Here we go....
Brae
Lord Doroch of the High Order stood at the prow of the King’s massive river boat that wound its way down the raging waters of the Sa through the Bear Kingdom. The late autumn wind whipped at his cloak, making it snap like an errant sail and frenetically tossed his blueblack hair about his scarred, bare face. His stance rigid, tense, his hands held onto the prow’s rail in a white-knuckled grip, every part of him alert as cold dread mounted in his heart. It is here, I feel it.
His Majesty, King Uller the Bear stood at his side. A shaggy, monolith of a man, dark skinned; he wore the face of a grizzly with hard bark-colored eyes that carried a terminal look of ferocity. No one looked less like a king than Uller, no crown or ornate finery; he dressed in old worn breeches of bear hide, calf high boots, weathered tunic, and a bear hide vest. Strapped to his thick waist was an immense broadsword. He dwarfed Doroch, placed one massive hand on the High Lord’s shoulder.
Doroch barely noticed it. His blue-white eyes searched the banks. He felt malice grow with each passing oar stroke. His gaze shifted from shore to shore. The trees leaned and wavered tiredly against each other in the wind. He gripped the rail tighter, scanning and listening, he seemed to hear dark whispers riding along the breeze. At once, the boat began to hesitate, Doroch felt the bottom begin to strain against some force. The wood creaked as if in pain. The King spoke to him, but Doroch did not hear. All his attention focused on the growing trepidation welling up inside him. His eyes fell on a patch of rotting mossy ground on the left bank. He stared at it. Abruptly, the wind fell. The air over the moss began to ripple, waver, and hiss. Demon breath. Doroch swung around, his black cloak flaring. “Hold!” He barked to the rowers, and pointed to the left shore. “Bank there!”
“Do as he says!” The Bear King bellowed.
Doroch met the King’s eyes. “You can render no aid, remain on the boat.” Uller began to rumble a protest but Doroch’s eyes stopped it.
At once the rowers laboriously turned the river boat and sent it to bank. Before it beached, Doroch leapt from the prow onto the rotten moss. He unsheathed his sword, the pale blue jewel embedded on its ivory hilt, began to blaze. He brandished it before himself, it’s blade pointed at the wavering air. “Hark demon of Chaos! You are unwelcome here! Begone or die at my hand!”
The rippling air began to vapor, swirling and hissing. The image of the demon took form, black steam boiled out of the rot, devoured light. Red gleaming eyes bore into the Lord thru the dark. It slithered and spun itself into substance, coiled cobra like, writhed grotesquely. A voice then, snakelike and slurring, seethed from the demonic vapor. “So, say you.” It hissed, a forked tongue of black fire flared from it’s vaporous serpent head. It drew itself up eye level to the Lord, black steam roiling from it as though it were molting. “Smote you will I, lordling of Dyriaah! You possess no might over me!”
“Begone! Foul snake of Chaos! I hold the Light of the Order! Return to your Fire!
“Nay!” And the demon launched itself at Doroch, snapping its fiery fangs. The Lord veered from its path and lunged at the black vaporous thing with his sword. The jewel erupted in blue flame, its tendrils licking the blade. The demon hissed and screeched madly, it’s head weaving back and forth, its hot, reeking breath scorching the very air. It recoiled, hurled itself once again at Doroch, he spun and struck the demon between the red gleams of its eyes. The vapor shrieked, black fire burst from it’s center, it sputtered and hissed nauseatingly. It backed from Doroch, recoiled again, then struck out and bit the Lord’s arm. Doroch wailed as searing agony erupted from the bite. He swiped at the steaming serpent, slashing it’s underbelly. Lava-like pitch spewed from the wound, and the demon screeched. “Poison! Lordling! Not only will I die, but slow death will befall you!” It seethed and writhed, coiled and uncoiled, it’s head thrashing wildly, black fire consuming it. It shrieked and snarled, steaming as the flames burned themselves and the demon out.
Doroch leaned on his quieted sword, pain and delirium assailing him. “Sweet mercy.” He murmured. Then fell.
“Roch!” The Bear King roared.
