The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) (31 page)

“That was my father’s axe!” He cried.

“When you see your father, tell him I said hello,” Manasseh mocked.

“You bastard!” Dulgin charged, weaponless.

The wicked enemy let the Dwarf grapple him with open arms. Spikes magically sprouted out from the armor. Dulgin was impaled. He fell backwards as the spikes retracted, making the sound like that of a weapon being pulled from a scabbard.

Xan caught Dulgin as he stumbled back. The Elf slid the dwarven fighter away from the battle zone.

A magical arrow sailed between the fighters that remained and slammed into the chest of King Manasseh. There was a loud explosion. Smoke engulfed everyone, and the smell of burnt metal intensified. Manasseh stepped through. He was still standing. His black armor had a gaping hole in the chest and they could see his charred skin underneath. Melted metal sizzled and vapors escaped around the edges.

“That hurt! You die next, Halfling!”

El’Korr and Rondee stepped in his way. Abawken flew in from behind him and slashed at the back of his neck. It was a good hit, but it still didn’t put him down.

“I grow tired of you, pests!” A caustic green mist began to come off of his armor.

“Acid!” El’Korr alerted the others.

Spilf tapped Bridazak on the shoulder to get his attention. He pointed to the bronze dragon flying in. Its head was enormous and it hovered before them.

“Climb on!”
Zeffeera said aloud inside their minds.

Spilf looked to his friend and waited. Bridazak pushed him to go first.

“Xan! Grab Dulgin. We need to get out of here.” The Elf was already carrying the Dwarf to the balcony.

El’Korr and Rondee continued to fight defensively, backing themselves toward the dragon.

The glow of the Tree pulsed as Manasseh pulled on its power. The bluish, hovering fog stretched throughout the cavernous chamber. A flash of the protective domed shield ignited as small rocks and dirt fell from above. The sound of the debris clacking amongst the rubble and bones echoed as they skipped and ricocheted.

From a crack in the ceiling, a single drop of blood fell. The Spirit of Truth descended upon the evil. A sizzle of intense heat resounded as it bore a hole in the shield, and the first drop struck the highest of the gnarled branches. Then another, and another. Blood oozed down the limbs and the roots began writhing within the ground. Faint and distant, a haunting shriek bellowed within the spindly frame. The smooth, dark wood of the trunk began to split and crack. The root system popped and snapped as it shriveled beneath the ground. The once mighty tree toppled over and fell down the steep incline of the pyramid it rested on. It’s aura slowly faded, the power severed, and soon the room was cast into utter darkness, silenced once and for all.

King Manasseh drove the dwarves further back with each of his powerful swipes. There was no way that they would escape together. Rondee stepped forward to try to push his assault away. El’Korr understood what his loyal friend was attempting to do, but he couldn’t abandon his sworn protector.

“Go, my Malehk!” Rondee yelled.

“We do this together,” he insisted.

They pressed in as a unit. Hammers swung with rage as they knew this would be their last fight. Weapons connected into Manasseh’s right leg. It caused him to fall to one knee.

“I knew you would bow to me, Manasseh,” El’Korr jabbed.

He roared back in anger and fought through the pain he suddenly felt in his leg as he stood. The dwarves noticed that his height had lowered.

“Coming down to our size, eh?” El’Korr taunted as he came in with another blow.

“Yit, yit, yit!” Rondee said in a high pitched voice. The Wild Dwarf grew taller and now matched the seven-foot frame of the diminishing human.

Another slash came from Abawken’s scimitar, but Manasseh quickly grabbed the fighter.

“I’ve had enough of you!” He tossed him out the closest balcony and then waved his hand to cast a spell that never came to fruition. There was a noticeable confused turn of his head within the dark helmet. Abawken quickly flew back into the room.

Another reduction in his size occurred and Manasseh was now back to his original height.

“What is happening?”
King Manasseh panicked. He began to feel pain inside his body, his right leg throbbed and the back of his neck stung as sweat and blood intermingled from that scimitar slash he had absorbed earlier. The sudden taste of blood inside his mouth intensified.

The dwarves delivered another punishing blow simultaneously, and the malevolent king fell onto his back. Manasseh bellowed in agony as his black armor and sword faded out of existence.

“He is losing his power!” El’Korr announced.

The dwarves both brought their weapons around for the kill, but relented when they noticed a pool of blood forming around Manasseh’s body. The former king’s eyes stared blankly as his vital fluid poured out from underneath. Slash marks suddenly materialized on his body, dark purple bruising in his flesh came to light, and then the sound of his breastbone cracked as his chest caved in. The wicked king was no more. The Elf broke them from their gaze of the gory aftermath.

“Hurry, get onto Zeffeera!” Xan yelled from the back of the dragon.

“Go!” The giant Rondee commanded as he pulled on his dwarven king. El’Korr relinquished his stubbornness and climbed aboard the dragon.

Troops suddenly emerged from the stairway chasing two individuals. It was Jack and his father, Ghent. A crossbow bolt stuck out of Ghent’s leg. His son was helping him hobble along.

“Jack! Over here!” Bridazak yelled.

It was an all-out hustle to get to the Ordakian, but three of the King’s men bent one knee, lined up their shots, and clicked the release trigger on their crossbows. Ghent suddenly positioned his back to protect his child and blocked the shots—all three bolts struck. He fell forward, but pushed Jack into Rondee’s arms.

“Dad!” the boy cried.

“Jack, go! I love you son,” he called in a strained voice before his head slowly sagged against the stone floor.

“No! Dad! Dad!” the boy wailed.

