It took several hours to clear the snow drift that buried the front entrance to the temple. The snow had melted and frozen and melted repeatedly, turning it more into a windswept crust of ice that had to be broken and tossed off in chunks.
The doors stood four times as tall as Nate, and were made of thick, wooden beams and wrought iron. Their craftsmanship was immaculate; the detail carved into the wood that spiraled and twisted like fractals must have taken years of skilled labor to create. Even now, after centuries of disuse, they were an impressive feat of architecture.
Once cleared, Hicket and Gri pulled the enormous iron rings. The hinges cracked and groaned in protest as the door slowly opened.
“Yes, good work, fellow flesh beings,” Henry Potter clacked and clapped his wooden hands.
Inside was a spacious antechamber, its walls lined with benches. Whoever had built this complex was at least three times the size of a normal human, Nate could barely see over the seat of the chairs. The floor was a marbled onyx, latticed with lines of blazing blue. The high ceiling was inlayed with gold and silver in the same spiraling, fractal pattern they had seen on the doorway.
“Who built this place?” Alianna asked as she handed each of them a lit torch.
“I do not know,” Reave said. “It is not big enough to be the Ancients. Likely one of the countless races that arose during the second or third age.”
“Doctor Professor mentioned the Ancients to us. And something about a war?” Sam asked.
“After the seven eons of creation, Eloa breathed life into the dust of this world, and devised the primordial intelligences,” Reave said as he walked through the temple complex. “The Grand Architect created the first of each of the races; Lif and Nuwa, the first elves; Wuru and Wamuru, the first dwarves; Malakas and Malakir, the first orcs; Kalichi and Yavazhi, the first goblins; and Kadmon and Elyon, the first humans.
“However, Eloa knew that the world was filled with danger and violence, so in her wisdom, she created the Ancients, a race of giants as tall as the mountains to watch over her creation, and charged them to protect and guide the primordial races as they explored the dreary and lonesome world.”
They passed through a door to the north of the antechamber. Their footsteps echoed off the thick walls of a long hallway that slowly descended into the belly of the earth. The entire place was unsettlingly silent, save for the howling wind outside.
“The world was theirs, their connection to the aether absolute. For epochs untold and uncounted, the races lived in the shadow of the Ancients, growing and learning, obedient and worshipful. Yet Eloa, in her wisdom, denied the Ancients one thing: the seed of life. The Ancients did not age, yet they could not reproduce.”
At the end of the oversized hallway was another set of doors. Unlike the other doors they had seen, these were made of solid onyx, a single sheet. They bore no ornate carvings, but were polished so perfectly they reflected the group’s faces like a black mirror.
“How does it open?” Alianna asked. Hicket shrugged, and the two of them began to examine the door, searching for a mechanism to open it.
“As the races grew in number, so too did the envy of the Ancients. For they saw in the mortality of the lesser races, a divine investiture from Eloa. Their resentment grew. The Ancients began to experiment upon the primordials, trying to pry from their flesh the secrets of procreation. In their thirst for power, they abandoned their commission as guardians and teachers, and began to reign with terror.
“The knowledge of who struck first has been lost to time, but the war between the Ancients and the primordials nearly brought about the end of creation. The Ancients thought themselves immortal, but would soon learn that being ageless and deathless are not the same thing. They underestimated the cunning and savagery of the lesser races and, soon the world was fed with blood and bone. It was not until the last of the Ancients was torn asunder, that the first war ended, and the world entered its second age, the Age of Division.”
“Reave, when you’re done telling children’s tales,” Hicket said, as he groaned with effort from pushing on the onyx doors, “we could use your help.”
Reave approached the door, and placed a hand on it. “I’m not sensing anything magical about the door. There must be a latch or switch somewhere. Spread out and search.”
They fanned out, while Hicket and Gri continued to try to force the door open with brute strength.
“I’d rather be finding secret doors with a die roll,” Charlie grumbled as he gingerly pressed on the marble floor in a grid pattern.
Nate ran his finger up a seam in the wall. “I felt the same way about traveling. I would have given anything to compress the last couple of months into a single chapter in a book.”
“A whole chapter dedicated to a boring walk? What are you, Tolkien?” Sam said.
“Careful, thems fighting words,” Nate said.
They continued their search for hours, relentlessly picking over every square inch, over and over fruitlessly while Hicket swore and banged against the door with his enormous blade. The constant clang gave Nate a splitting headache.
Nate approached the door. “May I?”
Hicket scoffed at Nate, his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. “You think yourself stronger than mighty Hicket?”
“One thing I’ve learned, is to never challenge someone who refers to themselves in the third person to any sort of competition. It just ends in embarrassment for everyone involved.”
Hicket pursed his lips and stalked away. Nate ran his hand across the smooth surface of the door. Hicket’s mighty swings had not so much as scratched the surface. The door was warm to the touch. Charlie and Sam appeared behind Nate.
“What was it you read about the Oracle, Charlie?” Nate said. “Something about humility?”
Charlie thought for a moment. “That the Oracle favored those who were humble, and without guile.”
Nate placed his hands on either side of the crack between the doors. “Hicket tried brute strength,” Nate said softly. “I wonder…”
Instead of pushing forcefully, Nate pressed gently with the palms of his hands. The heavy doors swung silently inward.
“How did you do that!” Hicket demanded angrily, his face flushed an ugly red.
“Is it not written in the Exegesis on the Soul, that meekness is better than force?” Reave said. “For a kind word and gentle touch may unlock even the heaviest of doors.”
“May you all outlive your children,” Hicket muttered as he shouldered past Nate.
They entered an enormous, circular chamber with a domed ceiling. At the center of the room was a wide hole, like a well, roughly thirty feet across. From its depths, a blue light shone, rippling and wavering as if passing through a swimming pool. The hole was surrounded by a short wall that came to their waists, made of pure silver.
The ceiling was covered in a series of intricate paintings, set in concentric circles. It depicted wars raging between different nations and races, alongside scenes of farming and celebrations.
The detail was staggering, the figures so lifelike that they half expected to hear music from the instruments and the clanging clash of swords. As near as Charlie could tell, the circles each represented a different time period, based on the weapons and technology being used in the battles, and the subtle changes to architecture in the buildings and temples.
