was pulled out from his hands toward the ceiling. It slammed into the stone, as if magnetized. A glowing incorporeal hand materialized, grappled his throat, and began to strangle the Dwarf, lifting him off the ground. His feet dangled as he desperately tried to find something to help him get his footing back.

The Hammer was propelled back into the windy room, where Abawken had summoned the air elemental. The wind creature had a tornado torso with arms shaped like clubs, stretching out to pummel those in its vicinity. There was no face on the conjured monster, just a mass of powerful air whipping around, grabbing hold of anything loose and sending it flying away.

“Back so soon?” Abawken asked the grotesque looking human.

The Hammer swung at the air creature and connected. Although it seemed made of thin air, even the Hammer could tell that with each strike, its power subsided. He kept pummeling the gust in front of him. Another door leading into the room burst open, revealing several guards with weapons drawn. They crashed to a halt, trying to get their bearings after seeing the Hammer engaged with a wind tunnel, their surprise evident as they shielded their faces from the mighty cyclonic gusts in the confined room. Then they spotted Abawken.

Dulgin repeatedly tried to pull the hand off of him, but there was nothing to grab; his ruddy hands passed right through the ghostly clutch. His voice cracked as the air was being squeezed out of him. There was nothing he could do. He was pinned up in the corner of the wall and ceiling. His weapon within reach; with the little strength he had left, he grasped the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“I grow tired of you, Dwarf. After I kill you and the human, I will be taking care of the halflings.”

“You talking about us?” Bridazak’s voice echoed down the corridor.

Vevrin turned his head to see the Ordakians. Bridazak’s bow was trained on the mage, a glowing arrow notched and ready to fire.

“An arrow is all you have? You will need more than that, child.”

“Release Dulgin, or I will kill you,” Bridazak retaliated—a renewed strength in his voice.

Vevrin smirked, and responded with a pinch of the fingers controlling the hand, shoving Dulgin harder into the ceiling.

Bridazak loosed his arrow. It soared down the corridor and then ignited into a brilliant yellow aura. Vevrin’s eyes changed from confident to concerned just as the tip hit his shoulder above the arm that wielded his staff. There was an explosion. Dulgin slid down the wall, choking in fresh air. The smoke cleared, and just a few feet away lay the mystic. His arm was gone. Blood spat out of the opening and bone was visible through the shredded flesh. Vevrin’s breathing was labored.

Dulgin suddenly heard the rattle of his axe as the magnetization spell wore off. He caught it as it fell from the ceiling, crossed the hall, and triumphantly stood over the fallen wizard.

“I’d like you to meet my axe,” he indignantly came down with the killing blow.

Sounds of combat from inside the room Abawken had gone into ended the Dwarf’s moment of victory and reunion with his friends. Dulgin fought through the pain of his wounds and quickly made his way to the open doorway. Inside, the air elemental was still battling the Hammer, while Abawken was engaged with two of Manasseh’s men. A couple of guards lay on the ground dead. Fire bees were being flung around in the cyclonic air from Abawken’s summoned creature, but most of them were now lifeless. Another huge swing from the Hammer destroyed the elemental and the wind suddenly subsided.

The Hammer turned to see the approaching Dwarf.

“You are one ugly boy.” Dulgin moved in with his axe.

Abawken felled another guard. The remaining sentry was younger than the others, and his sword was shaking in his hands. The oversized helmet did not move as the boys head shifted easily within to look at the Dwarf and human. Abawken had waited to engage him last on purpose.

“Sheath your weapon, lad,” he said. The boy clearly understood he was no match and dropped his sword. It clanked on the ground. A bee burned into his neck and he reactively brought his hand up to squash the intruder.

Dulgin had already given the Hammer a deep cut into its thigh and caused him to fall. He was quite battered now; there was no more fight in him. As much as Dulgin wanted to destroy the deformity, he just couldn’t do it. There was something innocent in his brown eyes.

“Ah, you’ve been misguided your whole life. I can’t do it.” The Hammer laid there holding his wound, softly groaning. Dulgin pointed his finger at him, “I expect you to change your ways or I will come back.” Abawken kneeled down to the fallen torturer and wrapped a makeshift bandage around the cut from pieces of his clothing.

The Ordakians appeared in the doorway.

“Bridazak!” Abawken jumped to his feet and quickly moved to embrace him.

“I had that mystic right where I wanted him. I didn’t need your help,” Dulgin stubbornly insisted.

“Of course, my friend. My apologies,” Bridazak grinned.

“Ah shut yer trap ya blundering fool, and give me a hug.”

Dulgin peered up from his embrace to look at Spilf. “Hey, Amazing Stubby.”

“Oh, how I have missed your jokes, Dulgin.”

“Come here, Baldy!” The Dwarf pulled Spilf in to hug both at the same time.

“You must be Master Spilfer. My name is Abawken.”

Spilf looked to the fighter and thankfully acknowledged him with a greeting of, “Hello.”

“Well, I hate to break up this reunion, but we need to get to the Tower, as Master El’Korr suggested,” the human proposed.

“This place is a maze. It will be near impossible to find it and not to mention we will probably encounter more guards, if we’re not careful,” Dulgin warned.

“We have a guide,” he pointed back to the young man behind him who was still shaking.

“What’s yer name boy?” Dulgin asked.

“Uh, it’s Jack.”

“You are kind of young to be down in the dungeons.”

“Um, my father got me in.”

Bridazak stepped forward, smiling at the lad. Jack wore the black leather armor uniform. It was scrunched in several areas as it was too big for his stature and his helmet almost covered his grey eyes. The nose shield extended to his mouth; it was quite humorous to see. Bridazak felt a rush of warmth toward this youth.

He sighed slightly, “Your father is fine. He is locked in the cell I was in. Do you know it?”

Jack nodded—half shocked, half confused.

“Take us to the Tower and then go and free him.”

Dulgin and Abawken made eye contact, and then looked to Spilf to explain. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Master Bridazak, how do you know his father?” Abawken asked.

“They have the same eyes,” he answered, following the boy out to the corridor. “Let’s go.”