Mythica:
Genesis
Scott S.
COLLEY
Krullstone Publishing, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Scott S. Colley
All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Krullstone Publishing, LLC, Springville, Alabama.
www.krullstonepublishing.com
www.worldofmythica.com
www.scottscolley.com
Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
ISBN: 978-0-9833237-0-9
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
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For Neslihan:
My life, my love, my inspiration,
and the one who makes every day worth living
And for Daddy Woe Ivey,
whose seemingly inconsequential decision over 50 years ago has been instrumental in making a dream come true
Prologue
IN LEGENDS AND myths handed down through hundreds of generations, it is said that long ago, thousands of years before the world took its current shape, Man ruled the earth. Dozens of kingdoms and countries spanned the entire globe, each with its own culture and customs. Dominated by sciences far advanced beyond anything this world knows, the Old World was characterized by massive structures of iron and stone that reached into the sky, carriages made of steel driven by strange energies, even flying machines that men used to sail the heavens. The magic that permeates our societies today was non-existent in the world of old.
Sadly, despite all their wondrous creations and immense knowledge, mankind could not cure the eons-old ailments of greed and desire. Poverty, famine, war, and oppression were always present in the world of Men. Consumed by the need to elevate themselves above those around them, the stronger repressed the weaker, using any means necessary to appear superior to their neighbors. Kingdoms employed spying, disruption, and other disreputable tactics to give them power over others, while individuals resorted to deception, corruption, even violence to put themselves on top. Mankind engaged its vast knowledge to create horrifying diseases and weapons of unimaginable power for use against his enemies.
Eventually mankind’s unchecked growth exhausted the earth’s natural resources, resulting in mass poverty and the collapse of entire empires. Revolts began in the cities as the oppressed rose up against their oppressors, giving strength to the weak and cause to the disillusioned. Larger kingdoms mobilized their technologically superior armies to invade smaller territories under the false pretense of restoring order. The concept of peace through mutually assured destruction crumbled under the irrepressible lust for power and wealth. The fear of global war became reality when those in power ruled out dialogue for peace in favor of striking first against potential antagonists. Terrifying weapons of mass destruction were unleashed upon the earth, ravaging the environment and its inhabitants. Fire rained from the sky, obliterating whole civilizations in the blink of an eye, while unstoppable diseases decimated populations, heralding the end of mankind’s reign over the earth.
With the destruction of mankind’s vast empires and the subsequent collapse of the environment, Nature’s fury was unleashed. Countless species were driven to extinction during the ensuing period of chaos as vicious storms raged across the world, and massive earthquakes tore apart the land, forever changing its face. Unnatural winter plunged the planet into a new Ice Age, and a lasting darkness fell upon the land, which the sun could not penetrate for a thousand years. Yet Life always finds a way to survive. When the storms ceased and the sun’s warmth returned to melt the ice, small pockets of life began to re-emerge from hiding.
In the five thousand years that followed the great holocaust known as the Lost Age, life slowly recovered from near extinction. Mankind, reduced to a primitive existence, found itself competing with many new races and creatures for survival. Beings such as Elves, Dwarves, Trolls, Faeries, Giants, and a plethora of others, many of whom were long thought to be confined to dreams and nightmares, began to appear and carve their own niches in the new world. With their old knowledge nearly completely forgotten, Men found that they were no longer the dominant power in the world. Lost in a dark time where everything but the basic means of survival had disappeared, most of the races wandered the land in primitive clans or tribes. Fighting amongst each other for land and food introduced an era of slaughter and bloodshed, which gave birth to extreme hostility between many of the races. This age-old hatred led to countless wars and senseless conflicts.
When the Ice Age ended and the earth began to recover from the damage inflicted upon it, Valin Icarus, the leader of the largest tribe of humans, founded the city of Caer Dorn in an attempt to unite the human race and ensure its continued existence. Separated from the other races, mankind’s new stronghold grew quickly and expanded. Men from all across the land flocked to this new kingdom — called Valinar after its founder — seeking a safe haven from the perils of the harsh environment of the new world.
Near the end of the Lost Age magic was rediscovered, and its use became commonplace within just a few generations. This mystical power, based on the inherent energy contained within all life and indeed the very earth, became a useful tool for the races that helped them climb from the quagmire of barbarism and enter a new era of discovery and advancement. At the peak of its power, Valinar was the most prosperous and learned empire in the world. Their schools of thought and sorcery rivaled even those of the Elves and brought many new advances in science and the arts.
However, a gifted young sorcerer known as Asaru grew greedy for knowledge beyond what the universities could offer. He delved into the dark arts, seeking the secrets of ultimate power, performing forbidden experiments and rituals in secrecy. When the Council of Mages discovered this, Asaru was banned from their halls and exiled into the wilderness. Within the barren wastelands he found an ancient place of great mystical power, a nexus of the magical currents that crisscross the world. There Asaru continued his quest for power in solitude. In his hidden study in the wilderness, he mastered the black art of necromancy and discovered how to reanimate and control the corpses of the dead.
Driven insane by his years of isolation and consumed with hatred of the Valinarians, Asaru began a campaign to obliterate their empire, now known as the War of the Dead. Though discouraged and demoralized by the massive, grotesque armies commanded by Asaru, the Valinarians fought courageously, thwarting annihilation for over sixty years. Yet despite their bravery and valor, one by one their citadels fell, while their fallen comrades rose again to fight against them. In the end the mighty armies of Valinar were defeated; Asaru’s unholy minions slaughtered her horror-stricken citizens while the cities burned to the ground.
Today very little of Valinar remains, except for the few scattered ruins of crumbling castles and decaying buildings, most of them haunted by evil spirits or prowled by undead. Without military support and other aid from the homeland, most of Valinar’s colonies also fell into ruination, abandoned by their peoples. All hope was not lost, however, for as the country collapsed, survivors flocked to the safety of Illendale. Settled almost a hundred years before the war began and far from the troubles of the Old World, it was a veritable paradise.
