dochermes

"ATRUMO THE CONQUEROR III: The Boiling Pit of Filth"

3/27/2015

I.

Two of the stinking Ghulgol held him up by the arms, his legs dragging across the gleaming marble floor, and hauled Bane toward a massive wooden chair that served his enemy as a throne. He was flung brutally down at the boots of the Conqueror as the unliving creatures stepped back awkwardly.

Dazed and aching from being beaten with maces, his field suit hanging in mere shreds and tatters from the corrosive Alchemical mist which had engulfed him, Jeremy Bane remained completely defiant. He pulled himself up to a seated position, unfastened the crumbling helmet and yanked it off. Revealed in the overhead fluorescent lights was an intense narrow face with short black hair and cold grey eyes that glared up at his enemy.

No one knew Atrumo's true backstory. Some said he had been sold to Chujiran slavers to work their jade mines and had escaped by killing twenty guards when he reached manhood. There were those who claimed he had been lost as a child in the wilderness of Evaho and had raised himself as a wild beast might. Rumors also circulated that Atrumo was a disinherited illegitimate son of some Melgar royalty, perhaps even a bastard child of King Holmir himself. It didn't matter. He was a threat to be reckoned with now.

The raider chief wore high-laced boots and leggings of deerhide and was naked from the waist up presumably to display immense hard muscles a blacksmith might envy. Around his waist was wrapped a thin cord of red metal links. On a leather thong around a neck thicker than his head hung a faceted scarlet crystal wide as a man's outstretched hand. Atrumo's hair was concealed beneath an black iron helmet forged to resemble the maned head of a lion from within which his flat brutal face glared out. Between the bristling dark beard and the shadowy overhang of that helmet, little could be seen of his features. "The Dire Wolf. Again! We will not meet a fourth time."

"That's just what I was thinking," Bane snapped back, forcing himself up on to his feet. "The last thing the realms need is an imitation Saturnius like you."

"Defiant to the last breath, I see. I will not waste your carcass, Dire Wolf. Even in death, you will further my campaign." He gestured to the Ghulgol. "Each of you take one arm and one leg. Another of you, stay close to crack his skull open if he resists. Come, let us visit the Boiling Pit."

( the rest of the story )

"ATRUMO THE CONQUEROR I: Fragile Shorelines'

3/3/2015

I.

Snow-topped mountains were made blue by distance. High on the wind-scoured hill overlooking the harbor, the King's Grand Hall stood on a foundation of huge stones. The dark wood of the outer walls was elaborately carved with abstract shapes in recurring patterns. On the landing by the main door, two posts rose up sixty feet with green flags snapping in the stiff breezes. The one to the right as one approached bore the rearing outline of Skandor's Standing Bear, while the other showed a front view of a bear's head. This was the emblem of the province Kyldal.

Long before the three KDF members made it up the flag-stoned road to the front approach of the hall, guards in mail coats and wielding long barb-headed spears had lined up at the bottom of the twenty-three stone steps. They seemed to be typical Skandorin, tall brawny men with dark blond hair in braids and thick, close-cropped beards. The pale skin, often freckled, was reddened by exposure to the whistling winds at this altitude.

Past the humbler thatched-roof huts and cottages of the villagers, past three lesser Halls where the noblemen and trades masters resided, up to the Grand Hall itself they strode. Jeremy Bane stopped at the base of the wide steps with Haley and Jocelyn on either side. Against the blue of the morning sky and the white snow, his grey eyes reflected even paler than usual.

One of the guards called down, "Halt and be recognized."

"We are Knights of Tel Shai seeking audience with King Birgun,"answered Bane. "The Dire Wolf stands before you with his teammates."

"Well do we remember you, Dire Wolf, from dark days not long gone," the center guard replied. "You bear no swords, no spears nor axes nor other tools of war, as any eye can tell."

All three were being subjected to intense stares but, as was expected, it was Jocelyn Garimara who was the focus of most scrutiny. A short slender Aboriginal woman from the northwest near Wyndham, her smooth dark skin and distinctive facial features were like nothing these insular Skandorin had ever imagined. Their open curiosity didn't bother her. She had long since gotten used to it during her travels.

