Kennel, Kingdom and Crown
Chapter 11 – Faced With Old Mentors...
Gareth and Asguard quietly moved downward through the barrow's depths. Fog did not hover in the narrow and musty corridors of that subterranean world. The swirling lines and strange geometries on the walls – the patterns of squares, triangles and ellipses that seemed to shift and circle whenever Gareth peeked upon them – glowed with a faint, green light possessed by their own power. Though a musky, wet odor of decay clutched upon the air, and though motes of dust choked Gareth's throat, the Stonebrook king's eyes adjusted well enough to corridors' shadows. Gareth took a little comfort in finding some rest from the fog and mist that had descended upon the outer world.
The stone steps leading deeper into the earth curved, and Gareth wondered how far he had descended into that ancient barrow. The mound's inner size proved much greater than Gareth imagined. The cold receded the further Gareth and Asguard descended, chasing the chill away from his fingers and toes. Asguard began to pant.
They descended still deeper, and the strange geometries of lines and swirls etched upon the stone walls pulsated. The shifting beat was at first hardly noticeable. But the beating of those symbols' light grew more pronounced, until those runes swayed from glows of bright light that pained Gareth's eyes to weak illuminations that could hardly be noticed. Gareth thought such pulses made the earth appear to breathe, and the thought came to him that they neared some powerful heart of a slumbering giant whose blood they had inadvertently entered.
Gareth and Asguard reached the last curving, stone step and stepped through a low hall into a chamber illuminated by the pulsating lines and symbols shifting along the walls. Asguard made no noise, voiced no growl, betrayed no whimper. But Gareth saw Asguard's lips curl away from his teeth to show the full compliment of a war dog's teeth. Gareth saw how Asguard's hair stood straight upon the war dog's back.
Gareth looked in the direction of Asguard's stare and noticed still more steps leading downward at the far side of the chamber, where a green light rose from still more depths.
“What is it, Asguard?”
Asguard growled. Snarling, the war dog stepped forward to place himself between his master and that wide portal cut into the ground on the chamber's opposite side.
“You should not have disturbed this barrow.”
Gareth's heart raced at the sound of his brother's voice. His gray eyes widened as a shadow of a man shuffled up those steps and climbed into the chamber, the glow of so many symbols upon the walls illuminating the ghoul that rose to meet Stonebrook king and war dog.
“I would only have made you bow to me, brother.” The voice sounded too large, too distant to have come from that shuffling shape that entered the chamber and stole Gareth's breath. “You force my hand now. You force me to protect my sanctuary.”
Asguard's bark roared at the man who shuffled into the chamber. Gareth's mind reeled at the sight of what confronted him. Color appeared faded, bleached and sapped, from the hair and beard that grew in haggard tufts upon the man's face. The girth of muscle which Gareth once associated with the figure was absent, so that tatters of torn clothes hung from dried skin that accentuated the inner skeleton. From elbow to wrist, the flesh of the man's right arm was missing, exposing open bone and cartilage. Such a wound looked too terrible for any man to bear, and Gareth could not believe how the fingers of that right hand moved though so little muscle remained. On the left arm, Gareth recognized the bulb of scar tissue that he knew as a wound suffered upon the dog training field. The flesh of the left side of the face looked shredded away, so that an ivory skull grinned upon him.
Gareth stepped backwards. Asguard tensed, prepared to lunge and strike at the figure of dried flesh and bone who shuffled into the chamber's center.
“Does such a face disturb the dog king?” The figure laughed, exposing jawbone as teeth clattered in mockery. “Though the sight makes even you tremble, I doubt you fail to recognize it.”
Gareth would have accepted any reason to deny the identity of that which stood in front of him. But Gareth had known that man too well while he lived. The remains of none other than Ebon rose to face Gareth and his war dog. Markus sent a cruel blow upon Gareth by reanimating such a corpse to confront his brother, a corpse that squeezed Gareth's heart and froze his mind.
