The Orb of Truth

  “It is finished,” Manasseh said. “Kill the halflings and then meet me in the Tower.”

  Perfectly formed blocks of the black rock lined every hallway within the dungeon as the group of heroes made their way slowly inward. It was a maze of identical, interconnected tunnels. Groans were heard within locked cells holding prisoners, and screams echoed off the walls from farther away.

  They tried to discern the layout, but the Dwarf King halted their advance, “Finding the Orb without information will be near impossible, so let’s find our friends. We’ll have a much better chance,” El’Korr suggested.

  “Agreed,” Dulgin said, with a soft gratitude in his voice.

  “We will cover more ground if we split up. There shouldn’t be too many guards that we can’t handle, since Raina started her attack,” Xan proposed.

  “Master Dulgin and I will go together,” Abawken answered.

  “Once we find them, we will make our way to the Tower—there is no way we will be leaving through the front entry. With a little luck we might run into Manasseh and get the Orb back,” El’Korr said.

  Another quake rocked the castle. Dust fell from the ceiling.

  “Raina?” Dulgin asked.

  “We can only hope. No telling what is going on up there, but with The Tree still active it can’t be good,” El’Korr responded.

  “Tell’im Ghent, before he kills me,” Bosh gasped for air.

  “For the last time, where is Bridazak?” Spilf demanded, holding the tip of an arrow to the neck of the human pinned to the ground. Spilf was laying on the back of the face-down guard. Beside them lay the dead sentry named Rudd, an arrow embedded in his chest.

  Ghent gestured downward with his open hands, trying to placate the angry Ordakian. “Sure. I can show you. Just let him go,” he said nervously.

  “I don’t think so. This is what we are going to do: you will lead me there and I will keep,” he paused briefly then continued, “What is your name?”

  “Bosh,” he replied, trying to be very still.

  “You will lead me there and I will keep Bosh as my prisoner. If you try anything, or I suspect anything, then Bosh dies, and then I will fill your body with arrows from this very powerful bow that I’m holding.”

  Bridazak searched the cramped room high and low for an exit, fumbling around in the dark. He had brought his tunic up to cover his nose from the smell of old blood and decay during the long scrutiny of his pitch black cell. “I’ve smelled worse,” he thought to himself, trying to keep his spirit up, until his eyes started to water, “Okay, this is bad.”

  Finally he resigned himself, “How are you going to get out of this one,” he whispered. This would have been the best time to have Lester and Ross with him, but unfortunately they were also taken from his possession.

  Time passed unbearably slow as his thoughts swirled out of control and his focus blurred. Feeling stuck in the dank “suite” he’d been placed in began to wear him down, and he soon succumbed to feeling utterly defeated; there was no escape. The Orb was now in the hands of King Manasseh. He had failed.

  A cold chill crept through the Ordakian’s body. He felt a presence within the dark room. His eyes darted to and fro, but only blackness was found. “Is someone there?” Bridazak murmured.

  “He has failed you, my dear Bridazak,” a powerful and confident voice echoed within Bridazak’s mind. The melodic, resonating tone was like drinking water after a day’s travel within a desolate desert. Even so, Bridazak was startled, and placed his back against the wall.

  The mysterious voice continued in its entrancing tone, “What is your heart’s desire?”

  “Who are you?” Bridazak asked, trembling.

  A smooth, profound cackle filled his mind. Bridazak’s heart pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer.

  “I am the one you have longed for, the one you have searched for.”

  “No, something isn’t right. You are not the voice I know.” Bridazak resisted the charm. Sweat trickled down his brow.

  “Where is this voice now? My voice is here. I have the power to free you, and not just from this cell.”

  The invisible entity, with its implied accusations against the Orb, the voice he had trusted and carried so far, made his head spin even more. Bridazak’s bottom lip quivered, “I am sorry. I failed you,” he barely whispered.

  “I can help you, Bridazak. Confess your desire for me, and I will take you away from this terrible place. In the blink of an eye it will be as it was before.” His voice had become softer, even more melodic. Bridazak’s insides twisted and he felt queasy. He fell to the ground and rolled up into a ball. His arms wrapped around his knees and he pulled them tighter into his chest. His body shivered as he cried in the darkness.

  The dark being studied the Ordakian. His alluring and masterfully articulated voice continued, “I can give you your heart’s desires. Jewels?

  Bridazak did not flinch at the suggestion.

  “No? I thought surely you had a taste for the finer things. Of course, you want something greater. How about we add in a few slaves to carry your riches?”

  The seductive voice answered his silence with another promise, “Ah, you are wise. A kingdom?”

  Bridazak suspected more than ever that this being was the one Xan spoke of—the antithesis of God’s voice. The Dark One, the ruler of Kerrith Ravine. He could feel his will strengthening; this god had nothing for him. As if on cue, the voice presented him the ultimate gift, “Your family?” His eyes grew wide. How did he know? The one thing he longed for the most; his entire life had been in pursuit of the family he never had, the piece he had always been missing. He searched again for something, anything, to make eye contact with. If only he could see who was making the offer, see what monster lurked behind the promise.