At the center, surrounded by concourses of angels and demons stood a strange being split in half. One side was a beautiful woman, her skin glowing, her face filled with love and light. In her hand she held a compass and a square. The other side was a man, his visage cruel and ugly, his lips curled in a hatful sneer. In his hand, he held a skull and flame. This dual creature looked out over the ages of war and death, of celebration and growth.
Nate approached the edge of the well. “I think I found one of your Ancients, Reave.”
Below was the severed head of some giant monstrosity. Its face appeared human, though its nose was longer, flatter, and broader, barely concealing the two long, vertical nostrils. Its skin was a silvery blue that glowed from within.
Its eyes were white, though the iris textures were black lines and specs, and it had long pointed ears, like an elf. What at first looked like hair, was in fact thin sharp horns of pure white that twisted up out of its scalp and glowed intensely, almost as if on fire.
“Are you the Oracle of Horthax?” Sam said loudly, her voice reverberating across the room.
“I have been called many things in many tongues through the ages,” the head’s deep voice boomed and rattle the room.
“Why does everything have to be riddles?” Charlie said. “Is Oracle of Horthax one of them?”
“…Yes.”
“We come seeking your aid. Will you help us?”
The Oracle closed its enormous eyes.
“Ten there were, who set out on this crusade. Yet only seven remain in your company.” Its piercing eyes opened, regarding them each in turn as it spoke.
“Alianna Stormbow; proud and noble, arrogant and ruthless. You walk the path of steel and blood; be careful it does not consume you.
“Hickett Wilmot; strong of body, weak of heart. You shall die by fang and fire.
“Reave Iveras; cunning and shrewd. A sacrifice you shall be, for the greater good.
“Princess Gri of the Xel'lotath tribe; thy heart’s desire shall be granted, until the sun set upon your kingdom.”
“Ooh, do me next, do me next!” Charlie said.
“Charles Gallagher; paragon of chaos, whose love shall thwart the unholy plot, who shall rise from rot to find redemption.”
“Charlie is in looooooooove,” Sam teased.
“With who?” Nate asked.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “I’d like to answer you, but there’s a little thing called doctor-patient confidentiality.”
The Oracle’s voice thundered. “Samantha Meyer; paragon of order, who shall grind her enemy beneath her heel. She shall rise from ash to reign in blood.
“Nathan Nelson; whose choice shall be the salvation or ruin of all. Who shall bring balance to the Aether, and restore harmony to the world.”
“No pressure,” Nate said.
Sam grinned. “Oracle, we seek-”
“I know what you seek, child. The relic has been locked in a treasure vault, deep within the dungeons of the Decaying Temple that lies in the Blasted Wastes. The road is long and treacherous, where death rides upon wings of ash and flame.”
“And the heir of Brenius the Divine?”
The Oracle’s eyes clenched shut, as if in deep concentration. “Alas, this I cannot see. My vision has been blocked by some hand unseen. A great power is at play - who or what it is, I could not guess.”
“Perfect… the all-seeing Oracle needs an eye exam,” Charlie grumbled.
“If you can’t see who the heir is,” Sam said, ignoring Charlie’s complaints. “Is there someone who can? Some place where we could find the knowledge we seek?”
The Oracle began to mumble and mutter to itself, before its eyes shot open. “The Forbidden Library, in the Castle of Smoke. There dwell the last of the clockwork librarians, those tasked by Eloa eons ago to record the histories of man. They will be able to tell you the history and fate of the bloodline of Brenius.”
“Seriously?” said Nate. “Another long journey? I’m getting saddle sores just thinking about all this riding.”
“Hey, Oracle,” Charlie said. “I got a question for you. Who would win in a fight, Godzilla or King Kong?”
“Godzilla.”
“I told you!” Sam said. “You owe me six panini presses, payment pronto.”
“Well, which era of King Kong are you talking about?” Charlie said.
“It matters not,” the Oracle boomed.
“Oh man, I can just hear those six grilled-cheese sandwiches all toasting up simultaneously,” Sam said, rubbing her hands together.
“Okay, but which are the better movies; Lord of the Rings, or Star Wars?” Charlie said.
“Lord of the Rings. Any movie after Empire is for children and the mentally deficient.”
“I have one,” Nate said. “Star Wars or Star Trek?”
“Star Trek is for nerds,” the Oracle answered.
“So… Star Wars?”
“Do I look like a nerd?”
“You look like a giant, severed head inside a hole in the ground.”
“I hate to interrupt,” Alianna said. “But I believe we have more pressing issues at hand than these nonsensical questions.”
“Yes, of course, you’re right,” Nate said. “We thank you, Oracle, for your wisdom and aid.”
“Wait, one more. Is Christopher Nolan a good filmmaker?”
“No. He makes movies designed to make stupid people feel smart.”
“Never change, Oracle. Never change,” Charlie said as they followed a noticeably annoyed Alianna back to the front antechamber.
“So which pointless fetch quest do we want to go on next?” Sam said. “The fetch quest to get the artifact, or the fetch quest that will allow us to go on another fetch quest?”
Charlie stretched his back, which popped loudly. “You know, I used to think MMORPGs were unrealistic.”
Nate ran his hand through his hair. “Alianna, any thoughts?”
“This is your quest, not mine. You must decide our next course of action.” She stalked away, muttering what Nate could only assume were unkind nicknames and curse words.
“I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“I don’t dislike you. I just very much dislike being around you,” Alianna said before pushing her way through the doors, back into the chill mountain air.
“Oof, that’s so embarrassing,” Hag said as he hovered near Charlie’s shoulder. “You didn’t think she was going to hear you, but she did.”
“Thanks, Hag.”
“You’re welcome!”
Sam gripped the front of her armor near her collar bones, a habit she had picked up as the padding under her chain shirt would grate her neck, leaving long, red scrapes after a day of riding over rough terrain. “Here’s my thinking. The hand is in some sort of vault in some sort of dungeon. It’s been lost to history for who knows how long. It’s not going anywhere anytime soon. But the heir is a living, breathing person. For all we know, he could be dead, or move villages, or be taken hostage by the yarn-heads. I think that should be our first order of business.”
“That makes a certain kind of sense,” Nate said. “Better than flipping a coin, I guess.”
“Guys, bad news, I tried to make reservations at the library,” Charlie said.
Sam rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“At the Forbidden Library.”
