The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) (15 page)

He winced in pain as his senses returned, realizing he must have passed out, again. It was dark as night in the dungeon hole. He began the arduous task of attempting to learn the status of his own body. Blood dripped from his chin and he barely heard the sporadic splash as it hit the cold floor below him. His wrists and ankles were completely numb, which he was thankful for, as he remained suspended in the air by manacles chained to the wall. Uncertain if he was capable of wiggling his toes, he remembered his hair-patched feet and his head of hair being pulled out in clumps at his last torture session, bringing with it rips of skin, like weeds pulled from a garden. That brought on the nausea once again. His left eye was swollen shut, and his right ear had been chewed to pieces by one of the tormentor’s pet rats. His nose and several other bones were broken or shattered, and intense pulses of sharp pain periodically shot through his broken body.

Spilfer Teehle had seen better days. He hadn’t told them about the box with the strange writing that only Bridazak could understand. Keeping him alive long enough to give them all the information they needed was their goal, but he wished his last breath of life would leave his body. Enduring all the pain and long stretches of silence was beyond any Ordakian. He missed Bridazak, and even Dulgin’s dwarven tirades. Spilf’s split lip curled with a slight smile as he realized he even longed to be called ‘Stubby’ again. It seemed it would be a miracle if he got out of this one. They were wearing his will down. He was running out of hope.

Spilf was suddenly jostled. He could barely hear through his damaged eardrums; everything sounded so far away. His good eye fluttered open and shut, but he couldn’t assemble his wits enough to grasp just who was in front of him. One of his shackles came undone around his wrist, and half of his body slumped forward awkwardly, but was caught and balanced mid-swing. Another shackle released around his broken right ankle. He was being freed, but by whom? The person was saying something to him, but he only heard garbled sounds. Seconds later he was lying on the ground. He cracked open his eyelid and was blinded by torch light. He fought through the stinging pain as his eyes slowly worked to focus on the blurry form hovering over him. A liquid of some kind was poured over his face, and the healing began as the magic of the potion was released into his body. His vision cleared, and the once-deadened sound returned as his ears popped open to the voice of his best friend. It was Bridazak standing over him. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and reached up to grab his cheeks.

“Spilf! It’s me!”

“Bridazak! It’s really you. How?” Spilf coughed.

“We came to rescue you.”

“Where is Dulgin?”

“He is guarding the portal we need to go through.”

“I didn’t tell them anything, Bridazak.”

“It’s okay. Are you able to stand?”

“They broke my ankles. Do you have another healing potion?”

“I found the potion inside your cell. There was only one. What did they do to you, Spilf?”

“They asked so many questions.”

“What do they know about us?”

“They tracked us using the mystics, and they wanted to know who was helping you escape. They lost contact and were unable to scry your location several days ago.”

“I know.”

“Does that mean you opened it?”

“Not yet. What else do they know?”

“They kept asking me how you were blocking their magic, but I never told them about the box, or the prophecy.”

Bridazak paused, “That box is nothing but trouble. It is what caused this entire mess.”

“Don’t say that, Bridazak. They didn’t kill me, so it must be significant. Even after all of this, I still believe there is something important about it. It chose you, and you must find a way to open it. Remember, you are the only one who can decipher the writing.”

“I won’t do it unless I have you by my side.”

“Bridazak, Kiratta said to protect it at all cost. You shouldn’t have come.”

“It will be okay. Let’s try and get you out of here.”

Bridazak tried to lift Spilf up, but the dead weight of his body was too much for him.

“I will have to get Dulgin to help carry you out. I will be right back.”

“Can I see Lester and Ross? I miss them so much.”

“They are standing guard at the portal with Dulgin.”

Spilf’s body jolted to Bridazak’s strange response. His longtime friend suddenly let him drop to the floor, carelessly. Spilf watched as Bridazak transformed before his eyes into King Manasseh. His heart sank, and his last wisps of hope dwindled as he realized he had failed his friends and given his enemy all that he knew. Death was imminent. Soldiers entered the room; the sound of the dragging chains being gathered to shackle him echoed in his healed ears.

“I’m sorry, Bridazak,” he whispered.

“Thank you, Halfling. You have been very helpful,” King Manasseh spoke.

“You can’t stop him.”

“And what makes you think that? This box he possesses?”

“A day is coming when—”

“When what?” he chided.

“When people will speak of you no more and your kingdom will fall. I won’t rest, even in the afterlife, until that day comes.”

“We will see about that,” the puppet King said while walking out of the cell to leave Spilf trapped within his guilt.

Vevrin stood before his King once again. They were alone in the war chamber, on opposite ends of the large, wooden, central table. Several maps of the realms laid scattered across the top. The walls of the room were adorned with large tapestries, depicting past battles of King Manasseh’s victories, and he looked forward to adding more. Vibrant colors and masterful stitching told the tales of his conquests, but all that mattered in his mind was finding one-lowly-little Halfling.