More recently, due to the influence of Queen Cailyn of House Emory, relations with other amicable nations have begun in an effort to stimulate the healing of the land and maintain a peaceful environment for all who reside within it. Despite centuries of raids and incursions from the violent Orcs to the south and other invaders, the people of Illendale have prospered and thus far have been able to live in relative peace.
Until now.
I New Arrivals
A LIGHT WIND swept across the forested hills of the Durgen Range as the distant sun burned brightly in the noonday sky. It was a cool day in late fall, and as the breeze whistled through the trees and the bare branches rattled against each other, it seemed the land itself was lamenting the loss of summer. Although the thin wisps of white clouds drifting through the atmosphere did not block the sun’s light, its rays offered no warmth on this day.
Kairayn tightened his cloak about him, trying to ward off the chill. He was lost in thought, riding at the head of his caravan, weary of the long march that lay behind them and of the road that yet lay ahead. With his dark brown topknot flying in the wind, clad in black studded leather armor, weapons strapped all over his body, he was a truly fearsome sight, like the Horseman War come to claim men’s souls. From his saddle on small chains hung various skulls and bones, trophies of his conquest and glory on the battlefield. Kairayn was the Grand Slavemaster, responsible for the capture, re-education, and keeping of all the slaves in the service of the Orc mages. He was a remorseless Orc, feeling neither pity for those he enslaved nor for those negatively affected by his dark trade. To his mind those he pressed into the Orcs’ service were lesser beings and were rightfully bound to offer up their lives to their superiors. In his opinion they served a greater purpose than whatever meaningless endeavors they might pursue if given the choice.
He was in a foul mood today, in some small part due to the irritation suffered by the long road he must travel, but mostly his mind was filled with a sense of foreboding. A dark cloud had hung about him since his troop had set out from Grimknoll nearly a month earlier under orders from the High Summoner. Raids for fresh slave stock were not uncommon but highly unusual this late in the season. For this reason he was deeply disturbed. He did not care to learn what dark secrets the Druhedar kept or what plot they were involved in now, but a nagging premonition told him black days were in store for his people.
Now the journey was nearly over.
Kairayn glanced over his shoulder to glare at the iron-barred cages atop the wagons creaking along slowly. He felt his anger rise a notch as he pondered the significance of the Simoril slaves held within. The stupid, brutish ape-men had made excellent slave stock for the Orcs for nearly three hundred years, but he had to disbelieve that this group of women and children were even remotely as valuable as the two dozen good warriors who had been sacrificed to capture them. His journey had gone from irritable to dreadful when snows had blocked the mountain passes, and they were forced to travel south through the Kalshiru Veldt and the Centaurs that claimed them as home.
No hatred was spared between Orc and Centaur, and when the horsemen had ambushed them on the open plains, the battle had been vicious and bloody. Kairayn’s anger slipped another notch as the memory replayed in his mind. There would be no revenge for the warriors he had lost. All he had to show for the loss was a handful of useless beings who were hardly worth the trouble. He ground his teeth to drown out the wrath that threatened to break free. There had better be a good reason for all this.
Slowly but surely, Kairayn could see the dark battlements of Grimknoll looming on the horizon grow larger. He could finally be free of this wasteful expedition. He could see a trail of dust extending from the main gate toward his caravan, no doubt an escort of riders to guide them home. It was unnecessary, of course, but it was traditional courtesy to meet and accompany returning warriors on the final leg of their journey.
There were five riders, dressed in the ringmail and midnight blue of the Nightwatch, the protectors of the Druhedar and their keep. They approached at a quick trot, two abreast with their captain at the head of their small column. At about fifty paces they reined in their stallions and stood waiting at attention for the caravan to meet them.
“Hail and well met, Slavemaster,” spoke the captain when Kairayn had closed the distance between them. His cloak billowed lightly in the breeze as his hard, yellow eyes fixed on the Slavemaster. His face and hands were crisscrossed with numerous scars, a testament to the captain’s many years in the service of the Druhedar. “I trust you have returned with honor.”
Kairayn returned the sizable Orc’s stare with an icy gaze of his own. The captain did not care about Kairayn’s honor; he was really asking if his expedition had been successful without insulting him. “Well met, Captain. I have kept my honor, and many of my warriors gave their lives to ensure it.”
“They shall be honored as heroes as our custom dictates they must be.” He raised one fist to his chest and thumped it loudly, paying tribute to the fallen warriors. “For now let us escort you to the keep, where fresh food and drink await you. The High Summoner is anxious for your report. He awaits your arrival at the main gate.”
“Very well,” replied Kairayn. “You stay here and escort the caravan. I will ride ahead and meet the High Summoner.”
Not waiting for a response, he spurred his horse onward. He was weary, hungry, and aching from the long pressed march and eagerly looked forward to some warm food and a good bottle of ale. The sun had passed its zenith, gradually descending upon the horizon and casting long shadows across his path.
“Grubbash can deal with the slaves when they arrive at the gate,” Kairayn thought out loud. “I have nothing more to do with this; they are his problem now.”
Grimknoll loomed dark and mysterious, towering over him. The fortress of the Druhedar was constructed entirely of gray granite, giving it a dull and gloomy look. Kairayn thought it an apt image considering what went on within those walls. Its hexagonal shape rose nearly one hundred and fifty feet into the sky, topped by several small spires. Except for a few carved into the solid stone of the higher towers, there were no windows. The huge gate served as the only entrance and was made of iron-studded oak timbers three feet thick. The door was recessed into the building far enough to fit a single wagon inside the entryway without opening the door. An iron portcullis could be lowered from the ceiling along the outer wall, either to trap attackers or to prevent those inside from fleeing.
