The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) (6 page)

“Great, just what I needed to hear.”

As the three searched the confines of the room, a loud thundering voice crackled to life around them. Bridazak instinctively drew forth his bow, as did Dulgin with his battle axe. They scanned the area to try and pinpoint the threat.

“Who dares to enter my domain?” The deep voice bellowed.

Bridazak hesitated before speaking up, “I’m Bridazak and these are my friends. We seek an audience with The Great Oculus.”

The voice thundered once more, “Two Ordakians and a Dwarf, in a place they should not be. Many seek my voice, but find only fated death. What has brought you to the door of oblivion?”

“A mystery, one that came from my dream. We seek your help, oh Great One,” said the Ordakian.

“Show me what has turned from a dream into reality.”

Bridazak produced the ornate box in his small hands, and began to speak, “We don’t know what the writing—”

“Silence!” The ground shook under their feet. “I know what you seek, but you must answer my riddle. If you are correct, then I will reveal to you the meaning of this gift. If you fail, then you will be sent to the grave. There will be no rest inside the gates of the netherworld, your soul will thirst for death again for all eternity and generations forthcoming will never know you existed.”

“What about my friends?”

“You came here together as one accord and you will live or die in the same manner. Your riddle is this, little-one:

Rigid but born to perfection

I wonder who brought me my blissful conception

I am gazed upon by many lonely eyes

Standing there to be portrayed with lies

There are questions that surround me

Thinking, feeling, hearing, I can see

No movement comes from within

I am forsaken because I lack earthly skin

So true is my heart without a beat

Now I drink the rainwater, tasting bittersweet

Crafted by art in life’s forgiving hand

Brought from afar to this known fatherland

Trying to find the meaning of my existence

A voice comes here and there showing the eminence

The task performed in drought of the grandmaster

Born in stillness could have been my disaster

Braving the depth of a complex web

Weaved and woven in the delight of the ebb

Now and forever in eternal agony’s darkness

Never to move to touch, only to feel a sweet caress.

Of what do I speak?”

Dulgin contemplated the intricate riddle and then asked, “Can you repeat the saying once more?”

“You have until the end of the torch light you hold,” the creature responded. Silence overtook the room once again, interrupted only by the sound of the fountain splashing into the pool.

“Do something Bridazak, the torch has only a few minutes remaining.”

“I’m trying to think. Born. Emotions, no movement. I can’t recall everything it said. I wish I could see it.” The sounds in the room around him began to fade as the Ordakian strained to grasp something in his mind.

He saw the round rock sculpture illuminated with a soft light. His body felt raptured inside a somnolent vision. The outlined effigy slowly came alive, and the once-still representation of Oculus moved to face him. Then it suddenly ended, snapping him back into reality. The sounds of the room returned, Dulgin and Spilf were yelling at him to find out what was wrong. He could see the torch on its last chokes of breath.

“Bridazak, there is no time!” Spilf’s words echoed.

“The light—it was showing me the answer. That’s it. I’ve got it. Great One of the Deep, the answer to this riddle lies before me. It is a statue,” Bridazak’s words faded at the same time as the fire in his hand.

They waited in anticipation, not breathing, motionless. Uncertainty surrounded them. The pitch-black room seemed like a tomb.

“No one has ever answered this riddle, for it was created by the gods themselves.” A soft glow permeated the area as a beautiful human apparition appeared. She glided from inside the immense statue. Translucent, grey-colored, ghostlike clothing fluttered about. Her eyes emanated a hypnotic, dazzling blue light as she hovered gracefully before the group.

“You don’t have much time, as you are being tracked by mystics,”
she said without her lips moving. Her voice was powerful and soothing, and spoke within their minds.

“Why are we being tracked?” Bridazak asked, a puzzled look on his face.

“Listen to what I have to say. I am Kiratta, once the helper of mankind, but now forever condemned inside the creature you see before you. You must find the Lost Prophet inside the endless forest of Everwood, in order to set in motion all that must come.”

“What are you talking about? We don’t know about anyone in Everwood,” he responded, confused.