Madness befell him. He sank into venomous visions, nightmares of Chaos. Evil reached for him and his blood boiled with fever. He babbled incoherently. In his delirium, he lashed out at those who sought his succor, power erupted from his hands, tainted blue fire, reeking of poison. He shrieked and howled, his eyes blazed yet saw nothing. Days passed, murky shadows engulfed him. He moaned and snarled and hissed. His fever brought on violent seizures. His body erupted erratically into flame. Nothing to focus on, no light, no peace, no beauty. His mind reeled in nightmare, horrors assailed him, cold death, black fire, flaming gates, screaming souls. He wailed, he screeched, he howled. Then, through the throe of his madness he heard it. “Doroch! Hear me!” Her voice, hers. His love. “Hear me! You must fight!” He heard. He began to resist, though feeble his effort. He fought back the madness, fought back the fever. He began to feel soothing power course through him, cool him. At last, he fell into deep sleep, the nightmares gone.
The humming woke him. The harmonic tones of his love slowly roused him. He opened his eyes, blinked at the sunlight pouring into the room through a high window. He lay in a rather large four posted bed, covered with heavy bearskin blankets. He recognized the room as the one set aside for him by the Bear King whenever the path of the Order chanced to journey through his kingdom. He glanced around, saw Danitha busy stoking the fire in a huge fireplace at the far side of the room. She moved with subtle grace, accentuated by the melody of her humming. Her auburn hair draped her heavily robed shoulders, her soft, radiant face wrapped in serenity. She glanced over at his direction and saw him watching her. Her visage broke into instant elation, her eyes flared, her whole body seemed to smile.
“Well, I see the High Lord has decided to waken from his nap.” She said melodiously.
“He has.” Doroch croaked and smiled, holding out his hand to her.
She glided over to his side and sat on the bed. She took his hand, brought it to her lips and kissed it softly. “You frightened us. We thought you were lost.”
“You must have flown to get here.” He said, still smiling, his voice thick with sleep.
“Almost, I rode Ebon. He knew you were in great peril and came to me.”
Doroch nodded. “He’s faster then light.” Wincing, he tried to sit up. Danitha helped him, concern bathing her flawless face. “How long?” He asked.
“Over a week. It is a grave wound, Doroch, had my arrival been just hours later...”
He put a finger to her lips. “It wasn’t.”
She nodded and smiled.
“A week you say? That explains why I feel so hungry.”
She laughed then, a trilling harmonious sound. “I’ll go get you some food, and the King. He has been worried about you. Has barely left your side. It will gladden his heart to know you are awake.”
Doroch nodded. She kissed him then left the room. He moved his bitten arm and winced. He looked at the wound, it was healing slowly. Demon wounds never truly heal. He sighed then, one more scar. He moved to the edge of the bed, uncovered himself, shivered from the chill, and threw his feet over the side. “Ah! The stone floors in this castle are always so cold.” He mumbled as he stood. An instant wave of dizziness assailed him and he gripped one of the bed posts to keep from falling. Once it passed, he made his way to the wardrobe to find some clothes. He shook, weak from hunger and long slumber, yet he managed to put on a thick woolen robe and found a nice pair of wool lined moccasins. He then made his way across the room and sat in an fat, overstuffed, armchair near the fire, pulling a bearskin blanket about him. At once, the booming footfalls of the King could be heard tramping toward his door. He eyed it warily as the thumping drew closer. He moaned inwardly, he is stomping. With a loud clap, the door flew open and Uller the Bear bounded in.
“Roch! Boy!” He roared, a look of darkness on his red-bearded, shaggy face. “Don’t you ever tell me to remain on the boat again! Because if you do, my sword will clash with yours.”
Doroch grinned at the big burly King. “I would not want that Your Majesty. I may hurt you.”
“Bah! I’d thrash you and you know it! Whelp!” Uller gripped him and pulled him up into a suffocating hug. “Thought I lost you, boy.”
“Nay, friend. I am stronger then I look. Yet, if you hug me any tighter, you will squeeze the life out me.” Doroch said painfully.
The King released him and Doroch fell back into the chair. Uller eyed him from under his bushy red eyebrows. Then flopped himself in the chair opposite his. “You alright?”
Doroch nodded mildly, raked his fingers through is hair. “One needs time to waken fully from such a long nap.”
“And recover from a demon bite.”
“Uller, I will be alright.” Doroch shifted a bit in his chair and tried to lift his arm. With difficulty, he rested it on the chair’s arm, sighed. “And, you could not aid me.”
“I could have distracted it, given you more of a chance. It would not have bitten you.”
Doroch shook his head. “No, it would have ignored you. It saw only me.”