“First of all, you don’t need a reserv-“
“Couldn’t get one though.”
“Don’t do this.”
“They were fully booked.”
#
They proceeded east through the mountains, cold and dry. Several weeks later, the blue peaks gave way to an endless prairie to the south, dotted with small lakes that glistened in the dewy sun like mirrors.
Along the edge of the steppe stood the Lilyfrost Forest, which ran along Bent Rib Bay, a rocky coast that curved along the tempestuous sea. They descended sharply into the woodland.
The trees here grew as large as the enormous redwoods Sam had visited once as a child, the white trunks nearly thirty feet in diameter. Each leaf was nearly as tall as Gri and a deep azure, the veins snow-white. When they would fall, the group would have to dodge them carefully as they plunged to the mossy earth.
Enormous, flowering plants as tall as birch trees loomed over them, and occasionally a bee the size of a bear would buzz loudly overhead.
For ten days, they journeyed through the forest, Gri and Hicket providing meat from their successful hunts, while Reave would replenish their supplies with berries and tubers larger than a watermelon.
Each night, Nate would continue to study and practice under Reave’s tutelage, tenaciously determined to not be the most useless person in their group. The only distraction from his single-minded focus was Sam, who would strip off her armor and spend the evenings running combat drills while Alianna scrutinized and corrected. It was hard to keep his eyes off her, made all the worse by the times Sam would catch him staring and wink at him.
The gifts from Gri had become a daily occurrence for Charlie. Each morning, she would leave a trinket for him outside their tent. A necklace made from the teeth of a black-horned lion she had slain for dinner, or a roughly-scrawled poem about his soft feet.
They came to the edge of the forest, to a loud river that, according to Nate’s map was called the Windsun Brook. It roared and dashed over rocks, the water thick with mud and enormous decaying leaves. Traveling south, they came to a moldy, stone bridge.
Ten feet in width, the bridge seemed sturdy enough, but near the far side, a wooden carriage had crashed into the short wall and hung precariously over the edge, a broken wheel spinning listlessly in the breeze.
With a nod from Alianna, Hicket drew his giant sword, and cautiously walked toward the wagon. Gri stepped in front of Charlie protectively, like a mother would a toddler, her axe at the ready.
A few moments later, Hicket reappeared and waved an arm. “All clear! They’re dead!”
Inside, they found four bodies - what appeared to be a family of dwarves, finely dressed. Three arrows protruded from the father’s chest, fletched with black feathers. Clasped in his arms was a bag that had been sliced open, spilling the letters it contained to the floor of the tilted wagon. Most had fallen into the river.
The mother and two children had been cut with blades, their skin roughly slashed. Alianna pulled one of the arrows from the man, and touched the blood that dripped thickly, spattering to the ground.
“This is a fresh kill,” Alianna said. “Maybe an hour.” She dropped to the ground and ran her hand along the muddy grass where the bridge ended. “There were at least five of them, judging by the tracks.” She followed the tracks for a short while. “Headed south from the look of it.”
“Should we follow them?” Sam asked as she tried to understand what Alianna saw in the tramped grass.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, to avenge their deaths or something? Make sure whoever did this doesn’t do it to someone else?”
Alianna put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Your intentions are noble, and would that we could punish every evil deed in this land. You are but one person, and must weigh the import of our current quest and the greater good against the cost of delay.”
Sam wanted to protest, but her counter arguments died on her lips. As much as it pained her to admit, the cost of life if they failed would far outstrip the lives lost here. It was a bitter pill to swallow.
They continued southeast for weeks, skirting the edge of a black forest until they came to a vast, dry prairie, filled with saltbush and bottlebrush grass.
They crossed a dried lake of gypsum so bright the sun burned the underside of their eyes. They wrapped their mouths in cloth to prevent the fine white powder from choking their lungs, and their sweat left long trails in the dust that clung to their skin.
Without Reave’s ability to summon water, the journey would have been unbearable. Bleached bones and cadaverous trees were the only break from the flat land that stretched endlessly in every direction. Overhead vultures circled idly in the hot updrafts, waiting patiently for one of them to succumb to dehydration and provide the birds a feast.
After two weeks of riding through the undulating yellow calidity, a mountainous tree loomed on the horizon. At first, Nate was certain it was a hallucination, a phantom oasis like the watery reflections caused by the heat.
They approached as dusk settled in. The tree was not actually a tree. It was the remains of some giant flower. It resembled a white dandelion, only the seed head was enormous, roughly the size of a football field. Most of the seeds had long since disappeared, but three remained attached, jutting out crookedly. The wisps of a white, feathery substance blew lazily in the wind.
Drawing closer, Nate could see the seed head had been hollowed out. Glass windows and doors had been installed, and firelight flickered from within. A wind-worn sign hung over a pair of doors that stood open, which read “The World’s End.” The sound of music and bustling conversation spilled out, along with the intoxicating aroma of cooked meat and baking bread.
Alianna slid from her clacker, whistling softly to the animal that shook and clicked with pleasure as she brushed its long horn. “We’ll sleep here. I think we could all use a night in a soft bed. Hicket and Reave, take inventory and see if you can negotiate a resupply.” She walked toward the inn, but stopped. “Henry, you need to watch the clackers.”
Henry saluted. “Aye-aye, Captain!” He jangled and jerked over to their mounts, humming a tune to himself.
The tavern was warm and inviting. A massive fire roared in a circular fireplace that spiraled from the center of the floor to the vaulted ceiling. It had four broad openings, so that no matter where you sat, the flames would warm you.
The barkeep was a fat elf, something Charlie found fascinating. It had never occurred to him that elves could become obese. Several waiters glided among the patrons, a rowdy crowd who were largely ignoring the musician standing near the fireplace; a short dwarf wearing a bright green vest embroidered with a gaudy yellow lion who sang with a voice like a bagpipe in the hands of a sloppy beginner.
Sam, Nate, and Charlie found a table large enough for their party, while Alianna spoke with the barkeep. Even Hag looked exhausted as he sat on the table. Only Gri seemed elated, as she sat in a chair far too small for her frame, which she pulled far too close to Charlie.
“I’m starving,” Charlie complained.
“How can you think of food?” Sam asked. “I just want to get clean.” She shook her hands through her hair, sending an avalanche of dust and sand to the ground.