“Bridazak, you have been called. Now it is up to you to heed that call. Do not worry, little-one, it will unfold in due time.”

“But what is inside this thing?” He lifted the box toward her.

“To open this gift you will need to bare your heart to the One that has given it to you. Protect this gift at all costs, Bridazak.”
She paused and then continued,
“You will know you have found The Prophet when he says, ‘I will reveal my strength through weakness’.”

“What does that mean?” Bridazak questioned.

“It is part of the prophecy, but there is no time left to explain. Assassins have entered, and there is a mystic among them. He teleported inside my domain.”

“There is only one entrance, how do we get out of here?” Spilf questioned.

“There are many doors throughout Ruauck-El hidden from natural sight. Go to the town of Lonely Tear and follow the river against the current into Everwood.”
She twisted her arms in movements that mesmerized the group. Elegantly, she weaved her spell to completion. Behind the adventurers, natural sunlight poured out from a magical portal. They turned and shielded their eyes from the sudden brightness.

As she finished, twenty men wielding assorted weapons and wearing black studded armor entered, and skidded to a halt when they saw the monstrous statue. Their eyes refocused and spotted the heroes on the other side of the room. Then out from behind the soldiers came the feared mystic, adorned in blood-red robes with a wooden staff as twisted as himself, bearing a human skull with sapphire gems embedded in the eye sockets on top.

“And where do you think you’re going?” The thin, pale-faced human mage spoke confidently.

A large roar of rage echoed throughout the room and caused the magic wielder to redirect his attention toward the statue. The strange red liquid ceased to pour from the mouth, and the loud cracking of stone pierced everyone’s ears. The workmanship of rock fell away and smashed onto the floor, revealing a fleshy chitinous hide underneath. It was moving—coming to life—screaming in anger throughout the transformation. Kiratta was forcefully pulled back into the statue. Her brief time of freedom had come to an end. “Go!” she yelled. “Oculus awakens!”

“What dark magic is this?” the Dwarf asked.

A crossbow bolt whistled by their heads and ushered them back to the immediate threat. Several of the troops fired at the hideous creature, their ammunition bouncing off its natural armor harmlessly. A few others hugged the wall and started to make their way toward their exit. One of the assassins was instantly burned to ashes as an eyestalk of Oculus delivered a black ray that hit the warrior directly. Flashes of red, orange, and blue colors flared in the room as the ancient beholder of the deep unleashed her fury.

“Come on! We need to get out of here!” Spilf yelled over the screams and sounds of battle, pushing Bridazak and Dulgin to move forward. The Dwarf watched the mystic point his staff in their direction as his little friend moved them closer to the portal. A magical, dark bolt of force shot forth and the Dwarf’s instinct kicked in—time seemed to slow down as he moved to push Spilf and Bridazak out of the way of danger. The energy bolt struck him in the left side of his back as he shielded his friends. The smell of burning flesh was undeniable, and Dulgin fell forward to the ground. Bridazak and Spilf helped him to his feet, and they rushed the portal which had now started to fade away.

They jumped through together as a group. The brilliance engulfed them and a moment later they landed in the middle of a dirt road. It was daylight, and the surroundings showed no life except for some birds chirping in the distance. Sparse trees dotted rolling meadows in every direction. A cool breeze brought the smell of dried vegetation.

“Are you alright, Dulgin?” they asked.

“Yeah, of course. Just a scratch. Let’s move on,” he tried to lift himself up but quickly fell to the ground in pain.

Bridazak and Spilf inspected his wound by turning him over on his side. Small wisps of smoke wafted up from the hole that penetrated the armor, revealing a black sludge pouring out from the opening in his flesh. Spilf riffled through his pack and produced a vial with blue liquid inside.

“Our only one.” He uncorked it and then poured it directly on the wound. Dulgin lurched at first but settled in as the magic of the fluid produced its healing affects. His wound slowly closed and the black sludge dissipated. The Dwarf slowly turned over to lie flat on his back. Then he winked at them and smiled.

“Gold or not, you sure know how to show a Dwarf a good time.”

