The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) (5 page)

Spilf chimed aloud, “Speaking of cavalry, are you guys ever going to tell me why we don’t use ponies to get around? It would be so much faster and less wear and tear on our feet.”

“I will defer that to the Dwarf. Dulgin, why don’t you tell Spilf about the ponies,” Bridazak said sarcastically. He knew that Dulgin would not ever talk about that event. Their bearded friend had vowed to never ride a pony or horse again.

Dulgin growled at the two Daks. “It’s not my fault that your kind doesn’t wear boots,” he spouted.

“That still doesn’t answer why we can’t ride.”

Dulgin turned sharply and cut the Ordakian off, “Listen here, Daky, we ain’t ever going to ride those damn things and that is final. Got it?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,
Dulgy.”
Spilf jabbed back in retaliation.

Bridazak smiled at the confrontation. It was quite entertaining. Dulgin did not respond and continued walking ahead of them.

Not alerting their burly friend, Bridazak lowered his voice, “Hey, by chance did you mention anything about the full amount of our score with Dulgin the other night?”

“He was too busy drinking.”

“Good, I’m afraid he’d have spent our nest
egg
on all the Dwarven Ale in sight. It’s getting more and more difficult to find as the years pass.”

“How much do you think that diamond ring is worth?”

“I would say double what we received in coin.”

There was a lull in the conversation. Bridazak then asked, “Did you see anything on the streets in Gathford when you went out to get supplies?”

“No, why?”

“I saw someone hiding in the shadows, but couldn’t make out who it was.”

“Do you think it was Thule?”

“No, this individual was extremely gifted in stealth. I think I was lucky spotting him myself.”

“Actually, come to think of it, I had a creepy sensation at one point, like someone was watching me. There was a cold shiver that went up my spine, but it went away and I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Let’s be mindful of the possibility that someone might be following us.”

“Now that we are out of the town, it’s our laws that reign. Dulgin would love to put his axe to use again, and when’s the last time you used that bow of yours?”

“Not since the Gathford archery contest several months ago.”

“Oh yeah, that’s the reason Thule and his goons started bothering us. You gave them an education in archery, that’s for sure.” They laughed at the memory as they continued to slosh through the waist-high, golden stalks.

“I’ve almost got it.” Beads of sweat trickled down Spilf’s brow.

Bridazak watched his friend methodically maneuver his tools of the trade to bypass the trapped entrance. “What is it with you and those rusty picks you like to use? I just don’t know how you do it using those things.”

Spilf peered up with a cocky smirk, “Someday I will have to let you know my secret.” He went back to work and a moment later, announced, “There, got it.” The magical glyph of fire fizzled away in a puff of smoke around the sealed, debris-covered entrance. Dulgin continued to scan the area. It was a desolate land—dry, rocky, and depressing. They had arrived at the lair of Oculus—an ancient, abandoned keep, crumbled and scattered. There was a foreboding about the place, a sense of depression intruded into their minds.

“Are you sure about this entry point, Dulgin?” Spilf asked.

“No, it was over three-hundred and fifty years ago when my brother told me. He was known to be wrong before, so we enter at our own risk.”

The Ordakians looked at each other, shocked at the mention of a sibling he’d never told them about. “You have a brother?” Bridazak questioned. “Where is he?”

“Had
a brother. He went off on a damned crusade to Kerrith Ravine with a thousand other good clerics from across the land. They were never seen again. My brother, El’Korr of the Hammergold Clan, will be forever remembered for trying to restore the Lost Kingdom.” Dulgin’s voice trailed off as he thought of his brother. He had been a great Dwarven warrior who deserved a burial worthy of his caliber. The last time he saw El’Korr was at their father’s passing, just before the elder brother left on his crusade. The deaths of these two Dwarves had altered his attitude, he recognized; he’d grown more cynical, and more stubborn than ever. He glanced at the only thing he retained from his past—his father’s axe; an heirloom meant to be passed down in the lineage of his family, but now only a symbol of what was. His home was long destroyed and any remaining Dwarves had scattered across the land as they escaped the wrath of the Reegs, the shadow demons that came out of Kerrith Ravine.