A waiter appeared, dressed in red finery, his long hair slicked back behind his pointed ears. “Welcome, travelers. Would you care for any food or drink?”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Absolutely, I’m famished,” Charlie said. “What do you have?”
“For drink, we have our house ale, an imported mulled elven wine, dwarven braggot, sage water, and a barley tea that is quite popular.”
“I guess sage water?” Nate said. “For everyone.”
“Excellent. For food, we have sopped bread, a potato and leak stew, and boiled ham. But our most popular dish is our famous meat pasties, which I would highly recommend.”
“Meat pasties it is,” Charlie said. “Two each to start?”
Sam shrugged. “Sure.”
“Very good.”
“Before you go,” Sam said. “What is this place?”
“This? Why this is the famous World’s End Inn, one of the last civilized stops before you arrive at the Furnace.”
“The Furnace?”
“Yes, a dead desert land with a large volcano at the center. Are you not from around here?”
Nate grinned. “We are not.”
“Well, according to legend, the Furnace was created when Brenius the Divine destroyed Nihilus in their final conflagration. My family has run this inn for thirteen generations now.”
“Why would anyone want to venture into the desert around a giant volcano?” Charlie asked.
“Why, treasure of course. Many cities were buried under ash and flame on that day; the earth swallowed entire castles. There are always those brave or foolhardy enough to try and retrieve some of the vast wealth rumored to have been lost.”
“Have any returned with treasure?”
“Some. Sadly, most perish in the attempt and are never seen again. But that hasn’t discouraged anyone. We seem to see more and more adventurers each year.” He gestured around the room to the various groups of rough-looking individuals.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll tend to your food.” the waiter disappeared into the crowd.
“That seemed awful expository,” Sam said.
“What do you mean?” Nate asked.
“Why provide us the travelogue about adventurers seeking treasure?”
“Making conversation, I suppose.”
Sam was unconvinced as she scanned the crowd. Most of the guests sat in groups of three or four, chatting amiably and drinking heavily. In the corner she spied a hunched figure sitting alone, shrouded in dark robes. A small cup of tea sat steaming in front of him.
“Don’t both look at once, but there’s a creepy guy in the corner just over your shoulders.”
Nate and Charlie both turned their heads simultaneously.
“Nice work, guys. Super inconspicuous.”
The robed creature reached out its hand to take the tea, and Charlie nearly vomited and turned away. The man’s hand was covered in insects of all shapes and sizes, swarming and climbing so that nothing of his skin could be seen.
“So, obviously that’s a bad guy, right?” Sam said. “Charlie, you should go investigate.”
“Uh-uh. No way. Count me out.”
“Weren’t you the one obsessed with Encyclopedia Brown in elementary school? You even opened your own kid detective agency!”
“Yes, I did. And I gave up sleuthing when The Case of the Missing Bike Horn turned into a double rape murder-suicide.”
“So you’re just going to leave the super obvious villain alone?”
“What villain?” Alianna asked as he sat down next to Sam.
Sam nodded in the direction of the robed man.
Alianna watched the figure, studying his movements. “You’re certain of this?”
“Well, he’s covered in insects.”
Alianna studied her face for a moment. “What does the Aether tell you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Reach out with your feelings, try and sense his being, his presence.”
Sam closed her eyes and concentrated. She had become quite skilled at this over the past months, and had even begun some of her nightly weapon training with her eyes closed, relying solely on this strange second-sight through the Luminous Aether.
Slowly, she began to perceive the man. She gasped in shock. It wasn’t a man at all. She sensed thousands of small points of life, tiny insects working in concert around a central light or intelligence that was formless and shapeless.
“Do you see?” Alianna asked.
Sam opened her eyes and nodded.
“That being is no more a servant of the dark Aether than you or I. They go by many names, but in our tongue it would be called a Lord of Flies. They are protectors of light, and guardians of the things that creep upon the ground. Even insects have their champions.”
Hicket and Reave joined them as the waiter brought their food and drink. The smell of the meat pies was exhilarating. The crust was a crisp brown, and the mixture of spices made their mouths water.
They dug into the food ferociously. It tasted even better than it smelled. The ground meat was tender, and various vegetables were mixed in. It was the best thing they had eaten since leaving the home of Drothgar Ironclad.
“Do you want some of mine, Hag? It’s delicious,” Charlie said through a mouthful of pie.
“No thanks. I’m trying to watch my figure.”
The dwarven bard approached their table, tuning his lute. “My name is Demanthus, minstrel, poet, rhapsodist, and balladeer. Would you care for a song?”
Nate shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He hated these moments, where the internal battle between his desire to not hurt someone’s feelings wrestled with his utter hatred for focused attention from strangers. Like those terrible plays where the actors go into the audience and bother the crowd, or a waiter who sits in the booth with you to explain the specials.
In the end, as was frequently the case, his politeness proved the victor. “Uh… sure, I guess?”
The dwarf grinned, and continued to tune his instrument. For a long time. Far longer than one would expect. Sam, Nate, and Charlie all exchanged weary glances.
The bard then carefully pulled a small white cloth from his pocket and delicately unfolded it. He tenderly rubbed his lute, slowly polishing it. He would occasionally hold it toward the light at an odd angle, squinting with one eye trying to catch a smudge or fingerprint on the glossy wood, which he would gently wipe away.
Sam sighed heavily as the bard then pulled a free chair from an adjacent table closer to them. Setting one foot on the chair, he placed the white cloth on his thigh, where he rested the lute. Inhaling sharply through his nose, his eyes closed, his eyebrows arched, the dwarf played a chord.
He then opened a single eye, and looking down, adjusted the tuning of several strings.
“Geez, man, get on with it,” Charlie said. Nate smiled. He loved how Charlie was pure id.
The dwarf’s neck blushed, but he ignored the barb and continued to tune the lute. He struck another chord, and nodded to himself in approval.
Finally satisfied, he held the instrument perfectly still, his fingers perched above the strings, as if savoring the moment before his musical brilliance was shed forth upon this table of unappreciative heathens.
He began to play. Nate was somewhat surprised. The playing would best described as simplistic but competent. Given the man’s pomposity, he expected the Jimi Hendrix of lute playing. Henry Potter bounced and clapped and jangled in his chair.
The Dwarf began to sing, more than slightly off pitch.