Thirty years ago they had constructed this hold on the orders of Grubbash Grimvisage, the High Summoner and master of the Druhedar. His desire had been to separate his sect from the chaos and constant infighting that plagued the loosely associated jumble of city-states and villages that comprised the Orc lands. Safe in their stronghold, far from prying eyes, they could continue their quest for arcane knowledge in peace and be left to their own devices. Until recently, the Druhedar had been content to work in the shadows, quietly prompting and guiding, always deep in some plot to increase their power that only they were aware of. With Grubbash’s power building and a strong following behind him, he had begun to openly incite war and preach Orc superiority.
Preoccupied with the constant warfare between city-states, the Orcs remained ever divided, and Grubbash’s rhetoric faded into the shadows. They were up to something, Kairayn knew, but what he could not tell. He was only sure that he did not wish to be on the receiving end when Grubbash’s latest plot was revealed.
As Kairayn approached the gate he could see the High Summoner waiting, surveying the land about him as though he had not a care in the world. As he strode up, Grubbash turned and waited patiently for Kairayn to join him.
Grubbash was short for an Orc, standing less than six feet tall, but his harsh countenance made up for this lack. He was bald, as most Orcs were, his right canine tooth sheared off neatly, and he had a large pinkish scar running down the right side of his face from the top of his rounded forehead to his chin, which made an unpleasant contrast to the greenish tone of his skin. His stormy gray eyes had a way of locking on to people, transfixing them with his piercing stare. He was well muscled, as far as mages went, but that was pretty hard to tell beneath the black robes the Druhedar always wore. His smile was as mirthless as his laugh, and both caused those around him to squirm uneasily, probably because he only smiled or laughed when a truly diabolical thought crossed his mind. Grubbash was a prodigy, gifted in the ways of sorcery and equally adept at swaying the minds of those around him. He had apprenticed to the most talented of mages, and when his master died conducting a dangerous ritual, he had declared himself High Summoner and founded the Druhedar order. Some believed that his mentor’s death was not accidental at all, which wasn’t far from the truth, but none dared to directly challenge a sorcerer of Grubbash’s power. He had been swift in uniting the various mage guilds under his banner, eliminating those who opposed him and having Grimknoll constructed as the Druhedar’s headquarters.
“Greb dokreg nar, Slavemaster,” Grubbash greeted in their traditional tongue.
“Egrob du, Summoner,” Kairayn replied as he reigned in his steed and dismounted. “Naggash akmal grek.”
“How was your journey? Were you able to procure what I requested?” There was a glimmer of expectation in his eyes.
“I don’t understand why you ordered this expedition, Grubbash, especially so late in the season. Heavy snows blocked the pass behind us, and we were forced to take the long route.” A hint of frustration and anger was in Kairayn’s voice now; he could not hide his disdain for the Summoner’s apparent lack of foresight. “It hardly seems worth the lives of two dozen good warriors for a handful of slaves; women and children aren’t of much use as manual labor either.”
“I sense your anger, Kairayn,” Grubbash soothed, “and believe me, they are worth the sacrifice. Tell me what happened.”
“Ambushed, by Centaurs on the open plains. They rode in from the east at dawn. We did not even hear them coming until it was too late. We were able to save your precious cargo, however. We captured about thirty of them in the highlands.” Kairayn spat the words as though they were poison.
“You have served your people well, Kairayn. I should like to inspect your catch as soon as possible.”
“Do you care nothing for the lives of our warriors?” Kairayn was livid with anger, his jaw set and his fists clenched. “You wasted the lives of my Orcs! You sent us on a fool’s errand to capture worthless prey at the worst time. My Orcs died for nothing!”
“Calm yourself, Slavemaster.” There was warning in his tone, hinting that a dangerous line was about to be crossed.
“I do not fear your magic any more than you fear my blade,” Kairayn replied simply, resting his hand on the pommel of the scimitar at his waist, “and your lack of respect for the lives of my Orcs disturbs me.”
“Peace, Kairayn! There is no need for violence between us. Your warriors’ deaths were not in vain, and what you have brought back with you is not worthless. Come with me, and I will explain to you the significance of my request.” With that he turned and walked toward the open gate, strolling deliberately away without looking back to see if Kairayn was following.
Kairayn felt suddenly wary. Seldom indeed was anyone allowed to enter the Druhedar keep. He had no desire to enter into this place, especially after just losing his temper with the High Summoner. He had very nearly provoked Grubbash into combat, and perhaps the sorcerer had not quite brushed off the encounter as casually as it seemed.
Grubbash was within a few strides of the entrance when he stopped to wait patiently for Kairayn to catch up. Kairayn sighed heavily, forcing down his trepidation to trudge wearily toward the yawning opening. He doubted the sorcerer meant to harm him despite his insubordination, but he could not help but dread what lay waiting inside this place for him. Dark secrets were kept within, secrets Kairayn felt were better left to those who cherished them.
When he arrived at the outer gate, Grubbash turned and walked inside without saying a word. Kairayn followed a step behind, matching his pace. They passed beneath the portcullis and approached the giant wooden doors of the inner gates. The doors were banded horizontally with steel, and each had a large ring attached about chest level. They were obviously too heavy for the rings to serve any purpose other than decoration; it would take twenty Orcs just to pull one of them open. They waited for a few seconds before the low rumble of machinery rose from within the keep. Slowly the doors opened outward, just enough to allow them access.
