“Fogrot? Rummert?” Simon asked of the two soaking wet orcs panting heavily at the edge of the pool. The pool had been an unnerving black, but now the cloud of murky darkness was receding and disappearing into the depths of the water.
All around Simon, the fae were chittering with agitation. Not only had Simon returned from the realm of the dead through the Pool of Tears, but now two orcs had materialized out of another portal. These events were unprecedented, and no one involved was quite sure how best to respond.
“Kingmaker?” Fogrot asked in surprise as he realized who was standing before him, “I’m sure glad you made it out with us!”
“Doesn’t he look different?” Rummert asked curiously, “He was more… umm…. bulked up.”
“It’s me!” Simon laughed with some surprise, “It’s really me!”
Rummert waved a hand at the fae that were now encircling them as if swatting away a fly. Fogrot had started to reach for a weapon.
“Don’t hurt them,” Simon urged as he raised his hands, “I think we can handle this without violence.”
“You’re not the demon,” Fogrot spoke slowly with dawning realization.
“No. Why? Have you seen my body?”
“It was…” Fogrot pointed vaguely at the now crystal-clear water of the pool in surprise, “But you were…?”
“I want to know everything!” Simon assured desperately, “We may just need to speak with the fae first.”
The fairies were not letting Simon forget their presence as they were threatening to hook the magical anchors of their batons back into his soul. He raised his hands and motioned them to escort them all to their destination. The orcs looked confused and severely disoriented, but they followed because it was Simon. Seemingly, the real Simon, Fogrot hoped.
Simon and the orcs were led into a crooked main thoroughfare lined with shops and oddly shaped houses. Fairies, sprites, and gnomes were all along the street urging others to purchase their strange wares, but as the odd assortment of visitors passed among them silence fell. Simon felt awkward as everyone gaped at him and the orcs in stunned horror. There was such interest in their presence that a procession of onlookers seemed to follow in their wake.
Half-heartedly one of the fae guards of the Volox Authority urged the followers to disperse, but it was clear they would not be deterred, and they gave up. Soon, the bustling street had fallen eerily silent as everyone marched toward a squat temple at the far end.
“You sure about this?” Rummert asked nervously of Simon, for which he received a sharp poke from a rainbow baton.
Simon didn’t respond as they stopped in front of the strange temple. It reminded him of a bird house, since it sat off the ground on stilted legs with many holes all along its face to allow the fae to flit in and out. The entire structure was no larger than the house Simon had grown up in, and while large compared to many of the other homes it was not as imposing as most temples he had seen.
A dazzling fairy with peach-colored wings and a radiant white gown fluttered out and alighted on what appeared to be a birdbath that was too flat to hold much water. She folded her wings back and surveyed the gathered crowd apathetically. She raised her own short wand and Simon’s hands magically held together in front of him. The orcs blurted in surprise as their hands were also suddenly bound before them in invisible bonds.
“I am Limue, the Inquisitor for the Volox Authority,” the fairy spoke in a high, sickeningly sweet voice, “You shall state your names for the gathered assembly.”
“Simon Kingmaker,” Simon stated then turned to nod at the orcs.
“Fogrot Kingsguard.”
“Rummert Kingsguard.”
“Orcs have not ventured into our home for centuries,” Limue began, “Their generally non-magical nature prevents them from seeing beyond our wards. Yet today, two orcs appear through a forbidden portal in our midst. As well as the appearance of a disembodied soul utilizing a rather crude simulacrum for locomotion.”
Simon looked down at his constructed body, slightly offended that his best work to date had been called crude.
“Please explain…” Limue pursed her lips and waited.
“I didn’t understand most of those words,” Rummert spoke uncertainly.
“I can answer,” Simon shot the huge orc a look, “I have been sent by Vale on an important task, for I am the Seeded One. These two are my guards.”
Utters of disbelief and confusion ran through the gathered crowd and began to rumble out of control to the point that Limue was forced to raise her wand. With several short bursts of painless, sonic force emitted from the wand tip, the crowd went silent again.
“Several signs portend great calamity in the mortal realm,” Limue agreed, “Long have we guarded the fountains of Volox Ofoon, but through the will of the Seeded One will the fate of all magic be decided. The day of our withdrawal from this place may be fast approaching.”