Oh I’ll sing you the tale of Ogrul the Bold
The very last orc to ever grow old
He was a hot headed brute with an ugly face
Who sought to destroy the elven race
He cooked up a scheme to burn the trees
And slaughter their babies with the greatest of ease
To cull all their old ones and destroy their wisdom
Orgul the Villainous, truly was scum
Charlie belched as he finished the last of his food. “How can a song about genocide be so boring?”
He marshaled his armies and marched off to war
By bone and bloodshed, by carnage and gore
He killed and he burned every village and town
Swearing an oath he would wear the black crown
But the will of the dwarves, of the elves, and of men
Would not be bent by evil again
An alliance was formed, they fought with blade and bow
And the brown blood of the orcs began to flow
Until, at the last, Orgul stood alone
His kin all were dead, his victory flown
And the king of the elves, wounded but not dead
Cut off that vicious beast’s ugly head
Thus banishing the orcs from our beautiful land
The world became free, a truly blessed land
“Did he just rhyme ‘land’ with ‘land?’” Sam whispered.
And thus ends the tale of Orgul the Bold
The very last orc to ever grow old
Demanthus held the last note for an excessively long time, jumping from his low voice to a high falsetto that seemed to be a random note, completely out of key from the notes the lute had been playing.
He watched them over his nose, wearing a smug, confident smile, which was in no way warranted given the performance they had just witnessed.
Nate cleared his throat. “Thank you, Demanthus. That was… that was definitely a song. I think.”
Demanthus bowed nearly to the floor, sweeping his hat across his chest. “You’re most welcome. Would you like to hear another?”
“No!” Sam said loudly. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to deprive the other customers here of your inestimable talents.”
Demanthus blushed with pleasure. “As you wish.” He stalked off to find another victim to inflict his music on.
Charlie began to blink heavily. “Man, I’m sleepy. Alianna, did we book rooms?”
Alianna nodded her head, as she yawned. “I did. Two rooms.”
One of the waiters dressed in red brushed past their table. Sam watched as he shuttered the windows and locked them with a silver key.
Her brow furrowed as another waiter locked the front door using an identical key.
“Excuse me,” Sam said as one of the waiters walked past. “Why are you locking everything up?”
“Oh, that. Well, these are dangerous lands, so we secure the grounds after sundown. No one is allowed in or out until morning.”
“But what if there’s a fire or something?”
The waiter smirked. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
Sam pursed her lips. “That’s a troubling answer.”
She turned just as Nate’s head slipped out of his hand, and slammed heavily into the table.
“Nate, are you okay?” Her speech was slurred and slow. Her arms felt heavy. She heard someone at another table fall out of their chair and hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Alianna’s head rested on the table, while Hicket leaned dangerously far back in his chair, snoring.
Sam’s vision doubled as she heard the melodious sound of one of Charlie’s sleep farts. He had slid halfway out of his chair, his head resting on Gri’s slumped shoulder.
The last thing Sam saw before the blackness took her was one of the waiters, grinning wickedly at her.
#
Sam awoke with a start. She was enveloped in blackness, and it took her a moment to realize she had been blindfolded. She sat in a wooden chair, her feet tied to its legs and her hands bound behind her back with rough rope.
The air smelled damp and heavy and earthy. It was cool and, somewhere in the distance, water dripped rhythmically into an unseen puddle. The sound of a soft fart alerted her to the presence of others in the room.
“Charlie?”
“Excuse me,” he answered sheepishly.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know.”
“In some kind of basement?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you think we’re in the tavern cellar?”
“Maybe?”
“What do they want with us?”
“Sam, you have exactly as much information as I do.”
“Would you two shut up?” Sam felt a rush of relief at hearing Nate’s voice.
“Yes, please shut up,” came a gruff male voice that Sam didn’t recognize. Several others grumbled in agreement.
Somewhere behind them, a heavy door slid open, scraping along the dirt ground. Two pairs of heavy boots clunked into the room, accompanied by sound of creaking leather.
“This one is nice and plump,” said an unseen man whose voice sounded like he was still mid-puberty. The second man grunted in agreement.
“No, please,” begged a new voice, as the sound of a chair being dragged across the dirt floor wound past them.
“Who’s there? Why are you doing this?” Sam asked.
She flinched as a leather-gloved hand gently caressed her cheek. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. Your time will come soon enough.”
Sam spat at the unseen man, and received a sharp slap across the face that nearly tipped her chair over in response. Her assailant stalked angrily across the room, and slammed the door shut behind him.
The now-muffled scream of the man they had taken shook her to her core. The voice was filled with terror, and then transformed into something animalistic, almost inhuman.
“Catch the blood!” a man shouted. “Don’t spill it!”
“I know, I know,” said another man. “This ain’t my first time.”
The screams ebbed, until all they could hear was the sickening sound of meat and bone being hacked and cut.
“We need to get out of here,” Nate said. “Now.”
“Yeah? And how do you propose we do that?” Charlie said.
“Sam, can you, you know. Work your magic?”
Sam concentrated, tried to clear her mind of the rising panic as the sounds of butchering continued. She began to reach out through the Aether, to get a clearer picture of the room around her.
She could see Nate and Charlie, and about a dozen others who had been in the tavern, tied to chairs in the same way she was. She did not see Alianna, Hicket, Gri, or Reave among them. The room wasn’t very large, maybe twenty feet across. She hoped the others were in a different room.
As she focused, she sensed something else in the air. Something that permeated the building, the soil. It felt corrupt and filled with decay. Her vision clouded as an inky blackness pressed in on her, until finally she was again blind and helpless.
“Something’s wrong,” Sam said. “Something is stopping me from accessing the Aether.”
“What is it?” Charlie asked.
“I don’t know.”
“But what do you think it could be?”
“I have no idea.”
“Is it the dark Aether?”
“Maybe?”
“Like could the dark Aether be suppressing the light Aether in this place?”
“Charlie, you have exactly as much information as I do.”
They heard footsteps approaching again.
“They’re coming,” Sam said.
The door slid open again.
“What did you do to him?” Sam asked.
“The same thing we’re going to do to you,” the man cooed, his mouth inches from the back of her neck. “But not just yet. First, you’ll listen as your friends are butchered. I want you to savor their suffering.”