The two quickly stepped inside to a large round chamber. With a loud groan the doors closed behind them, and the sound of locks clicking into place echoed across the room. Kairayn’s gaze swept the room, seeing for the first time the inner sanctum of the Druhedar. The ceiling was high above them, perhaps the height of three or four Orcs, and was braced by huge wooden beams the size of trees. The beams were evenly spaced about the outer wall of the chamber and rose all the way to the domed ceiling where they jutted toward the middle of the room, joining in the center like the legs of a spider. Intricately crafted and gilded sconces that basked the room in flickering yellow light were spread about. Banners adorned with the seal of the Druhedar hung from the walls in places, as well as fine woven tapestries and murals. A few piles of wooden crates were stacked in the center of the room atop a giant flaming crescent carved into the rough stone floor, the standard of the Druhedar. Dead silence filled the hall; even the handful of Initiates skittering around, hurrying off to some important task or hauling the crates to storage rooms, made little noise other than a faint rustling of robes.
A half a dozen doors around the perimeter led to the other areas within the keep, but all stood closed. Grubbash silently walked toward the door directly across the room with Kairayn in tow. The Summoner stopped briefly and whispered something inaudible into an Initiate’s ear, who quickly scurried away and disappeared behind one of the doors. Kairayn thought that the great hall felt more like a tomb than anything else.
“Very few outside the order enter these walls,” Grubbash said softly to Kairayn. “Stay close to me and do not stray; intruders are not well received here.”
Kairayn wanted to demand why he had been allowed entrance, but Grubbash was already moving away, a wraith at home in his haunt. Kairayn followed quickly, feeling largely out of place and overwhelmed. He should not be here.
When they reached the door at the back of the hall, Grubbash halted. He reached out with his hands and felt along the stone wall adjacent to the door until he found the hidden trigger that would unlock it. With a loud snap the locks released, and the door swung open, revealing a flight of stairs spiraling down into blackness. A rush of stale air greeted them, strong with the odor of earth and stone. The two companions slipped inside, and Grubbash shut the door behind them. The small landing was plunged into utter darkness, and once again Kairayn heard the familiar sound of locks sliding into place.
Kairayn waited calmly in the dark for Grubbash to light a torch, suppressing the sudden surge of vulnerability he felt as the weight of the keep settled upon him. Abruptly, a flash of green light filled the chamber. A small globe of luminescent energy hovered above the sorcerer’s outstretched palm, surrounding the two in a halo of light just large enough to see the beginning of the flight of stairs ahead of them, three strides at most.
Obviously the Druhedar had planned against unwelcome guests; depriving them of torches would require a mage to escort them through the pitch black.
Grubbash gave him a mirthless smile and moved to the first stair. The orb of green light floated ahead of them as they began to descend the seemingly endless flight of steps. Soon Kairayn lost his sense of direction entirely, the constant downward helix confusing his internal compass. He noticed the walls and steps changed suddenly from mortar and stone to a crude tunnel carved straight out of the bedrock. With every stride Kairayn felt despair welling within him, an unsettling aura of gloom gathering around and stifling his breath.
“You’re sweating. Relax, Kairayn; there is nothing to fear here.” Grubbash’s sudden words startled Kairayn, causing him to jump and almost lose his footing on the steps. “Just take a deep breath,” he spoke again, “and count to ten.”
Kairayn did so, placing his hands against the walls. Instantly he felt better, calmer. He took a moment to steady himself and then continued on down the steps. Grubbash walked alongside him, hands folded neatly in front of him. The sphere of green light drifted through the air a few paces ahead, still lighting their way. Kairayn wondered how far down in the earth they had gone now and how far the complex stretched beneath the surface.
“I am surprised that you feel so uncomfortable underground; your ancestors were not so inclined,” Grubbash said suddenly.
“My ancestors?” Kairayn asked, confused. “Orcs have always lived here in the Durgen Range, always above ground.”
“More than four thousand years ago, when mankind still ruled the earth, Orcs did not exist. In fact, none of the races existed, excepting of course Men and Elves,” Grubbash lectured.
“The Elves?” Kairayn gave him an incredulous look.
“Listen and learn, my friend.” Grubbash gave him a knowing smile. “The Elves have always been there, although not quite in their current form, even before Men. It is believed the Elves are the eldest of all the races, created first by the Gods under an accord to care for the earth. They were charged with preserving the planet and its beauty. They survived mankind’s domination of the globe, hidden in the shadows, though they could not prevent the destruction Men wrought upon the land. They have survived the Great Holocaust and re-established themselves in the New World.
“Little more than three thousand years ago, when the Ice Age ended and the earth began to recover from the foolishness of Men, the new races began to emerge. Among them were our cousins, the Goblins. They dwelled primarily within caverns carved into the mountains, as they still do. It is unknown exactly how they got there or where their ancestry traces back to; no records exist of where they came from.
“Two thousand five hundred years ago one clan of Goblins, ostracized by the others due to their unusual strength and large stature, elected to abandon their subterranean lairs and claim lands of their own. Led by Krulag the Mad, they migrated here to the Durgen Range.”
“I know the rest of the story. Is there a point behind this history lesson, Grubbash? I never cared much for book learning.” Kairayn was growing impatient. The Summoner had brought him into the annals of the stronghold for a reason; now he just wanted Grubbash to get to the point and release him.
As Kairayn spoke, they reached the bottom of the flight of stairs. Still there were no torches or sconces to light their way, only a dark tunnel ahead of them, yawning open like the hungry maw of some giant beast eager to swallow them up. Grubbash ignored his question and led him several hundred paces to a junction. Two passages led to either side, both equally dark and uninviting.
“This way.” Grubbash motioned him to the left.
They resumed their march once again, passing several wooden doors until they came to another junction. This time the tunnels went off in three directions; one lay straight ahead, while the others jutted off at right angles. Grubbash took him left again, and they walked for about a hundred paces before they came to yet another junction of halls. They turned down the path to the right. As they walked on, Kairayn noticed the steady trickle of water echoing off the walls, issuing forth from somewhere in the black.
“While excavating these passages we came across a vast underground lake,” Grubbash said as though reading Kairayn’s thoughts. “It is fed by an underground river that flows right out of the Serpentspine. We use it as a source of water; it helps us remain independent of the outside world.”