They all stood up on their feet and surveyed the land. Dulgin began to cough uncontrollably. Blood was on his hands after the fit was over.

“I think that mystic gave you a little more than an open gash in your side, my friend,” Bridazak stated with concern.

“Who were those people, and why are they after us?” Spilf asked.

“I don’t know, but they looked angry about something,” Bridazak responded.

“They were military, and that could only mean King Manasseh.” Dulgin coughed again.

“Good news is, I think they improved the look of your armor, my friend.”

They laughed and then began to walk down the road—a road that they had never been on before.

.

5

Lonely Tear

T
he sun beamed its last rays across the landscape, giving a golden hue to the terrain. There were no distinguishable landmarks, and the name of the town of Lonely Tear had never fallen on their ears before. Dulgin was still experiencing the hidden effects of the magic that the mystic unleashed into his body. He lumbered along with gritted teeth and concentrated on each step he took. The Ordakians watched him and gave periodic glances of concern to one another. Time was against them.

“Bridazak, how did you know the answer to that riddle?” the Dwarf winced as he tried to distract himself from the pain.

“It was strange. A light outlined the statue and then I felt an impression in my mind that I cannot explain.”

“Did Kiratta give you the answer?”

“No, it was more powerful, like a spirit directing me from wthin. Time stopped, and—I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“You were possessed by something?”

“No, not like that. It was an impression that welled up inside me.”

“It was the box, Bridazak.”

He looked at Spilf, surprised, but deep down he knew he was right.
What could he possibly be carrying?
Bridazak withdrew the impenetrable container, and a soothing warmth flowed through him as he grasped it once again.

Dulgin suddenly doubled over and grunted, jarring him from his thoughts.

“Are you alright?”

“I need to sit and rest. I will be fine.” He could feel a cold sensation running through his veins. In his stubbornness, he resisted to inform his comrades as they lowered him down onto a slightly inclined grassy slope along the dirt road.

“Bridazak, he needs a healer.”

“I know. I wish a caravan or someone would come along to let us know where we are.”

Bridazak and Spilf heard faint neighing from a horse behind them. They made eye contact, making sure they both heard what they thought they heard, and simultaneously turned around slowly. A caravan in the distance approached. Spilf looked at his friend and lifted an eyebrow, indicating the box his friend still held. Bridazak quickly tucked it away again, and they waited along the worn roadside for the oncoming group of merchants.

“Well met!” Bridazak yelled towards the first horse drawn wagon.

“Bugger off,” responded the man. “We don’t pick up stragglers!”

A thick cloud of dust enveloped them from the movement of the more than thirty wagons being pulled by horses in a single-file line. They covered their faces, coughing.

Within seconds a woman’s voice could barely be heard over the rumbling noise of the moving caravan. Her words fought through the tumbling of wheels and the thuds of hooves.

“Come, I’m over here!” her voice carried mysteriously.

Bridazak hustled to one of the slow-moving vehicles. He pushed aside the thick velvet draping to reveal the silhouette of a robed woman, confirming his instincts—he had found the right wagon. Inside, it was cozy and warm, but dark.

“Thank you and well met,” said Bridazak, helping his two comrades finish the climb inside.

“Where are ya headed?” Dulgin asked with grimaced face.

“The next town, I suppose,” replied the veiled woman.

“Why did you help us?” asked Spilf.

“I have my reasons,” she elusively responded as she lit a dangling oil lamp.

She threw off her hood and revealed her breathtaking face. Her complexion was impeccable and her red hair seemed almost on fire. Her eyes sparkled an orange hue, and an enchanting glow surrounded her face, soft and alluring.

He stuttered, “I’m Bridazak. This is Dulgin and Spilf.”

Dulgin was also captivated by her stunning appearance, but went into a coughing frenzy. He clutched at his heart; his legs spasmed and he fell hard against the wood framed wagon in excruciating pain.

“Oh my, you are hurt Dulgin,” she quickly pulled her leather gloves off and knelt at Dulgin’s side. Before the Ordakians could say or do anything, she closed her eyes and began to recite an unknown incantation, “Shel-ouck-noh-kah-thoom-kay-labra.”