Shadowlord (Chapter IV)

Please read "Shadowlord (Chapter III)"  first.

Chapter IV

Ranov Chlutp and his three traveling companions, Jauhal, Miiztf, and Slvae, huddled around the small fire trying to absorb what little heat radiated from it. It had been a miserable travel out of the port city of Pyrtis. After that cursed sailor had interrupted their dealings with the dwarf, a storm cloud rolled in front of the sun, shading much of the land and cooling it with the rain that came shortly after. With the heat lightly suppressed, a few citizens began to venture out into the streets to discover the cause of the explosion. They had had a hard enough time escaping the city, with the body of the dwarf behind them, darting in and out of the newly prepared shadows. To make matters worse, after they had managed to flee the city, a large thunderstorm erupted. Soaked to the skin, their cloaks clinging to their bodies, the journey was completely miserable. The storm had subsided by nightfall, and they had found that they had ventured into the outskirts of the Plains of Fog, where an everlasting haze rests upon.

Drying their clothes was out of the question, the damp mist making it impossible. Keeping the small flame of their fire alive was a constant struggle with the moist fog trying to settle on the small twigs they had managed to scavenge. The fire itself gave off almost no heat, but while the miniscule flame managed to flicker, so did the flame of their spirits. If the fire went out, then they would be completely lost to the foggy wilderness surrounding them. The fire did give off a considerably small amount of light, enough so the companions could see each other’s faces. For some reason the fire gave them hope, and a small amount of relief.

Hope for what? Relief of what? Ranov asked himself. As many times as he thought this though, he always brushed it aside before he could answer. As much as he feared to show it in front to his companions, he enjoyed the feelings. They let them imagine that the fire gave off more heat then it did; that it warmed them a small amount. He tried to bask in the glow of the fire, but as he lie down, the heat diminished, chilling him to the bone. He sat back up and glanced at Jauhal. He was a small man, about in his thirties, with a slight build and short cut blond hair. His face was rough and scarred, as were all of the companions’ faces. His face was a dark jade color, sopping wet through and through. He was concentrating on chewing a piece of venison so as not to concentrate on the cold in his bones.

“Jauhal,” he called to his companion, “Pass me a piece of that venison.” Jauhal did as ordered. Ranov picked it up and started chewing on the end. “This is going to be a long night,” he grumbled.





“When’s he going to wake up?” The voice echoed in Taalg’s head and made it throb.

“Soon,” a softer but just as painful voice answered.

Taalg tried to open his eyes, but the painful brightness of the sun forced him to close them. He let out an agonizing moan and tested his arm, finding that he could use it without pain. He brought it up to his head and felt around for the source of the aching, but could not find it.

“Look, he’s moving.” Another voice stated.

“Well, it’s about time.” The first voice acknowledged.

Taalg sat up and kept his eyes closed, “Who are you and where are we?” he asked.

“You couldn’t have watched where you were going, could you. Now he can’t even remember who we are!” The third voice spoke.

“He’ll remember, he didn’t get hit that hard,” the first voice argued.

“He will remember.” The second voice confirmed.

He tried to open his eyes again and squinted to keep the sunlight out. He looked around and tried to make out the individuals that were gathered around him, but they were only black figures against the bright sun. He let his eyes adjust for a while, then, when he was able to see better, he recognized his spectators. They were the same three travelers that met him at the inn earlier. How much earlier, Taalg did not know. Memories of what had happened before he had ended up here raced around in his head. He was at the inn and he had some visitors, who supposedly told him about the history of the world and of his father. Then there was the bar fight, then… It was then that he couldn’t remember. Que-Mora’s voice was the last thing that he remembered. But now, where was he? He looked around for a while, studying his surroundings. They were on a vast, open plain that was a brilliant emerald green, with an occasional bush or tree here and there. He hadn’t traveled this area before, but he knew that they were not south of Palanotm, for they were not in the Plains of Fog.

“Where are we?” He asked the company still gathered around him.

“We are about a third of a days worth travel north of Palanotm,” Que-Mora answered.

Taalg accepted this answer and moved on in his questioning. “How’d I get here, I don’t remember traveling, a day’s worth I would not forget.”