“Your dog found me, didn't he?” and it was Markus's voice that spoke from Ebon's remains. The necromancer's words remained crisp though no tongue remained in Ebon's mouth to shape them. “Old Ebon would've agreed that those dogs were the best company you ever knew, Gareth. They had so much more in common with you than did any of us brothers and sisters. I think you may have been right when you told me I should pay better attention to the mongrels. But I don't think it's too late for me to take advantage of the loyalty such dogs offer.”
A clattering din rose from the descending steps. Asguard barked in furor, the dog's discipline taxed to remain at his master's side. A dozen four-legged creatures of broken bone and molted fur bounded into the chamber. Gareth tasted bitter fear fill his mouth upon seeing how pieces of canine limbs and rib cages, of muzzles and of tales, had been sewn together through Markus's dark magics, so that mismatched joints and legs trotted awkwardly to the risen Ebon's side. Teeth, sharpened to points that no natural dog's maw held, snapped and clacked at Gareth. Asguard howled at the blasphemy of those risen war dogs.
Ebon's remains bellowed in laughter.
“You have to recognize the beauty of the dark, ancient magics,” Markus's voice hissed out from between Ebon's clacking jaws. “I can summon any of the dead to be my champion against the living, and my choices are limited only by my supply of bone. I can shape creatures of my own making from animal and man remains to face whatever confronts me. I reanimate the dusty dead and write the future with corpses of the past.”
Ebon's corpse arm rose, and on cue, the pack of undead war dogs jumped at dog king.
Asguard deflected the first skeletal dog that jumped towards Gareth's throat, meeting the undead animal in the air and rolling with it into a pile of snarling and clattering bones and fur.
The sudden attack cleared Gareth's mind in time for his arm to swing his ancient ax upon the second attacker that jumped at his left arm. The ancient weapon might have lost its keen edge, but it's form remained strong. The weapon's impact shattered the canine skeleton and sent bone shards clattering upon the chamber's stone floor.
Gareth put his back against the wall as the canine pack hesitated to reform. Gareth's eyes blazed. That undead pack lacked the training of his living dogs, and so they wasted time in deciding how best to press their attack. That gave Gareth hope while Ebon's corpse shook with Markus's laughter.
Asguard pulled himself out of the tumble holding the rival undead dog's rib cage in its bite, shaking the dead bones against the ground before leaping upon another skeletal dog on the risen pack's periphery. The undead dogs ripped their concentration away from Gareth and snapped at the bloody Asguard who tore at their ranks.
Gareth fell upon the bone pack before they could overcome Asguard. Gareth's unpracticed arm wielded his ax wildly at the dogs that circled him. He grunted as pain seared through the three fingers on his right hand as his weapon struck the undead. Gareth whirled, and his weakened hand failed to keep its grip as the weapon crashed against the wall. The ax tumbled across the chamber floor and left Gareth weaponless.
The bone dogs fell upon him. He kicked at those who snapped at his legs. He covered his throat with his forearms. He cringed as he felt the searing, shocking bites dig into him. Turning, he presented his back to another leaping, monstrous canine before the attacker could claw at the Stonebrook king's gray eyes.
Gareth could no longer see Asguard, but he heard his war dog's attacks against the bone pack. Asguard was too nimble for the mismatched, reanimated collections of canine parts. The undead dogs could not lock onto Asguard. Each of their bites found only air. The bone pack suddenly turned their attention back to Gareth. They ignored Asguard's attack
s. Gareth despaired. That behavior betrayed Markus's mind orchestrating those risen dogs.
Gareth's sight flashed in blinding light as a cudgel of bone struck the side of his head. Blood flowed from his mouth after his teeth snapped upon his tongue. Gareth twisted and reeled against the bone pack and Ebon's reanimated corpse. Markus's laugh bellowed from Ebon's jaw as what remained of the old dog trainer pursued Gareth. Gareth fought against the bone dogs at his legs, and his arms twisted a second before Ebon's corpse truck a second strike, deflecting the force of that blow away from his face, but numbing his strong, right arm so that he could not again raise the limb in defense.