The King snorted at that, as though the mere thought that anything with eyes could miss him was ludicrous. Doroch grinned again. “You sent for Danitha?”
“No, she knew. And Ebon knew. He went and got her. Smart steed you got there.”
“That’s the healer in her, she can sense when her succor is needed. And the same with Ebon.”
“Bah! Roch, she sensed you needed her.” The King growled. He rolled his massive frame a bit in the chair and gave the Lord a hard look. “You still plan to go North?”
“Of course.” Doroch replied blandly.
“Not if Danitha has anything to say about it.”
Doroch sighed. “She worries too much. I must go though.”
Uller grunted. “I’m going with you.”
Doroch opened his mouth to protest, but the King held up a calloused hand. “Don’t you even think of arguing with me, boy. Danitha practically begged me, and ‘sides I wasn’t planning on letting you go alone anyway. You’ve got my company whether you want it or not. So, you best get yourself used to the idea.”
He stared at the King for a moment, then breathed. “I want your company.”
“Good!” Uller boomed, leaning over and slapping the Lord on the leg. Doroch winced.
Danitha returned then with two castle kitchen workers laden with trays of food and pitchers of drink. They set about arraying the steaming bowls of stew and platters of fruit and bread on a large wooden table, then left quietly after bowing to their King. Uller shook his head sourly at this but said nothing.
Danitha gave Doroch a withered look. “You should had stayed in bed.”
“I’ve been in bed for a week, was time to get up.” He smiled
Her look darkened. His smile faded. “This was a demon bite, you must not take your recovery lightly. When you are done eating, you go back to bed.”
“Yes, Love.” He murmured, clearing his throat and avoiding the King’s laughing eyes.
Uller roared with glee, pounding on his legs. Doroch scowled. “My Lady, I will take it upon myself to put the High Lord to bed, bundle him snug in his blankets, and even tell him a nice children’s tale to lull him to slumber.”
“You will not.” Doroch groaned. The King roared with laughter again. Danitha giggled musically.
Late that night, they lay together, holding each other, talking quietly. “You must go back to Free Realm, before winter comes.” He told her softly.
“I do not wish to leave you. I know you. You will go after him long before you are well enough.”
He sighed at this. She knew him all too well. “Were it not for that demon, the boy would be with us now. Yet, in folly I chose to confront it, instead of letting it be.”
“You could not let it be. You are who you are. To ignore it would have been the folly.” She nestled closer to him. He breathed in the scent of her hair. “I do not like being parted from you, my Love.”
“Nor I you, Danitha.” He held her tighter. “Yet, the path of the Order demands us be parted.”
“Yes.” She breathed solemnly. “I love you.”
“I love you also.”
More weeks passed, and winter blew into the Bear Kingdom. Furious snow storms hurled themselves at the King’s mountain fortress. Screeching and raving like wild beasts of prey, they laid siege one after the other against the great city. The wind howled through the cobbled streets in a voice of despairing souls wailing. The sky, thick and gray, fell on the Kingdom like doom, enveloping the mountain in a deep, frozen shroud. The castle itself seemed to shiver from the cold. The city lay deserted under the assault, shops and inns closed their doors. The Bear people huddled in their homes near roaring fires under thick bearskin blankets.
Doroch stood at an ice-caked window in the King’s throne room, looking out with distaste at the swirling, moaning snowstorm as the day grew old. “It is odd,” he mumbled to himself, “that winter should come with such fury.” He wrapped his cloak about himself tighter and shuddered from the deep chill he could not seem to warm. His arm ached, though the wound left by the demon was nothing more then a scar of two puncture marks.
His thoughts wandered to Danitha, he missed her terribly. He was thankful however, that she left the mountain before this foul winter flew in and was safely back in Free Realm. Free Realm, its name brought a faint smile to his scarred lips, no other name sufficed after the overthrow of the church and the Shades. A bastion of light, where he and Danitha and all the others drawn into the Order studied and discovered the ways of the Old Powers. Such discoveries led him to the Sword of Dyriaah, buried deep within the dwarf caves, where it had laid dormant for centuries. He remembered how it leapt from its tattered, worn cask into his shaking hand, erupting into the blue-white flame of Dyriaah in exaltation of his touch.
His smile broadened as he then remembered his first meeting with Uller the Bear.