“The Druhedar have already separated themselves from the rest of society. Any more independence and you will have to create your own kingdom,” Kairayn muttered sarcastically.
“Our separation is necessary to maintain an objective stance as the advisors and scholars of our society. The Overlords have a way of pulling everyone into their politics,” Grubbash replied coolly. He stopped in front of an inconspicuous door constructed of vertical black oak planks bound together with iron. The portal was overgrown with moss in some places, its hinges rusted. The apparent disuse caused the door to blend in with the rock around it, making it almost unnoticeable; one could walk right past it and never know it was there.
“We are here,” he said, as he touched a hidden latch on the wall next to the door.
The door swung open noiselessly, and the two entered a small chamber. The ceiling was a bit higher than the tunnels outside, and the walls were lined with shelves stacked with tomes and rolls of parchment. In the center of the room was a wooden table that had several open books and scrolls spread across it. Two uncomfortable looking chairs sat next to the table, and candelabras stood unlit upon stands in the corners. A small side table held a large bottle with a pair of clay mugs, as well as a plate with half a loaf of bread and some cheese on it.
“Please sit.” Grubbash motioned to the pair of chairs. “We have much to discuss.”
As Kairayn lowered himself into a chair, Grubbash uttered a few arcane words and motioned toward the candelabras. Abruptly they burst into flame, and light sprang into the room. Grubbash waved a hand, and the green sphere disappeared in a burst of smoke.
“Drink?” Grubbash asked, as he walked over to the small side table. “You must be exhausted from your long journey.”
Kairayn nodded his head while glancing about the room. Grubbash returned and placed a mug full of ale in front of Kairayn, as well as one for himself before taking the seat across the table. He eyed Kairayn for a few moments before he spoke again, as if trying to divine his thoughts.
“Krulag the Mad,” he continued his lecture in a hushed tone, “kept a record of his experiences when his tribe arrived here. According to his notes, while exploring the wilderness he came upon an ancient site, two cylindrical towers made of fused stone. When he entered the towers, he was incapacitated by an unknown force, made blind and unable to walk. His skin began to blister, and he fell to the ground, awaiting death. It was then that the prophecy was made. Visions of our ultimate victory over the other races and our continued dominance throughout the ages coursed like fire through his veins, burning forever the truth of our existence into his brain. Terrified by what he was experiencing, he crawled away. Hours later, a search party from his tribe’s encampment found him unconscious upon a hillock overlooking the area. As they carried his body back to their camp, the party claims an unimaginably powerful explosion destroyed the whole site.
“According to his journal, Krulag was bedridden for weeks, trying to recover from the episode. He drifted in and out of consciousness, suffering from intense hallucinations. During this time his body began to change. He grew larger, his muscle mass increased, and eventually he became the original model of Orc anatomy. When Krulag fully recovered, he packed up his tribe and led them back to the site. There he ordered the construction of their new home, the same place where Agrothar now stands.” Grubbash had walked over to the side table and taken the bread. He bit into the loaf and tore off a large piece, chewing loudly.
“The rest of the tribe began to transform soon after they settled,” he progressed while striding back to his seat, “and within several generations Orcs as we are today came into being.”
“You believe the ramblings of a madman dead for two thousand years? That is the basis for your belief in our supremacy?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Grubbash pushed an open book towards Kairayn that appeared as ancient as the earth itself. “This is Krulag’s journal; there is much more than what I have told you contained within it.” Grubbash reached for his mug and raised it to his lips. Kairayn flipped through the old manuscript’s pages, scanning through the lines of text. To him it looked like meaningless gibberish.
“Why are you telling me all of this, Grubbash?” Kairayn asked softly.
“I know you believe in our race’s superiority as I do, but I want you to understand it as well,” Grubbash replied. “I require your services; our people need you.”
“I do not wish to become involved in your plots, sorcerer,” Kairayn shot back defiantly.
“Think about it, Kairayn!” Grubbash declared. “We are the inheritors of the Earth. This new world is a testing ground; the strongest will outlast the others and reign supreme. Who is stronger than the Orcs? Who can stand against us? Mankind had his chance. They ruled the globe for thousands of years before our people even existed, and they threw it away, nearly destroying it while trying to destroy each other. The Elves before them were not strong enough to prevent Man from consuming the planet.
“Yet through all of their folly, they still survive.” Grubbash grew excited now, gesturing wildly with his hands. He stood quickly, knocking his chair over, and began pacing around the room. “Men and Elves have grown weak. The Elves lost their immortality eons ago, punishment for their failure I presume, and most of their arcane lore has been lost over the ages. They cannot withstand the might of the Orcs. And Men? They have always been weak. It was only due to a lack of competition that they were able to control the earth in ages past. If you looked at recent history alone, you would find them undeserving. Their original homeland was destroyed by their own greed. No, Men do not deserve this earth, and I will not allow them to have it.
“Who else, then, can stand against us if not Men and Elves? The Dwarves can hardly defend themselves against our Goblin cousins. They have been at war for centuries, never gaining ground. The Trolls haven’t the stomach for conquest, or they would have pounded the Elves to dust by now. I ask you, who will prevent us from claiming our birthright?”
Kairayn thought for a moment and let all that Grubbash had said sink in. The sorcerer had not revealed his complete plan, but his words suggested that wheels were being put in motion. War was on the horizon, the Orcs’ destiny at hand. Kairayn felt himself grow excited at the prospect of charging into battle against the armies of the weaker races and utterly crushing them.
“If the other races were to unite,” Kairayn realized suddenly, “their combined might would prove overwhelming.”
“Yes, I have considered that,” Grubbash smirked. “The Dwarves will not leave their country undefended, not while the Goblins lurk on their doorstep. Our brethren will keep them occupied. To the east the Trolls will keep the Elven army engaged while we are left to deal with the humans.”