  “Family it is, then. Now all you have to do is bow to me.”

  Bridazak contemplated, and the battle in his mind and heart raged.

  “Such an easy demand for such a wonderful gift—your family. What are you waiting for? Take what you have always wanted, what you have always needed.”

  Bridazak pleaded within, “Where are you now God, when I need you most? You brought me here and have abandoned me. You should have sent somebody else from the beginning.” A sudden earthquake rumbled and rattled the stone around him, and one of the many door hinges broke with a loud snap. Focused beams of light through the tiny pinholes of the hinge hit the Ordakian squarely in the face. He heard muffled voices from the other side.

  “What was that?” Ghent asked.

  “I don’t care—just open the door,” Spilf responded.

  There was a series of clicks and clanks as multiple keys were inserted and twisted to unlock the prison portal. It swung open awkwardly on its offset hinge. Bright torchlight revealed Bridazak on the ground in a fetal position. Bridazak looked out to see the silhouette of a human.

  “Are you hurt?” a childlike voice asked.

  Bridazak thought he knew the voice, but it echoed off the walls, and he did not recognize the figure standing in front of him, as it was clearly a human. The voice did not match what he saw.

  “No. Who are you?”

  “Step aside, Ghent,” the strangely familiar voice commanded.

  Ghent moved out of the way and another guard came into view, but from his backlit view, it looked like it had two heads. Bridazak squinted through the light that was blinding his eyes.

  “I can’t see.”

  “Can you walk? Get up and come out.”

  Bridazak slowly stood and then hesitantly moved forward while holding one hand to shield his eyes. Then everything came into view.

  “Spilf!” He yelled in unbelief.

  “Yes, it’s me. Okay, Ghent, get in,” he directed.

  The humans were placed inside the cell. Bridazak stared back into the chamber and a chill came over him, remembering the evil being that spoke to him. Ghent peered up at him with his grey eyes, just as Spilf sealed and locked the door. He turned to hi
s long lost friend; they embraced tightly and held each other as if never to part again. Tears streamed down their cheeks.

  “I was the one who was supposed to rescue you,” Bridazak said, muffled against Spilf’s shoulder.

  “I couldn’t wait any longer. You were taking too long. See, I lost my hair waiting for you,” he smiled, rubbing his bald head as they finally pulled away from each other.

  “Spilf, a second hasn’t gone by without my thinking of you. I missed you so much.”

  “You were all I had to hold onto Bridazak—you and Grumpy. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. We were separated when I was captured.”

  “Here,” Spilf held out his bow and arrows, “I’m not as good a shot as you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and these also belong to you,” he added as he produced Lester and Ross.

  “Master! We missed you,” Lester’s metallic voice ignited in his mind.

  “I missed you too Lester—and Ross.”

  “You have to get us out of here Bridazak. They have giant rats!” Ross’ voice escalated in a panic.

  “It’s okay. We are going to get out of here.”

  “Did he tell you about the rats?” Spilf laughed.

  “Yes. Did you encounter them?”

  “No, but he hasn’t stopped talking about them since they rescued me.”

  “They rescued you?”

  “Yeah, tell you that story later. We have to get out of here.” They started down the hallway together.

  “We have to find the Orb of Truth. King Manasseh took it and was going to destroy it, thinking it was giving my army power.”

  “Your army?”

  “Long story, but there are a thousand dwarves attacking the castle above. Dulgin, his brother and some others were trying to sneak in, but I was captured.”

  “Wait, you found Dulgin’s brother?”

  “Yeah, Xan told us about a cursed army and Dulgin, Abawken, and I…”

  “Who is Xan, and this Abawken?”

  “Oh, Xan was a lost Elf in the Moonrock Mountains and Abawken found us through a vision he had, but I can’t go into it right now.”

  “So, you were able to open the box? What is this Orb?”

  Bridazak stopped abruptly and wheeled around, grabbing his friend’s shoulders, “Spilf, it’s the voice of God.”

  “What?!” His eyes widened in shock at Bridazak’s statement.

  “It has everything to do with a prophecy and we are a part of it,” Bridazak hesitated for a moment, thinking of whom the prophecy described as their true enemy, and the encounter within his cell he had survived, thanks to Spilf. “Should I tell him? No, now is not the time,” he thought. “C’mon, we can exchange our tales later. We need to get the Orb back and find the others.”

  They continued to move down the dungeon corridor, but Bridazak suddenly stopped and turned toward his friend again.

  “Spilf, please take Lester and Ross back. They served me well, but they belong to you.” Spilf welcomed the enchanted picks back into his possession.

  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 Abawk
en 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.