Doroch, new to the outside world, had stumbled into a somewhat nasty mess with the King’s horse breeder. The breeder seemed to believe that Ebon belonged to him. Which of course, was not true at all, as Ebon belonged to no one and had clearly called to Doroch to come free him from the breeder’s den. Knowing the summons came from the Order, Doroch went to the Bear Kingdom to do just that. Yet, the breeder caught him, bereft him of his sword and took him bound to the King, for Ebon was meant for Uller the Bear himself. The King was enraged and ordered Doroch to the dungeons and sentenced him to hang. The High Lord let himself be thus jailed, berating himself vehemently for blundering so badly. He paced his little cell as the King’s guardsmen prepared the gallows for his execution. People from all over the Bear Kingdom flocked into the city for the hanging, for it was not often that the King ordered someone executed, let alone an outsider, and word of it had spread like wildfire. Two days later, they came for Doroch and carted him through the city streets allowing people to shout curses and throw refuse at him. He stood idly in the cart, blinked at the sunlight, sighed again at his stupidity. He allowed himself to be led up the platform, and let the executioner put the noose around his neck. Then, he looked at the King, his blue-white gaze piercing. Grandly, he bellowed out. “Ah, Your Majesty, forgive my gross impudence and my grievous attempt to thieve away Ebon! My intent was only to free him, for he called to me to thus liberate him”
The King glared down at the knave from his perch on a high balcony and growled. “He called to you? What nonsense is this?”
The High Lord then smiled. “Not nonsense, Your Majesty. Tell me, do you always execute people without first asking their names?”
“What do I care of your name, Thief? You dare come into my kingdom and attempt to filch one of my prized steeds. You can die nameless.”
Doroch’s smile widened, his power building. “Ah, but I do have a name, Your Majesty.” With a mere thought, he freed himself of the wrist binds, then lifted the noose over his head. His power surged then and he held out his hand. In a thundering voice he called out. “Hark, Sword of Dyriaah! Come to me!” It flew at him from where ever it had been kept, a streak of blue flame flaring its way into his open hand. He held it aloft in front of himself, stared up at the Bear King, who gazed down at him, dumbfounded. “I am High Lord Doroch, Highest of the High Order! You can not hang me.”
Now, the crowd by this time had begun to scream and shout in alarm, milling hither and yon, obviously scared witless by the High Lord’s revelation and presence amongst them. The King himself began to sputter dumbly. The guards just gaped at him and his flaming sword, none of them stupid enough to go near him. “What say you, Your Majesty? I have asked for forgiveness, will you not let Ebon and me be on our way? For he is also of the High Order and you have no claim on him.”
It was then that the High Lord felt the presence of his Father in his mind. In a somewhat disgusted voice He asked. “Was that outlandish display really necessary, Son?”
“Uh, no Father. But it sure was fun.”
The God actually groaned, then left.
Uller of the Bears laughed uproariously from his perch as he gazed at the ridiculous scene below him. “High Lord Doroch!” He boomed down. “I am humbled by your presence! And, I shall forever remember to ask the name of the condemned before stretching them thus in the future! Come up here so as I may greet you in honor!”
And so it came to pass that the Bear King and the High Lord began a friendship still growing after 5 years. Close as brothers, yet no two people were more different.
Doroch sighed as the memory faded and his thoughts shifted then. He closed his eyes, concentrated on the boy, hoping to get another vision. He reached out to touch the boy’s mind. At once he saw the hold again, and the boy, heaped dead-like on the floor, chained to the wall. His face turned outward, eyes closed, his tattered shift rising and falling with his haggard breaths. Doroch opened his own eyes and sighed. “He fails.”
“You say something, Roch?” Uller said, turning from a functionary who babbled on about some errant baron. He lounged indolently in his throne, one leg draped over an arm.
Doroch kept his eyes looking out at the snowstorm. “I said, he fails.” He dropped his head and pulled his fingers through his hair. “I can’t wait for these storms to pass. I’ve lingered too long.”
“Are you…”
“Yes, Uller, I’m very serious.” Doroch answered abruptly, turning and giving the King a haunted look.
The King pulled his leg off the arm of the throne, leaned forward, locked his gaze on the Lord.
“It’s a raging blizzard out there! Have you lost all sense?!” Uller thundered.
Doroch stared mildly back. “You don’t have to come with me.”