“So the Goblins and Trolls have already pledged their support?” The disdain in Kairayn’s voice was almost palpable. “We don’t need their kind.”
“Hardly. The Goblins will continue to fight the Dwarves because they are too stupid to do any different.” Grubbash recovered his chair and sat across from Kairayn, leaning in close. “The Trolls hate the Elves more than anything; a little pressure in the right places will throw the two into war. You just have to know where to push.”
“And how do you intend to unite us? Blood feuds have divided our nation for hundreds of years, bleeding our country of good warriors.” Kairayn scowled at the thought.
“To answer that I must counter with another question. What makes us fight each other? Why do the states war against one another?” Grubbash paused for a moment, waiting for an answer he knew would not come. “I’ll tell you. We fight each other because we have been tricked into believing that there is nothing else. Those in power have squashed our faith in our own supremacy and replaced it with a frustration and apathy that we have only ourselves to take it out on. If we are to unite, we must be given a common goal, a common enemy to fight. All they need is a sign that our time has come, that the moment of our ascension is at hand. All they need is a spark.
“I will provide that spark by summoning four Daemon Lords from the Abyss, whose armies will give our own strength and courage beyond imagining. The Overlords wouldn’t dare oppose the will of our entire nation. With the strength of the demons behind us and our people united, we will crush the pathetic humans of Illendale. Once they have been annihilated, the rest of the world is ours for the taking.”
“You’re mad! Demons cannot be trusted! They will destroy us and wreak havoc on this world!” Kairayn was shocked at this new revelation. How could Grubbash possibly believe that the Lords of Hell would aid them? “We have known each other for a lifetime, Grubbash, but I cannot allow you to go through with this. Surely you are aware of the maelstrom you intend to unleash.”
“I am aware; that is why I need you.” Grubbash fixed him with his hard gray eyes, the seriousness of them enthralling Kairayn. Grubbash stood anew and strode to one of the shelves on the wall. He removed a single tome bound in leather and came back to the table. He opened the book to a marked page and placed it before Kairayn for him to review.
“This volume was recovered centuries ago from the ruins of Valinar by an expedition sent to determine the fate of the human empire. It describes in detail many of the magical artifacts created by the humans during that era. The page you are looking at describes one such piece.”
“The Krullstone?” Kairayn read the description. There was a sketch on the opposite page of a gauntlet gilded with mystical runes and bedecked with small gemstones. In the palm of the glove was set a large, finely cut stone, oval in shape yet very thin. “What purpose does this stone serve?” asked Kairayn.
“Read on and discover its purpose for yourself,” Grubbash responded.
Kairayn perused the eccentric handwriting on the paper. It explained that the Krullstone was intended to counteract the necromancer Asaru’s growing power by siphoning it away from him. The gem embedded in the palm of the construct was found at an ancient site that predated the Old World. During experiments to test its magical qualities, it was discovered that the stone could absorb the power of other objects into itself and grant them to the bearer. It was later crafted into the gauntlet, which was inscribed with powerful runes that would allow the wearer to command the Krullstone’s power. Kairayn finished reading and looked up at his friend, mollified.
“Surely you do not intend to use this on the Daemon Lords?”
“Not at all, Kairayn,” Grubbash assuaged him. “That trinket will merely serve as an insurance policy against any shifts in their devotion to our cause.” Grubbash smiled wide, stretching the pink scar on his face. Kairayn did not care to know what was going through his mind at that moment.
“What is it I am required to do?” Kairayn inquired quietly.
“You must go in search of the Krullstone. It must be returned here as soon as possible.” Grubbash leaned across the table, very close to Kairayn’s face, and whispered, “It is absolutely imperative that no one is aware of your quest. The Daemon Lords must not be alerted, as they certainly will not appreciate our doubt of their conviction.”
“Where will I seek this Krullstone? Surely it has been lost over so many years.” Kairayn wondered how he could find such a small device in such a large world. Who knew how far the winds of time had taken it from its original resting place?
“It was crafted in Valinar. I suspect it is still there, hidden in some vault. Asaru was never aware of its construction, and I have reason to believe it has never left its sepulcher.” Grubbash sounded convinced, but Kairayn was still skeptical.
“Send someone else. Surely an Initiate or Master will serve you better than I in this arena.”
“It must be you,” Grubbash pressed. “I cannot trust the Druhedar in this matter; they are too easily corrupted by the lures of power. We have been friends for more than half a century, and I trust you implicitly.”
Kairayn stared at the mage, his gaze boring into him, weighing the truth of his words. “Then I will go. When shall I leave?” Kairayn asked.
“As soon as you can assemble your party. I will send two Masters with you to help you succeed and anything else you require. None in your party will be aware of the true purpose of this undertaking; that I must insist upon.” Grubbash stood then and tucked his chair under the table. He re-summoned the green sphere of light and extinguished the candles with a wave of his hand, casting the room in an eerie emerald glow.
“I have already given orders that you are to be assisted in any way possible. Whatever you require to begin your journey will be provided. The luminorb will guide you back to the main hall,” Grubbash stated, pointing to the hovering ball of luminescence. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have much to do. Dokal neb uknirog, old friend.”
“Luck to you as well,” Kairayn said. He reached for his mug of ale, which he had not touched since arriving, and drained its contents. He was pleased to be leaving the underbelly of Grimknoll, but he was not ecstatic at being left alone with a floating orb to find his way out.
He stood and clasped hands with the sorcerer, then excused himself. The orb floated a few paces in front of him, somehow programmed to discern the path back to the surface. Kairayn stepped out the door and followed the light down the hallway, leaving Grubbash in darkness. As he followed the trail chosen for him, Kairayn reflected on the events that had just transpired. Grubbash had not needed to convince him of the Orcs’ supremacy; he had believed it all his life. All Orcs did. It had been bred into the very fiber of their being.