Pain teared his eyes. His vision darkened. His torn legs trembled, and Gareth wavered towards the ground, where the bone pack waited to fall upon the intruder's tender throat.
At that moment before Gareth closed his eyes and resigned himself to a terrible fate, before he accepted whatever mercy or cruelty a necromantic brother might sentence to his bones, a cacophony of snarls, barks and growls erupted down the steps behind him. Gareth found a little strength more to wield against his attackers as shapes of fur and teeth flew past his shoulders and fell upon the dogs of bone that circled their dog king.
“Thank the Maker!” Gareth's spirit soared as he watched his black war dogs funnel into the subterranean chamber.
Asguard returned to his master's side as his pack brothers and sisters joined the fight. Asguard quickly ripped into the monster who yet clutched at Gareth's right elbow. Gareth twisted his left leg and offered the bone dog their locked below the knee to powerful, muscular Loki, who tore the reanimated creature's body from the head that refused to relinquish its grip upon Gareth's flesh.
“How badly are you hurt?” Wren's vermillion robes were suddenly at Gareth's side.
“I'll count new scars, but I'll heal,” Gareth answered.
Eldrich ran down the stone steps and joined Wren in helping Gareth to his feet. “They'll be honorable scars for the dog king.”
Gareth shook the pain from his head and lifted his old ax from the stone floor.
“Be alert,” Gareth's gray eyes blazed. “Markus has risen old Ebon's remains against me. Markus uses the cruelest of weapons against us.”
“We know,” Wren spoke.
Eldrich nodded. “The dogs surround Ebon's corpse.”
Gareth panted to catch his breath as he watched the black war dogs circle Ebon's corpse. Thorn issued a command, and Claw jumped at the throat of the shuffling remains that looked like the old dog trainer, but spoke with a dark brother's voice. Jorn strode beside Thorn and lifted his hand to release Scowl upon dead Ebon's legs. Claw and Scowl twisted and pulled. Their powerful maws tore Ebon's dry corpse into two pieces. The dogs did not tremble as torn, resurrected bits of fingers and limbs attempted to crawl back together. Instantly, the other war dogs fell upon the pieces, to rend and to tear until nothing remained that could be sewn back together.
Gareth scanned the chamber. The living pack had swept away all enemies. Bones no longer shuffled to grab at him. His war dogs and their handlers had saved their king,
Gareth raised an eyebrow at Wren and Eldrich. “Did your dogs track Markus's scent here as well?”
Wren grinned. “We didn't need the dogs to find you.”
Eldrich laughed. “We just followed your footprints in the gray snow. Even the fog couldn't hide where you're clumsy feet have tread.”
Gareth smiled. “Then I am lucky to have been born with such clubs for feet.” Gareth twisted his ax in his right hand and winced as Wren and Eldrich wrapped bandages around the wounds on his legs and arms. “I think Markus still waits for us deeper in this barrow. I know Asguard senses him. We still have to confront him.”
“Then we're behind you,” vowed Eldrich.
Wren raised a finger before Gareth could speak. “And we will ignore the command of any foolish king who thinks he might deny our company and are arms.”
Gareth's gray eyes glowed. “I'll deny no help. The fog threatens us all.”
Asguard bounded to Gareth's side and licked his master's three-fingered hand. The other dogs of the pack followed the mighty, black war dog's example and returned to their handlers. Gareth smiled. The reanimated, shuffling thing that had attacked him had not been Ebon. It had been only a shell. The Maker protected Ebon's soul, and the old dog trainer would be proud to see pack and man bond together against such dark, terrible magics.
“A little further,” Gareth commanded both dog and man. “We must descend a little more into this hollow earth.”
Not one animal or handler hesitated to follow their gray-eyed king.
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