The King bared his teeth, trying to hold back his flaming temper. This argument had been going on for days, and the King had grown weary of it. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the functionary, rose from his throne, and took a few steps toward the Lord. Doroch held his gaze. Uller glared back. “I told you that you go nowhere without me, Roch. But, now? We’ll be buried alive before we even reach the main road!”
“I can clear a path.” He replied softly.
“Is that so? You can clear a path through that?” He swung his burly arm aimlessly toward the window. As if in answer the wind slammed with greater fury at the glass, threatening to shatter it.
“Yes.”
Uller snorted in disgust. “You will kill yourself! You aren’t even fully recovered from that demon bite. And it’s been two months!”
“I’m strong enough.” Doroch said, his voice still soft, yet a little edgy.
“No you’re not. I’m not letting you do this, Roch. I promised Danitha before she went back to Free Realm that I wouldn’t let you go until winter past and you were fully healed. This matter is closed!” The King rumbled, his dark gaze holding the Lord’s.
Doroch pulled in a long breath. “I go tomorrow, with or with out you, whether you let or don’t let. I won’t be held.”
“Oh? You won’t be held, boy?” The King’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“That’s right. And stop calling me ‘boy’. I am not one of your subjects you can bully to your will. And you know what happened the last time you tried to hold me.”
“I’ll call you what I will, boy!” Uller roared then, gripping the Lord by the front of his cloak and yanking him close. Doroch just stared up into the Bear King’s face. They glared hard at one another for long, tense moments. Then the King growled. “I ought to throttle you.”
“Hitting me won’t change my mind, Uller.” He grated blandly.
The King slowly uncurled his hands from Doroch’s cloak, releasing him. “No, but it would make me feel better.” He growled. “ ‘…what happened the last...’ Bah! No other sets my blood afire like you, Roch.”
Doroch grinned then. “I have no choice, you know. This is my task.” He sat himself in Uller’s throne.
Uller scowled, rumbled a growl. “No choice? Those words coming from you? That is almost funny.”
The Lord smiled. “Well, bad wording. Yet, I feel this is the only one I can make. He is fading. He must not die in that hold, Uller. He is far too important. Bahir Himself proclaimed his destiny. He must not die. And he is, I can no longer linger here.”
The Bear King let out an explosive breath then. “Alright! Far be it for me to argue with your stubborn lordship! Though, I warn you, boy. You get me buried in that frozen gale out there, and I will throttle you until you fall unconscious at my feet.” He eyed Doroch. “You are in my chair.”
“How will you be able to throttle me if you are buried?” Doroch asked humorously.
“Roch….” He flared dangerously.
“Alright, alright.” He laughed then, holding up his hand. He got up and sighed. “Do you have any maps of the northern boundaries?”
“We don’t need any bloody maps. I know where Melgreth’s Hold is.”
Doroch arched an eyebrow. “You do? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Uller shrugged. “Thought you knew I knew, that’s why you came here in the first place.”
Doroch made a face. “Is it far?”
“Ten days ride in good weather. In this..” He swung his tree-limb of an arm at the window again. “Who knows.”
“What can you tell me of it?”
“Not much. It lies beyond The Glass and the Crags of Rish, in a blasted valley of sledge. His Hold is nothing more then a row of oversized mud huts. Melgreth keeps to himself verily, except when he sends his herders out for fresh slaves.”
Doroch scowled at this. “What does he need slaves for?”
The King’s eyes flashed. “For the mines. He digs for bones.”
Doroch rubbed at his smooth chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm, bones again. I am failing in this.”
“In what?”
“These bones, I fail to see their value. What are they, whose are they? Why are they sought?
The King shrugged. “I don’t know, Roch. Just some fool’s obsession I imagine.”
“I have heard many rumors of them. Two years ago, I was in Tobern by the El Sea in the South. A dark ship moored in the harbor there and teamed with jungle dwellers. They carried crates of bones. I asked of them, and received only dark looks and threats to keep my questions to myself. My task not of bones at the time, I dismissed it and went on my way.” Doroch paused then. His look faraway and pensive. “Now, I wonder if that was not a mistake. The diggers of these bones are hidden. They mine in secret. Evil work, I feel it.”
Uller grunted. “Evil works in many ways. You of all people should know that.”
“Yes.” Doroch replied. “Well, we will just have to ask Melgreth about these bones, what their value is. Yet, I have my doubts that he will answer willingly.”
“I can persuade him to answer.” The King rumbled.
Doroch grinned.
Uller returned the grin viciously.