Now Grubbash had revealed a way for his people to realize their destiny. He had not wanted to be involved in the politics of the Druhedar, and the prospect of summoning demons to their aid made his blood curdle. In the end, however, Grubbash had proven his genius. His fervor and dedication to the cause inspired Kairayn, and he accepted his task with pride. He now served a greater purpose, irrevocably placed in the center of what would prove to be the Orcs’ finest hour.
As he ascended the final steps that led out of the catacombs below, Kairayn steeled himself for the duty now fallen to him. When he reached the upper landing and passed through the door to the main hall, he found several Initiates waiting for him. He began dispatching them, and they bounded off to gather what he requested without question. Kairayn sent the last Initiate to rouse the Masters he was promised and then strode out the front gate with newfound pride to assemble his warriors.
Grubbash watched him go from the back of the hall, a faint smirk on his face and a gleam in his eyes.
II The Summoning
GRUBBASH GRIMVISAGE WATCHED from the highest parapet of his keep as night slowly descended, reveling in the earth’s inevitable surrender to the night. There would be no moon, and the thought brought a smile to his greenish lips.
“Fitting, considering the events to come,” he said to himself. All the pieces had fallen into place as he had designed, and now the game was all but set. Tonight would herald the culmination of years worth of scheming and plotting. From the day he had been chosen as a youth to be initiated into the arcane arts, he had dreamed of the day he would wield ultimate power. He had been a child prodigy, his intelligence and talent for sorcery unparalleled. He was dedicated to the ideal that the petty squabbling between Orcs could be stifled and their race exalted to their rightful place as rulers of the world.
In a nearby village, little more than a smudge on the fields below his perch, Kairayn was preparing his excursion to recover the Krullstone and supervising his hand-picked warriors as they organized their supplies. The Slavemaster had required surprisingly little prodding. Of course, Grubbash had not told him everything. It was not essential or prudent to divulge all his secrets, even to an old friend. Kairayn did not need to be distracted by the details Grubbash had neglected to share.
In the halls below the tower where he stood, Grubbash could already hear the night’s work begun. The ominous sound of drums beating in steady rhythm, coupled with the deep chanting of his followers, was truly haunting. The sanctuary had been prepared earlier. The newly arrived slaves had been the only missing piece from the arrangements needed for tonight’s ritual. Kairayn had returned with them just in time. The stunning alignment of required circumstances only occurred once in a lifetime. Lunar phases, planetary alignments, the ebb and flow of the earth energies, the solstice — everything was in its proper place — and now Grubbash simply waited for the correct hour to begin the summoning.
Grubbash’s spine tingled at the thought of what was about to occur. A lifetime of preparation and desire would finally be realized. It had taken half a century to come to this point. After his twenty-year apprenticeship, Grubbash had begun to seek ways to empower himself and his brethren. He had spent years pouring over ancient manuscripts and tomes of power, searching for the keys that would unlock the doors of omnipotence. Piecing together scraps of lost spells and rituals and analyzing what the natural laws would allow and what had been done in past experiments, he had finally discovered how to contact beings from other dimensions.
Over time he had mastered spirit walking, a method of meditation by which the soul leaves the body and is free to wander the ethereal planes. It was during one of these meditations, while his spirit wandered between realms, that the Daemon Lord Serathes had made his presence known. Grubbash had seen many things that night: all that was, is, and has yet to be.
Grubbash remembered how terrifying and yet liberating it had felt to be in such close proximity to a being of nearly infinite power. He realized this was his opportunity to seize control of Fate and shape the future. Grubbash had questioned what was needed to fulfill the Orcs’ destiny, and Serathes had explained everything to him.
To create the dimensional rift that would allow Serathes and his lieutenants — Athiel, the Lord of Uncertainty; Adimiron, The Bloody One; and Satariel, The Deceiver — to enter this world would take massive amounts of energy, more than any one mortal could muster. Serathes had instructed Grubbash on the rituals, the required arrangements, and the essential timing necessary to free the four Daemon Lords from their imprisonment in outer darkness. It would take the combined energy of an army of mages and then some.
Grubbash’s reverie was interrupted suddenly by the sound of heavy footsteps climbing the winding staircase behind him. His temper flared briefly; he had given specific instructions that he was not to be disturbed. He did not bother to turn and see who had intruded upon his privacy. He could tell by the weighty footfalls that it was Bogran, Lord and Master of the city-state of Naril.
“I did not call for you; you have no business here,” Grubbash scolded him. He turned abruptly and fixed his fiery gaze upon him.
Bogran was colossal; his enormous muscles rippled as he walked toward Grubbash and stretched the finely woven gray wool tunic and breeches he wore almost to the point of bursting. His long dark cloak fluttered behind him as he moved, revealing a wicked looking axe secured through his belt loop. About his neck on a golden chain hung a large dragon’s talon, his personal sigil. He was probably the greatest warrior in the Empire; his expertise in military strategy and undeniable mastery of combat were unmatched. His breath rattled in his chest as he struggled to recover from his long climb, and Bogran’s yellow eyes gleamed as they returned Grubbash’s harsh stare.
“Be calm, Summoner. Our agreement warrants my presence here.” His surly voice sounded like a barely-contained thunderstorm.
Grubbash had recruited Bogran into his plot years ago, bribing him with promises of power and wealth in exchange for his support. “I am very intimate with the details of our agreement,” Grubbash growled. “You are gravely mistaken if you believe it gives you free reign over my keep.”
“I did not come here to intrude, Summoner.” His apologetic tone did not fool Grubbash. Bogran yielded to no living thing. “Everything is proceeding according to plan; the divided armies will meld seamlessly to create the most powerful fighting force in the world. Once a few loose ends are tied up, I can begin mobilizing our forces.”