"And you, maiden" and here he pointed his weapon at the other young woman, "Beneath that cloak is no weapon?"

Haley Lawson threw back the heavy dark blue cloak to show she was wearing incongruous sneakers, blue shorts and a long-sleeved white pullover. "I'm armed with only my smile," the Windcatcher laughed. She was being less than honest, of course, because fastened on a choker around her neck was the ancient Air Gem crafted by Malberon ages ago. But her policy was never to volunteer that information.

The Dire Wolf held out the seven-inch combat knife strapped to his thigh without comment. None of them had brought the anesthetic dart guns or regular pistols. Skandor was a realm where gunpowder and other technology would not function.

Bane did not mention the matched ensalir daggers he wore under his sleeves. Expensive covers of molded silicone made the knives feel exactly like normal Human muscle even to a trained searcher. He had no intention of revealing any of this. Those daggers were made of silver ensorcelled by the immortal Eldanarin themselves and had slain creatures of the night of every description. The Dire Wolf stepped back and waited while a preteen page in rough tunic and hose ran into the hall.

In mere seconds, the boy galloped back outside and bowed his head to the visitors. "Our Lord says he will see you at once," he said and gestured with both hands for the strangers to follow him. While three of the guards remained by the doorway, one accompanied the Tel Shai knights into a cavernous single room supported by flanking rows of massive pillars and well lit by many high narrow windows covered with oiled cloth. Tables for dining had been pushed back against the walls with their benches. In each corner of the the Hall, a fireplace roared and crackled with hunting hounds lying in comfort near the heat.

On a raised dais, upon a wooden throne inscribed with many esoteric runes and images, sat King Birgun son of Evanmir. Past sixty but dstill athletic and imposing of build, he watched with sharp perceptive eyes at the three. Birgun was dark for a son of Skandor, with glossy brown hair that reached his shoulders, but considerable white strands mixed in.

His heavy robe was trimmed at collar and cuffs with brown bear fur, and his crown was of stiff leather set with a white cameo of the bear head. "Come be admitted, Dire Wolf, Jeremy Bane of the outside world, both you and your comrades."

With Jocelyn and Haley, Bane bowed deeply but did not drop to one knee as was customary. Their status as Tel Shai knights set them apart from many courtesies and protocols. "Hail, Birgun, King of Skandor. It's been years since the last time I was in your land and, once again, I regret that I come with grim tidings to bear."

"I would expect no less. Dire Wolf! You are known to race ahead of every breaking storm, and there are those who say you bring said storms with you."

"Your late father, respect to his name, must have related tales of what urgencies brought me here and how we stood together to defend this land."

Standing slightly behind the throne, an old woman with white hair done up under a tiara stared. Her right eye bulged out considerably larger than its mate, red-veined and hot. She whispered, "When has great misfortune come to our land without this Dire Wolf arriving before it? Does he bring warning or does he bring the evils with him?"

Before Birgun could respond, Bane said, "Has your majesty received word on the fall of Thamulkor?"

To his credit, the king kept his face from betraying any reaction and his words were cautious also. "What word do you bring me, Dire Wolf?"

"That realm has been overrun completely," Bane answered. "The cities have stopped burning because there is nothing left to burn. The Almadim were slaughtered. Some of the smaller female children were carried off. You can guess why. Even the cattle and sheep and goats were cut down."

"How is all this known to him?" hissed the old woman from directly behind the king.

Not looking toward her, staring directly at Birgun, Bane asked, "Who sits on the throne of his fathers, ruling Skandor by grace of great Jordyn Himself? And to whom should I speak?"

That stung the king's pride. He sat up straighter and raised his head. "One land, one king. That is the law. Give a name to these invaders and their leader, if you can."

Jeremy Bane had the quiet self-assurance from a lifetime spent in the Midnight War. He did not raise his voice but remained steady. "It's a genuine army, tens of thousands strong. Humans serve as its herders and whip hands but the soldiers are not fully alive. They are Ghulgols, 'the living filth,' And their master is the Melgar conqueror Atrumo."

( the rest of the story )