Manasseh rolled out a map of his lands; sliding his hands and extending his arms to smooth it out, “Here is where we have seen and encountered this, ‘Bridazak’. There is no pattern, so it is a waste of time to try to strategize where he will appear next. Also, you are still unable to scry his location,” he accused, “so, we must entertain this prophecy that our captive mentioned. What do we know of a prophecy?”

“It is fragmented, cryptic and not tracked by any of our historians; it’s more story and myth than a recorded or known prophecy, my King. The stories now seem all but forgotten.”

“Well, I suggest you start remembering these stories, because somewhere in them we will find the halfling and his destination.”

“It revolves around The Holy City, the ancient city lost to Kerrith Ravine. No one has ever seen the city since it was separated, five hundred years ago, from the rest of the realm. Some even say that the city is pure myth and never existed, though we do have sparse writings and occasionally the rare, long-living creature that gives testimony to it.”

“Perhaps this place has something to do with where he is going. But, how will he get through Kerrith Ravine? I think our scope is too grand; we need to simplify our search. The halflings are friends—good friends. I believe I know how to bring out our missing Ordakian. It’s an old method, but highly effective when dealing with people who have a heart.”

Vevrin understood what he wanted, “I will have riders set to go before the day’s end.”

“I want to see something within an hour. There is no time to waste, as I don’t know what I’m racing against, exactly.”

His longest serving mystic saw another opportunity to pet his master’s ego, “Your intelligence and wisdom are great, my Lord.”

Manasseh leaned back with steepled hands under his chin, “Vevrin, I can feel another addition of a tapestry to my wall forthcoming. Don’t you think? Once we have captured this Halfling, we will be launching our offensive against the Eastern Horn King, but in order for that to take place, I need you to make this happen. Do not fail me again. Continue your research into this prophecy, and go as far as necessary, even if you have to reach out to your brother in the West.”

Vevrin cooly glanced at Manasseh’s countenance at the mention of his sibling, and checked his own before replying, “As you wish. Would you like me to dispatch the prisoner, since he has given us the information we needed?”

“Dispatch? That is such a clean word, Vevrin. I like, ‘maimed till he goes insane,’ or, drain his blood for the dogs, or even leave him to be eaten to death by rats.” A dark thought washed over the King’s face and then he continued, “No, let’s keep him alive for the time being. You may go.”

The King sat down at the head of the table, put his left hand to his cleanshaven chin, and pondered the situation. He had intentionally withheld the mention of the mysterious container that was in Bridazak’s possession, and possibly the key ingredient in blocking the magic of his mystics. Such power must be his. He retrieved the necklace gifted to him from the demon god, and gazed into the swirling smoke trapped inside the crystal shard; the same medallion used to transmit his team to the dilapidated temple in Everwood.

“You are after this box, aren’t you?” he whispered into the empty room. “What is inside, I wonder?”

The thuds of a galloping horse increased. A single rider thundered down the lonely dirt road. He pulled on the reigns, and the steed snorted as it slid up to the wooden pole informing weary travelers of the miles marked to the town of Gathford. The young soldier yanked free a wanted poster to make room for the new announcement. The older parchment swayed to the ground and the ugly face of a cocky gnome was quickly saturated with muddy water.
Trillius, also known as Silly Samuel,
was now replaced. The new posting showed a sketch of an Ordakian, his name, description, and known accomplices. There was another drawing at the bottom, depicting the one they had captured. Bridazak’s face was being plastered across the land on every wooden post possible. Once the misfit leader saw that his friend Spilf was alive, he would come out of hiding. The largest sum of gold ever offered adorned the page: 5,000 gold pieces. This would surely awaken the dregs of the land in an all-out search for the soon-to-be infa-mous Bridazak.

.

11

Lost and Found

A
s the sun descended behind the ominous mountain range, the heroes recognized their location. The Moonrock Mountains were legendary in their own right, as this range of glowing rock was visible in any direction from miles away. The natural phenomenon illuminated the valley, and made evening travel commonplace in this channel of land. The mountains absorbed the sunlight and then transformed it into an amazing radiance of soft moonlight. This also brought unique creatures out at night, and the adventurers could hear the rumbling of rocks crashing into each other in the distance, the occasional roar in declaration of territory, and scuffling through the brush and rubble nearby.

They decided to hunker down between two larger sandstones in a cluster of earth-toned rock, in hopes of concealing themselves. Thankfully, the night had passed uneventfully in this strange valley, the temple portal’s destination. The sunlight finally revealed itself, alighting a rather still, quiet morning—no birds, no insects, just their own voices and the melodically trickling stream moving through the rock bed. They ate their dried rations and packed up their gear once again, to continue their journey. Further down the valley they encountered clusters of trees, which grew thicker the deeper they went. They were still many miles away from the greenery, and they estimated it would take a day to reach, as the terrain was not easy to navigate.