“Excellent! In just a few hours’ time I will complete the final phase of our plan. The Overlords will be dealt with; they will either submit or be swept away like the useless relics they have become.” A malicious grin spread across Grubbash’s face, bestowing upon him a demonic look in the failing light.
“You are certain this can be done?” Bogran asked, a hint of skepticism creeping into his voice.
“Bogran, do not doubt that I can and will succeed in my endeavors tonight. I have waited too long for this day to falter now.” The determination on his face declared that nothing would stand in his way.
“Very well. It is reassuring to see that you are up to the task. I also have waited long for this day, and I would hate for this opportunity to be wasted due to any miscalculation on your part.”
They locked gazes for a moment, each probing the strength of the will of the other. Bogran was eager; he belonged on a battlefield, and his eyes belied his desire. Yet, despite his intimidating demeanor, it was he who turned away first. Grubbash’s dedication to their success was fanatical, bordering on insanity.
“We understand each other then,” Bogran muttered as he lowered his glance. “I will await further instructions from you in Naril.”
Grubbash nodded his consent. Bogran spun deftly and marched toward the steps leading down from the tower. Silently Grubbash watched him leave, and as his momentous steps faded into nothing, he turned to survey the landscape once more.
The sun had slipped below the mountains to the west, and darkness was blanketing the land. Bogran did not know of the expedition Kairayn was leading to recover the missing Krullstone, and neither knew of its true purpose. The intricate web of plots he had woven was rapidly falling into place, and very soon no one would have the power to oppose him. Grubbash allowed himself to drift into a daydream, envisioning his new empire. Everything he beheld would be within his sole grasp. He would be the pinnacle of the world, and all things would be put in their rightful order according to his enlightened understanding.
Once more he was pulled from his musing by the reverberation of huge gongs from within the keep. Slowly the pounding noise sounded out the hour; it was eleven, and still there was so much to do before the night was done. Time was rapidly overtaking him. Abandoning his perch and his imagination, Grubbash glided briskly to the steps that would carry him into the depths of the keep.
As he descended into the catacombs, the ominous chanting of his gathered sect rose up to meet him. He trekked past locked doors and dark passageways until he came to the end of the locus he was traveling. His path forward was blocked by a heavy iron-bound door, from behind which came the portentous mantra that had filled the stronghold since dusk. He opened the door with ease and drifted down the flight of stairs before him like a shadow, traveling even further into the gullet of the earth. At long last he came to his final destination.
Be calm. Focus.
His inner voice was urging him to contain a sudden rush of adrenaline. His anticipation was building; the excitement of completing a lifelong journey was about to boil over. Concentration was paramount now. Summoning rites of this nature had never been attempted, to his knowledge, and any slip on his part could quite possibly destroy him. He took a moment to ground himself and prepare mentally for the task he must now perform. Without further hesitation he swung open the door and strode regally into the shrine of the Druhedar.
Within was a huge cavern roughly carved out of the solid bedrock of the Durgen Range that was so large that Grubbash could hardly see the far wall. The sanctuary was lit by the soft glow of thousands of candles spread about the room, situated on altars, stone tables, even the cold stone floors. Dozens of mages dressed in dark robes encircled the walls and knelt with their heads to the floor, repeating the same litany unceasingly. Nestled against the far wall was a cadre of large kettledrums attended to by Initiates who pounded out the rhythm of the chant.
A huge pentacle within a circle had been carved into the rocky floor, an altar of obsidian adorned with strange runic markings placed within the center. Archaic runes were also patterned into the stone around the circle and pentacle, completing the system. Upon the altar rested the Arcanomicon, the great book of the Druhedar, which housed the compilation of all their mystical knowledge.
Grubbash surveyed the room before he proceeded, insuring that all had been prepared as he had ordered. In three of the empty spaces between the five points of the pentacle were painted geometric triangles as he had instructed. On the plane of each triangle, strapped by strong cords to poles of wood, two of the Simoril slaves that Kairayn had brought back with him were bound. Around the perimeter of the circle, three at each of the five points of the pentacle, more of the slaves were bound with leather straps to wooden tables specially crafted for the ritual.
Grubbash proceeded to his place at the altar in the center of the chamber. The book before him was already opened to the correct place, prepared by him earlier. Grubbash closed his eyes and focused his attention, letting his followers’ dirge wash over him and pull him into a trance-like state. While raising his hands to the sky, fists clenched, and bowing his head, he began to recite the rite in a booming voice that echoed off the cavernous walls around him.
The chanting reached a feverish pitch, the drums beating in an ever-increasing cadence. As Grubbash continued, his disciples rose singly from the outer circle until one was standing behind each of the bound slaves at the points of the pentacle.
As the chanting reached a crescendo, they drew curved blades from beneath their robes and approached the captives bound to the tables. The drums hammered a final note as Grubbash bellowed the last word of the incantation. At the same moment the standing Initiates smoothly reached out and cut the throats of the shackled slaves.
Dead silence fell across the grotto; the resounding drums went ominously quiet, and the only sound was that of the final dying gasps of the slaves as the life-blood drained from their rent jugular veins.
The blood was collected in special gutters constructed into the tables that ran down into the carved pentacle on the chamber floor. As the carving filled with the blood of innocent sacrifices, the Druhedar began to chant anew, softly yet hauntingly. An eerie red glow emanated from within the pentacle as the low voices slowly began to rise.
Grubbash was filled with a sense of power. The gift of sacrifice granted potent mystical energies. He began to form intricate designs in the air with his outstretched fingers, beginning the final recitation as tracers of red and orange and yellow mist gave life to the arcane symbols he was creating.
Once more the chanting reached its climax, the booming of the drums and the clamor of the Druhedar rising to a deafening roar. The triangles set within the circle began to gleam with yellow light, shining upwards toward the ceiling. The Simorils still living, tied to their posts about the triangles, began to scream frantically with the realization of their fate, adding fuel to the cacophony filling the air.