“That’s because I cast a sleeping enchantment on you. I knew that you would not join us on our journey, so I cast a spell and had my comrades carry you here. You slowed our progress greatly, as the day’s worth of traveling that we did only has gotten us a third of a day’s travel. The pain in your head is caused by Falthos’ blunder,” she cast a harsh glance at Falthos, “he ran your head into an upturned table while we escaped the bar fight.”

“You should be starving, here, have some wolf meat. It’s the only thing I could hunt.” Falthos handed him a chunk of meat, and Taalg tore at it viciously. He was famished. “Sorry about the head.”

Reluctantly pulling himself away from the meat, he glanced up at Falthos. “It’s fine, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Falthos whispered.

Taalg hurriedly finished his meal and stood up. “So, where are you guys headed?”

“The Fortress of Wizardry,” Que-Mora answered.

“Why are you going there?”

“Because that is where the followers of the Demon Lord must go if they wish to free him. That is where the Doom Hammer is kept. It contains the inscription that, if read properly, will free the Demon Lord. After being freed, it is the only weapon capable of destroying the Crystal Ring.”

“I suppose I have no other choice than to accompany you?”

“No,” for the first time since Taalg had seen Que-Mora at the inn, she smiled, “No, you do not.”

“Shh,” Falthos commanded in a low whisper, a nervous tone to his voice. He lifted his finger to his lips, “listen.”

The plain on which they were upon was as silent as death for a moment. Taalg strained to hear anything that may be making the sound that Falthos had heard, but all he could hear was the faint sound of the light breeze gently swaying the grass around him. He opened his mouth to object, but before he could say anything, Falthos glared at him and shook his head from left to right. He once again he pressed his finger to his lips and whispered, “Listen.” This time he pointed at the sky with one of the fingers that he had been previously griping the hilt of his sword, which was resting uneasily in its sheath.

Taalg looked above him into the sky where Falthos had pointed to see what he was talking about, but could see nothing. Once again he struggled to hear what could be the source of the noise that he could not hear. It momentarily occurred to him that there may very well be no noise at all, that this was a cruel trick, but the tone that was in Falthos’ voice made him disregard that. He gave one last effort to hear what Falthos was talking about, and this time he could make out a faint, rhythmic, beating of wings in the air. For a while it sounded like a large bird, and as Taalg searched for it, he almost fully expected to see one, but try as he might, he couldn’t even get a glimpse of it. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he was a flash of movement, but as quick as it had come, it was gone.

“What was that?” Taalg barely got off the question before he was silenced once more. Falthos gestured to above his right shoulder.

Taalg strained his eyes to see what it could be that move so quickly above them. The sun was bright, making it extremely difficult to search the sky, but what made the search the most difficult was the color of the sky itself. The bright blue sky sheltered and concealed the color of the creature. Taalg still could not see anything above him until there was a flash of bright orange.

“It’s attacking, move!” Barking out the order, Falthos herded the company away from their present position.

Without asking questions, Taalg ran. He ran as fast as his legs would take him and found that the only one of the group that he could keep up with was the sorceress, who was much faster than he had anticipated. Generally, magic users tend to sacrifice strength for knowledge, but she moved swiftly and surely. Her black hair waved violently back as she ran, and on her face no expression of fear was present. Glancing behind him to see exactly what they were running from, he saw a beam of bright orange explode on the ground on which they had been standing only a few seconds ago.

The flames rose and spread like wildfire, destroying everything that touched it. The most deadly and beautiful creature that Taalg had ever seen came soaring through the tips of the flame. From head to tail it must have been at least five times longer that Taalg, yet moving swifter that any of a size that great could naturally move. Its wingspan must have been twice as wide as the beast was long. Strong muscular legs that were armed with claws capable of slicing any armor with little to no effort were tucked to its abdomen. Lining the body of this marvelous creature were intricately carved scales, each shining with it’s own individual beauty. There was a ferocious snarl showing itself on its face, revealing hundreds of razor sharp teeth. Taalg now saw why he could not see the creature before. Taking to the sky was perfect camouflage for it, and the only was of knowing it was there would be detecting the great magic that it possessed or hearing the faint beat of its wings upon the air.

Taalg stared at the terror behind him as he ran. They were being pursued by a vicious blue dragon.



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