Sam recoiled reflexively as he sniffed her hair.
“Why are you doing this?”
His laugh sounded like sand poured over dried bones. “Why, where do you think we get the filling for our famous meat pasties?”
Sam gagged, as did the rest of the people in the room.
“That one,” the man said. Another voice began to scream, this time a woman, as her chair was dragged out of the room.
“See you soon,” the man said, as he shut the door.
“We’re going to die,” Charlie said. His voice was calm, blank.
“No, we aren’t. Don’t talk like that,” Nate said.
Sam yanked at her restraints. The ropes creaked but held fast, burning her wrists and ankles.
“One time, when I was flying with my parents to visit my cousin in California, I beefed so badly they had to make an emergency landing.”
“Why are you telling us about a fart?” Nate asked.
“If I’m going to die, I want to die with a clean conscience.”
“We’re not going to die.”
“Nate, do you remember the time I slept over, and found the giant puddle of diarrhea your dog had left outside the bathroom in the middle of the night?”
“… Yes.”
“Chloe was innocent. I tried to make it to the bathroom, but didn’t quite get there in time.”
“Are you serious? We had to replace the carpeting. Chloe was locked in the basement every night from then on.”
“When I was in third grade, we had a sand-castle-building competition. I wanted to win, but the sand wasn’t wet enough, and the structural integrity wouldn’t hold. I had to pee really bad, so when no one was looking, I peed in the sand. I won the contest, but everyone kept complaining that the sand stank. It was my pee baking in the hot sun.”
“What did you win?” Sam asked in horror.
“That’s the worst part. It wasn’t even an official competition, just a bunch of kids at the beach who decided to have a contest.”
“Charlie, I need you to pull it together,” Nate said. “We gotta figure out how to get out of here.”
“I could untie you,” Hag said as Nate felt him buzz near his face. “If you want.”
“Hag? How long have you been here?”
“The whole time.”
Charlie sighed. “So you heard-“
“Everything. I heard everything. And I’d like to subscribe to your newsletter.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Nate tried to control the frustration in his voice.
“Well, seeing as how I’m not officially part of the team, I wasn’t sure if it was my place to help.”
“If you want to be part of the team, you may want to consider being actually useful once in awhile.”
“Yeah, well, you can suck my Hag!”
“I don’t even know what that means!”
“Your mom seemed to be able to figure it out!”
“Hag, would you untie me please?” Sam asked in the kindest voice she could muster.
Hag pulled her blindfold free, and made quick work of the ropes on her hands with his sharp claws.
“Go help Nate and Charlie,” Sam said as she freed her feet. The cellar was dimly lit, with a stooped ceiling covered in roots. She began to untie the others in the cellar with them, Demanthus the bard among them.
“Thank ye kindly, m’lady. I shall compose the finest poem in the Ten Kingdoms in your honor.”
“Oh, no thanks. We need weapons. Hag, have you seen any?”
“There’s a large assortment of knives in the next room. But they’re currently in use.”
“I can’t believe we ate people,” Nate said, as he spat on the floor.
“Wait, you didn’t know it was people?” Hag said.
“You did?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“Is that why you didn’t eat any?”
“No, I just didn’t know how many calories were in it. Been trying to watch my figure.”
Footsteps approached.
“Quiet,” Sam hissed. She picked up her chair and moved to the door. As it slid open, she screamed and charged, her chair leading the way.
The slender elf, dressed in only underwear, a leather apron, and leather gloves, appeared shocked as Sam slammed into him. He reeled backwards. The others in the room followed her lead, and rushed through the door.
The elf slammed hard into the floor, his head bouncing off the stone with a loud clunk. Behind him, a tremendously tall and fat human towered over them, dressed in the same, simple, leather butcher clothing. He held two huge knives.
At the center of the room was a long wooden table, covered in blood. Two small channels ran along the table surface, which funneled the blood to the end of the table where it spattered into a metal bucket. Next to the table hung a metal rack, with an array of knives of all shapes and sizes.
The room stunk of blood and raw meat. It reminded Nate of his dad’s sour shoes after a day of working in the yard.
Against the far wall, meat hooks hung; some empty, some filled with the remains of what had been the man and woman they had taken from the room. Behind the corpses, a set of stairs led up to a heavy metal door. Two more doors stood on the remaining two walls to their right and left.
The giant man charged, roaring like a deranged pig. He swung his knives wildly, which clattered off the wooden chairs that the group wielded like lion tamers.
The slender elf clambered to his feet, sneering at Sam. “You’re going to die here, and I’m going to drink your blood.”
Sam made her way around the table as the fat man charged into the tangle of chairs. She heard a woman scream as the fat man’s blade bit deep. She cursed under her breath as she grabbed a long, curved knife from the rack.
“What’s your name?”
The elf studied her face for a moment. “Orist.”
“I like you Orist,” Sam said as she tested the sharpness of the blade with her thumb. “I think I’m going to kill you last.”
Quick as lightning, she turned and threw the blade at the fat man. It sunk deep into the base of his neck. He groaned and grunted before collapsing heavily to the ground.
“Holy crap!” Charlie exclaimed. “That was awesome!”
Sam grabbed another blade, but as she turned back to Orist, he had scrambled up the stairs and out of sight.
“Is everyone okay?” Sam asked as she kicked the fat man and handed Charlie a blade.
“No. The bard got it in the chest.”
She looked down and saw Demanthus clutching the hilt of the knife that was embedded deep in his sternum. Sam glanced at Charlie, who shook his head gravely. “I- I don’t have the skill. A liver is one thing, but a heart?”
Demanthus coughed, and blood spilled onto his chin. He laid back, his body still.
“Well, that’s too bad, I guess,” Nate said. “I mean, he seemed like a nice enough fellow, even if he was a terrible musician.”
Demanthus coughed again. “You know, I’m not quite gone. And my feelings haven’t died either.”
Nate winced and bit his lip. “Oh… er… sorry.”
Demanthus again coughed, shook, and collapsed. His breath rattled in his throat, and then stopped.
Nate hesitated. “So is he… dead for real now?” He poked him with his toe. Demanthus did not move.
“We need to find the others,” Sam said. “And some real weapons. That jerk has probably alerted the rest of his family to our escape.”
Charlie shook his head as he grabbed a knife from the rack. “You know, nothing bonds a family quite like a dark, horrible secret.”