Spilf released the lock, snapping Dulgin out of his thoughts of the past, and the dull grey, metal portal hissed open. A gust of putrid smelling air escaped to meet the three intruders, air so strong that it pushed them to the ground. On their rear ends, hands covering their faces, they looked at each other in bewilderment. They slowly edged their way over to peer down the dark tunnel. After a moment, the faint sounds of scuffling and whispers below reached their ears.

“Maybe it’s rats,” suggested Bridazak with a shrug.

Dulgin stared at him with irritation, “I don’t think so, my friend. Rats don’t whisper.”

Spilf unslung his pack and pulled out a torch, a flint, and a piece of steel. Within seconds a large spark ignited the oil-dipped piece of wood and he tossed it into the black hole. Landing twenty feet below, it revealed the disgusting sight of piled and decaying bodies. Dulgin glared at Bridazak.

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” he surrendered.

“Remember, this was your idea in the first place,” the Dwarf countered.

“That smell is rank. Are we sure we want to go down there?” Spilf pleaded.

“It’s called the smell of adventure. Now get your Daky-ass down there!”

One by one, the three friends climbed down the cold, metal rungs. Their movement echoed throughout; the creaking of leather, the tap of boots on metal, and then soft padding of bare feet on stone as they reached the bottom. Picking up the torch to get a better look around, Bridazak snapped his head in one direction where he heard more scuffling sounds in the distance. Dulgin followed his change in stance and quipped sarcastically, “Maybe it’s those rats you were talking about.”

“Too big to be rats,” Spilf responded.

“Maybe it’s
really
big rats, coming to ask you for some fresh meat. Looks like they could use it,” Dulgin continued his joking.

They surveyed the carcasses that were strewn about. Humans, Orcs, and Goblins. Thirty decayed bodies that bore signs of battle: slash marks and punctured armor.

“The sounds are coming from the north passageway,” whispered Bridazak. The echo of his childlike voice glided smoothly down the dark corridors.

There were four tunnels leading away from this main junction. Bridazak moved toward the source of the sound, and the light from the Ordakian’s torch faded as they went deeper into danger. The aroma of rotting flesh dwindled and the corridor slowly transformed into a cleaner, dryer habitat. Bridazak and Spilf were walking a little ahead of the gruff Dwarf. The stocky redhead intermittently walked backward, watching for any surprises. He had done this several times without any problems, but finally bumped into Bridazak who had stopped walking for some unknown reason.

“What is wrong now?” Dulgin harshly whispered.

“Look at the torch.”

They gazed at the twisting fire and watched it flutter and move to the left. An air source was coming out of the right wall. Simultaneously, they spoke softly, “Secret door.”

Within minutes, they had discovered and opened the elusive portal by pushing it in on one side. It was a swivel set-up that was well crafted. The torchlight did not penetrate the magical darkness beyond.

“It smells even worse in there!” Spilf stepped back, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve.

From the darkness a voice echoed back, “I would be saying the same to you, little-one.” The hidden voice sounded scratchy. They backed away, waiting; they could not see through the magical barrier, so no one moved. The voice crackled again, “Why are you here? You are not welcome, so your answer had better be to my liking.”

Bridazak looked at his friends and Spilf nudged him to respond. “We are here to see Oculus.”

“I am her loyal servant.”

Bridazak was suddenly able to see outlines of creatures inside the darkness. At least four pairs of eyes glowed red, looking down on them. He was uncertain how he was able to see through the magic. He wished he could sense their intentions and an impression came just as quickly as he thought the question.
“They plan to kill you.”

“We are sorry to have bothered you. We meant no disrespect,” Bridazak stated promptly and started to tug at his friends to move back away with him. They were surprised at the statement and the action, but trusted his leading.