Manasseh’s body suddenly began to convulse on the floor, limbs contorting, and he sat straight up. He acted differently; his body moved stiffly, but it was his eyes that said it all. They were pearly black, with no pupils.

Bridazak felt a familiar chill tingle the back of his neck. He was certain of what his senses were alerting. “Get out of there!” he shouted. “It’s not Manasseh!”

Rondee quickly brought the struggling teenager to the dragon. Zeffeera began to lift away. The Wild Dwarf, still in his giant size, grabbed onto her leg.

More troops were coming up the stairway to the Tower. Abawken summoned an air elemental to keep them occupied and then flew after the others. He grabbed hold of the dragon’s other leg. They looked back to see King Manasseh, or what appeared to be him, on the balcony watching them fly away.

“This is far from over,”
the evil being said in each of their minds—the voice smooth and sinister.

“That was not Manasseh. Who was that?” El’Korr asked.

Bridazak paused, “Xan knows who it was, he told us about it.”

“I do?” the Elf was surprised. He paused for a moment, but turned white as he realized the only tale Bridazak could be referencing. He turned to the others, “That was the dark ruler of Kerrith Ravine.”

El’Korr snapped, “How do you know this, Xandahar?”

“That level of power—it had to be him. It is the only thing that makes sense. He was controlling the Tree and Manasseh, all along.”

The heroes sat dumbfounded as they soared over the scattered undead army remnants and soon caught up to their own men. Only four hundred of them had survived. The pursuing horde had fallen after the power of the Tree was severed and destroyed. The dwarves were now deep into the Desert of Guilt, a layer of ash and dust clung to their bloody armor and matted hair.

Zeffeera landed and everyone was reunited. There was a solemn exchange of good tidings; no cheers, just appreciation for survival. Their loss was heavy.

“You did well, Geetock, all of you did,” King El’Korr announced.

“Without Raina’s power and your successful mission of defeating the Tree, we wouldn’t have made it,” he responded.

“The Orb was destroyed before we could get it to the Tree. We are uncertain as to what happened.”

Bridazak stepped forward, “The Orb. It changed color.”

“I am not following you, what do you mean?”

“It changed from gold to red. I think it,” he turned his head away to compose himself. “It knew it was going to be destroyed.”

“But why? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, but—”

Xan cut Bridazak off, “We have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“Dulgin is not responding to any of my healing spells.”

“No,” Bridazak quickly rushed to his fallen friend.

The others gathered around with concerned looks. Dulgin had lost a lot of blood through multiple wounds.

“Is there nothing we can do?” El’Korr questioned Xan.

“I am at a loss. Perhaps being in close proximity to Kerrith Ravine has blocked any healing, but I can’t be sure.”

Bridazak no longer held back his tears and buried his face into Dulgin’s armored chest. “Don’t leave me Dulgin,” his voice cracked.

“I just got my brother back. Find a way, Xan!” El’Korr demanded.

“I have given him my most powerful healing spell, but still he is dying. I am sorry.”

Suddenly the Ordakian lurched in surprise and looked around at each of them.

“What is it, Bridazak?” Spilf asked.

“You didn’t hear him?”

Their puzzled looks answered him.

“The voice of God said ‘the Holy City’. That’s it! We need to get him there.”

“Bridazak, are you sure? I saw the Orb destroyed in a vision; I promise you it is no more.”

“I know his voice, and so do you El’Korr. You told me you recognized it when you heard it before. You have to trust me!”

El’Korr was hesitant, “The city has not been heard of for centuries, and Kerrith Ravine stands in our way.”

“I don’t care. I’m taking him there!” He turned toward the dragon, “Zeffeera, will you take us?”

“No one is able to fly over the Ravine, and the other side is blocked by a sheet of darkness. Some say it is a void. I can take you to the edge of the Ravine, but no further.”

“That’s good enough. Someone help me with Dulgin.”

Abawken and Spilf immediately responded to his request. Xan and El’Korr assisted in getting the Dwarf situated on top of the bronze creature. They finalized Dulgin’s position with Bridazak straddling the ridged spine, when Geetock suddenly shouted, pointing back toward the castle in the distance, “El’Korr, look!”

Everyone turned to see a huge, swirling funnel touch the ground. It whipped along, lifting the fallen bodies into the air. The twister was massive, and it appeared to be heading their way.

“There’s another one!” someone shouted to the right of them.

“Over here too!” came from their left.

These black twisters were each coming in to trap them, and the only direction they could travel was now toward Kerrith Ravine.

“Let’s move out!” El’Korr commanded.

Spilf and Abawken climbed aboard the dragon to join Bridazak and Dulgin.

“I’m staying with my army. May God help us all. Tell my brother that I am sorry,” El’Korr prepared to part. Xan approached him, but the dwarven king ushered him to leave, “You need to be with them. Save my brother. Now go!”

“C’mon Jack! You too!” Bridazak called down to the saddened and lost boy. He climbed and settled in behind the Ordakian.

Zeffeera jumped into the air; her powerful wings pushing them further and further away. El’Korr watched them depart. He was about to take his remaining army into their original goal, from centuries before. It was his destiny and it awaited him.

.

21

Kerrith Ravine

T
he vile god of darkness returned home to Kerrith Ravine. Manasseh had failed him, but there was no shortage of power-hungry humans willing to take his place. The problem was the Tree. Centuries he’d spent perverting the sacred relic, gone. The trophy he flaunted before his enemy in the heavens was now destroyed, and access to its darkness lost forever. He seethed in anger.