The door to his left burst open and an elven woman ran screaming at them, her mouth foaming, her hair a tangled mess, a wicked-looking knife held over her head.
She swung wildly at Charlie, who ducked and shoved his shoulder into her stomach. He then lurched upward, using her momentum to flip her over him and flat onto her back where her head hit the stone floor with a sickening crunch.
Without hesitating or even thinking, Charlie plunged his knife into her chest. She gurgled, struggled to speak for a moment, and then died.
“’Twas beauty killed the beast,” Charlie said as he wiped the blade clean on her leather apron.
Nate dashed through the open door. “Charlie, Alianna looks injured.”
Sam and Charlie joined Nate in the next room. It was identical to the one they had been held in. Another dozen people sat tied up. Hicket, Gri, and Reave were also there, still unconscious.
Alianna’s chair had been knocked over. She was bleeding from a knife wound in her side, and her forehead had an impressive goose egg where it had collided with the floor.
Charlie knelt next to her and placed a hand over the wound in her side. “This I think I can deal with,” he said, closing his eyes as he willed her flesh together. The blood receded back into her body, and color returned to her pallid face.
Sam and Nate carefully lifted her back up, and Sam pulled her blindfold off. Alianna blinked heavily.
“What has happened?”
“We were drugged by the owners of the tavern. Turns out they’re a horrible inbred family of cannibals.”
Nate looked puzzled. “Inbred?”
“I mean, I assume…”
Sam used her knife to cut Alianna free. Alianna stood, her legs still wobbly. “I sense much darkness in this place. The corruption of the dark Aether hangs like a stink in the air.”
Sam nodded. “I feel it too.” She handed a knife to Alianna. “Why couldn’t we sense it earlier?”
“They must have a dark wizard in their ranks. The trap would not be easily sprung if the stench of evil polluted the dining hall.”
Together, they quickly freed the others. Above they could hear footsteps as numerous people ran across the floor above.
“They’ll be waiting to ambush us.”
Alianna’s eyes glowed with a crackling white light. “Let them.”
The rest of the knives were distributed among the other survivors, while the others broke chairs to create makeshift clubs and bats.
Charlie held a knife out to Gri, but she declined. “Gri use bare hands,” she said as she flexed her enormous fingers. “Gri angry.”
Alianna led the charge up the stairs, Hicket at her flank. The door shattered as she reached it, spraying splinters of metal and wood through the dining hall where they had been drugged. There were several surprised shouts of pain as shrapnel pierced flesh.
Nate, Sam, and Charlie emerged from the stairs into the chaos of battle. The wait staff and cooks were armed to the teeth, and outnumbered the escaped prisoners three to one. Sprays of blood and viscera filled the air as combatants where hewn down.
Sam spotted Orist across the room, brandishing a curved scimitar that glittered in the firelight. A thin elven maiden swung a rapier, slashing Sam’s left arm. Sam spun and embedded her knife in the woman’s neck. She grabbed the thin sword from her hand as she slumped to the ground, and pointed it at Orist.
His lip curled in a sneer.
Nate watched the battle unfolding, hesitant to enter the fray for fear of making things worse. Alianna and Hicket were both made short work of a seemingly endless stream of enemies, while Reave summoned a fiery serpent that wound its way over tables, mauling a small elven man who screamed as his skin crackled and sizzled.
Gri shouted in glee as she squished a man’s head like a pumpkin between her enormous fists. Her attackers fell back in terror as she tossed the corpse aside like a doll.
Nate glanced behind them. A reinforced wooden door with an enormously complicated locking mechanism was just down the hall. He walked to it, ignoring the sounds and screams of battle behind him.
He tried the door, knowing full well it wouldn’t open. Staring at the lock, he held up his right finger, and concentrated as Reave had taught him. Gesturing with his left hand, he contorted in a rapid series of shapes. A small but intense jet of fire erupted from his finger.
He held it to the lock, and watched as it began to glow a dull red. The metal grew brighter, until it was a searing orange. Nate then did another series of complicated finger gestures, and the flame sputtered, popped, and a blast of cold ice hissed as it spewed weakly from the palm of his hand. The metal popped and cracked, and the lock shattered.
Back in the fray, Charlie saw one of the prisoners run-through with a spear on the far side of the hall. He ducked and dodged past combatants, narrowly avoiding several wild swings with swords and clubs. He knelt beside the person, but it was too late, their eyes were dull and lifeless.
Only when he looked up did Charlie realize his tactical error. The hall was now roughly divided in half, Alianna and his friends on the far side. Charlie, however, was behind enemy lines. He heard more footsteps approaching from a doorway to his left.
“Fart nugget.”
Charlie dipped his hand in the pool of blood under the body, and smeared it across his face and neck. He slumped to the ground and laid as still as he could.
Five more men, armed with heavy shields and longswords burst through the door. One of them stared down at Charlie.
“He still alive?”
Another man poked Charlie with his heavy boot.
“Phew, that stink. I think he’s been dead for weeks.”
The men flinched reflexively as a bolt of plasma scorched the air over their heads. It struck and melted the head of one of the prisoners on the far side of the room. A slender elf dressed in finery emerged from the doorway behind them.
The elf was missing his left ear; a long bulging scar ran down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath his pressed white shirt. He pointed a single finger at Reave, grinning wickedly.
Reave flexed his fingers as the two spellcasters slowly circled one another, like angry tigers itching for blood. The elf moved first, clapping his hands and speaking the guttural language of the Ancients. From behind him, glass bottles and cutlery emerged from the kitchen, whistling through the air.
Reave held his flaming arm up, and a whirlwind of blistering flame appeared, melting the glass and metal missiles, which spattered and hissed as it fell to the ground around him. At his command, the igneous liquid pooled, glowing hot and angry. The liquid sprayed outward like a spiderweb.
The elf spun his hands and was surrounded by an orb of ice which screamed angrily as the molten strands formed a cocoon around him. Snapping a finger, the metal and glass shattered, clattering heavily to the ground.
Reave cracked his neck, and began a dramatic, complex series of movements. His hands began to glow and, soon, the light spread down his arms until it consumed his entire body. The elf stared with the intensity of a gunslinger in the old West, his hands ready to counter whatever Reave was about to throw at him.