“I have not permitted you to leave,” the creature responded in a threatening, raspy tone.

“We don’t need permission, whoever you are,” Dulgin retorted.

The conversation was meant to keep their defenses down, but now Bridazak moved quickly to pull forth his short bow and notch an arrow, as he knew that Dulgin’s chime was not diplomatic enough to hold them back any longer.

They rushed the group from the darkness. Claws sprang out of paws attached to shaggy, light brown fur. A hateful expression of rage was on their distorted rodent faces. These
were
giant rats.

Bridazak’s shot unerringly hit his first opponent between its eyes. Without hesitation he quickly pulled out another arrow and struck the second rat in the chest with deadly accuracy. It slammed it into the cold stone floor. Dulgin pulled out a throwing axe and hurled it toward his mark. The vile thing fell dead with the hatchet buried in its head. Five other sewer scented creatures engaged the combatants.

Spilf was knocked to the floor by one of the beasts as it launched itself at him. He was able to pull out his snake head dagger and slice its back foot as it jumped upon him. It snarled at Spilf in disgust and then lunged again. The Dak rolled to avoid the grapple and then quickly swung his blade back to hit the thing squarely in its gut. It screeched and tried in vain to stop the blood that poured out. The magic of Spilf’s dagger had unleashed its venom. A gurgled last breath was heard as the poison took over.

With lightning speed, Bridazak released a volley of arrows. One dropped, then another. Dulgin had just delivered a punishing blow with his huge battle axe to drop one more. He wielded his weapon masterfully, as if it were an extension of his hands. It slammed into the last one, breaking and severing the backbone of the creature. A blood-curdled yelp resounded, and then there was silence.

“I got four and all you could do was take out three?” Bridazak scoffed over at Dulgin.

“Ah shut your mouth, ya blundering fool!” Dulgin was pulling his throwing axe out of the dead carcass.

“I got one,” chimed Spilf, after picking himself up off the floor. “Or, at least my magical dagger got one.”

“I told you that them rats wanted to talk with ya, didn’t I?” Dulgin teased Spilf.

All three chuckled at the comment.

“How did you know, Bridazak? How did you know they were going to attack us?” Spilf asked.

“I was able to see an outline of them somehow. I can’t explain it”

The magical darkness had disappeared, and down the new corridor was an iron door twice the average human size. Ancient and mysterious, the shadowed entryway loomed before them. Cautiously, the three adventurers approached. Bridazak nodded toward Spilf, “Check it out.”

“You got it, boss.” He brought out his rusty picks once again and inspected the locking mechanism. “It’s all clear.” Spilf then pulled open the great iron door with surprising ease. Almost too easy, they all thought, as it glided with little effort.

Beyond, a short corridor ultimately brought them to a large room on the left. It was an enormous chamber, with the only shadowy illumination coming from their torchlight. They could hear the sound of water splashing deeper within, and as they cautiously entered, the source was revealed. In the center of the room, a stone statue portrayed a hideous, frightening creature, the likes of which were otherwise found only in nightmares. A round boulder shaped beast, ten feet in diameter, with a gaping maw and an eye the size of a large wagon wheel, magically hovered above the pool. Several tentacle eye-stalks protruded from the top. A strange red liquid poured out of its mouth into a basin below. It floated above the reddish pool, casting a menacing stare in their direction.

“What is that?” questioned the Dwarven fighter.

“That is the legendary Great Eye of the Deep. A statue of whom we seek—Oculus. It’s a good thing that this is not real, otherwise we would probably be dead by now,” Spilf explained, grasping at his dagger again.

They crept into the chamber to search the area in hopes of finding another secret door, keeping a wary eye on the stone figure.

“Tell me Bridazak, what do you think that red liquid is in that fountain?” the Dwarf hesitantly asked.

“Probably just your ordinary everyday blood sucked from the lives of innocent people.”