Charlie brought a wooden chair down on the back of the elf’s head with a sickening crunch, and the wizard collapsed heavily to the ground. Reave grinned and nodded his thanks to Charlie before turning his attention back to the battle at hand.
Orist continued to evade Sam, avoiding her as she cut her way through two more enemies. She felt nothing but cold rage.
She panicked as one of the prisoners charged Orist from behind while the elf was distracted by parrying a series of stabs from a man with a face so round it looked like a normal person being reflected on the back of a spoon.
Sam flicked her wrist, and used the Aether to deflect the club, preventing it from crushing Orist’s skull. Orist stepped back in surprised, and slipped, tumbling flat onto his back.
“I told you I’d kill you last,” she shouted as the round-faced man pressed his attack. Sam was once again forced to push Orist out of harm’s way using the Aether.
Alianna bellowed. Her hands now slick with blood, she had been unable to pull her knife free from her latest victim. Instead, she was now pummeling a woman with her bare fists.
“Say hello to my little friend,” Nate said as he tossed Alianna her spear. His arms were overflowing with their weapons he had rescued from the locked room.
Alianna caught the spear, and spun it around her body as it burst into a crackling explosion of white lighting that buzzed through the room.
“I am Alianna Stormbow, Commander of the Soldiers of the Sun, Servant of the White, Protector of the Luminous Aether, and I am going to kill every last one of you.”
She pointed her spear, and a long arc of lighting shot through the room, blasting seven of their enemies in the chest, tearing a hole through their torsos as they screamed in agony. The lighting would have struck Orist in the chest, had Sam not dove and slammed her shoulder into him, knocking him out of harm’s way as the bolt of energy sizzled past her left ear.
Hicket grinned and nodded his appreciation as he took his huge broadsword from Nate.
“Has she ever done that before? With the lightning?” Nate asked.
Hicket swung his enormous sword overhead and down, cleaving one of the chef’s in half as he ran past. “No. Our captain is full of surprises.”
A blade bite deep into the back of Charlie’s leg. He yelped and tried to run, but collapsed in pain. A woman, with a face so long she would probably eat sugar cubes out of the palm of your hand, stalked after him, licking his blood from the short sword she carried.
She held the blade over her head, her eyes maniacal. Her head jolted as Charlie heard a satisfying gong noise. As she crumpled, he saw Hag floating behind her, holding a cast iron skillet.
“Thanks, Hag,” Charlie said through grit teeth as he healed the deep wound in his leg.
“No problem, boss!” Hag said with a mock salute. “I haven’t had this much fun since I was a pupae.” He buzzed off into the mass of fighters, and Charlie heard several more gongs ringing out.
Sam jumped to her feet. “Soon, it will be your turn, Orist.”
“Sam!” Nate shouted. He tossed her spear across the room, which she caught and, twirling it, pointed the blade at Orist who lay on his back.
Another bloated elf wearing a chef’s jacket charged her, swinging an axe over his head. Sam ducked, the axe passed harmlessly over her head as she plunged her spear up into his gullet.
She pulled the blade free and swung, deflecting a sword swing from behind her. She felt amazing, the Aether heightening her senses. She could see and process information so much faster, as if the enemies around her were moving in slow motion.
She ducked under another blade as two more attackers closed in. Bending backwards, the blade skimmed passed her face.
Planting her free hand behind her, she flipped backwards, kicking one of the men under the chin. She felt his jawbone break under her foot as he fell backwards into the huge fireplace at the center of the room. He screamed as his long hair burst into flames.
Landing on her left foot, she pivoted and jumped forward, her spear swinging in a wide arc, cutting the other attacker’s head clean off. It thumped heavily to the ground.
“Did you just do a backflip?” Nate shouted from across the room.
“You saw me do that? It was awesome, right?”
Nate gave her the thumbs-up just as a fist slammed into his nose. He felt the sickening crunch of cartilage and bone snapping as blood filled his mouth. He fell heavily on his butt.
Looking up, he saw a bearded man grinning, his teeth so crooked they all appeared to be in business for themselves.
Nate ignored the pain. He held his hands up and did a quick series of gestures, sliding and interlocking his fingers in a complex pattern, and clumsily mumbling one of the words of power he had been practicing with Reave.
His attacker looked confused as his stomach began to distend and bloat, and with a loud pop, he exploded, spraying Nate with blood and sending intestines flying through the air like a prank can of spring-propelled snakes.
Rearing on Orist, Sam was surprised to see him still lying on the ground. “Stand and fight me, you coward!”
Spear pointed, she poked his foot. He didn’t move. Looking closer, she saw that when she shoved him out of the way of the lightning bolt, he had accidentally impaled himself on his sword.
“Dang it!”
The remaining enemies scattered, running into the dark of the night.
“Should we pursue them?” Hicket asked as his huge shoulders framed the doorway, casting a long shadow across the darkened landscape.
“No,” Alianna said as the survivors gathered around her. Those who had lived through the battle stood back from her in awe. “We take what we need, and continue our journey.”
“And what of the inn?”
“Burn it. Burn it to the ground.”
Sam found Nate using one of the dead chef’s jackets to mop the blood from his face and hands. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s not my blood. I sorta blew a guy up.” Sam’s eyebrows arched sharply. “On purpose this time,” he quickly added.
She hugged him, the adrenaline of battle still coursing through her veins. “Did you see me?”
“I did. You were magnificent.”
There was a sudden electricity in the air between them, that unspoken attraction that made them both awkward. Nate cleared his throat as they quickly stopped hugging, and avoided eye contact.
“Where’s Charlie?” Sam asked, unsure of what else to say.
“I’m over here,” Charlie called, grinning and waving. He was sitting at one of the few intact tables against the far wall.
Sam’s face twisted in disgust as they approached him. Charlie was about halfway through one of the mincemeat pies, with two more stacked on a plate near him. “Charlie! Those are made of people!”
Charlie shrugged. “I’m hungry, and it’s not like its anyone I knew personally.”
Nate gagged. “That doesn’t make it okay. I can’t imagine whatever gods there are in this world look kindly on cannibalism.”
“Well, I guess thank the gods I’m an atheist.” Charlie said as he took another bite.
Their clackers now loaded with supplies, they rode off into the night as the entire inn burned, the flames roaring and licking the night sky.