“You believe me, then?” Simon asked with some surprise. He’d not expected things to go so smoothly with the fae.
“One of my gifts as Inquisitor is to perceive and interpret the truth,” Limue explained, “There are truths that we believe for ourselves and those truths that are singular and inviolable. You state you are the Seeded One, this is an inviolable truth. You state that you have an important task, this is your belief, but your sincerity remains.”
“Then may we continue on our journey?” Simon asked hopefully.
Limue fell silent, studying Simon. She removed a small metal triangle and rang it with her wand. She closed her eyes, her face frowning as she tilted her head as if listening. If it emitted a sound, it was so high pitched, Simon could not detect it. At last, her eyes shot open.
“You and you alone may continue to the pack in Graymere Falls,” Limue answered at last, “Much chaos was unleashed in the opening of the Hidden Paths and courses will need to be corrected.”
“How do you…?” Simon started to ask in confusion, but Limue interrupted his question.
“I have been communicating with the Eternal Empress since before you drew your first breath. You can heed my advice or refuse, but I will not keep you or your companions to remain within our lands. Should you wish to succeed, however, you will continue to Graymere Falls alone.”
Simon felt a sick uncertainty as he listened to the Inquisitor. He didn’t understand how Rummert and Fogrot had arrived suddenly, but he was hopeful to have some protection around him while his body was so fragile. It seemed that was not the way things were meant to proceed.
“We will not abandon the Kingmaker again,” Fogrot declared definitively.
“And yet you have abandoned him, again,” Limue sighed with amusement, “Once more in the hands of an ancient vampire.”
“How do you know all this?” Simon asked in surprise.
“It is in their minds,” Limue nodded, “Orcs are easy to read. Especially, that big one.”
“How dare you?” Rummert growled, affronted.
“If I could suggest your course of action…” Limue continued looking toward the orcs, ignoring Rummert’s anger, “You should meet up with the orcs that have begun to mobilize on the Savage Plains. Encourage your king not to focus on the Bastion but look to meet their Kingmaker at Votu N’Saga.”
“I suppose you read that in their minds too?” Simon asked. Limue only replied with a wry smile.
“Take my guidance, or do not,” Limue waved her wand, and their hands were suddenly unbound, “You are free to leave.”
Before more could be said, Limue unfolded her wings and flew back into the temple. The crowd looked uncertainly at the orcs towering in their midst and then simply began to disperse, returning to their abandoned shops and homes. Some of the fae, hoping for a more dramatic outcome, looked disappointed.
“We will go with you,” Fogrot declared adamantly to Simon, “There is much we can tell you.”
“You will have to recount your tale to me tonight,” Simon replied, “Because tomorrow we part ways and follow Limue’s advice.”
“Are you mad?” Rummert grunted.
“The gods can guide us, but they cannot interfere,” Simon considered, “I think if we are offered help from someone with knowledge about such things, we cannot ignore it. Let’s find somewhere for you to camp for the night and you can tell me what this Hidden Path is about.”
Simon’s constructed body required no food and did not fatigue, so he was able to stay awake quite late into the night as he and the orcs exchanged stories. Simon learned that Connor and the orcs had not abandoned him after he sent them away from the Jade Tarts but had joined together to track him down. Only to discover his body possessed by Yidian alone and in the company of the Order of Belothemid. Even more strange was the journey through the Hidden Path and the chaos that transpired there.
“So, you have no idea what became of Connor or my body?” Simon asked trying poorly to mask the anxiety in his voice.
“We don’t even understand how we got here,” Fogrot shrugged.
“I hope they are alright,” Simon tried to stop wringing his hands together, it was a strange tingling sensation anyway, not the normal warmth of flesh.
“So, why must you go on your own?” Fogrot demanded.
Simon recounted his death and the journey through Meridiah with Vale. Primarily, he focused on the goals he had to achieve by obtaining the Moon Stone, the Siren’s Conch, and the Heart of the Sun. He didn’t expand upon the specifics of his training by Master Toufle or reveal the weakness of his current form. He figured the fewer people knew about his new abilities, the better.
“The Moon Stone has crossed my path more than once already, I believe,” Simon went on, “Once in Graymere Falls with the werewolves and again in the city of Votu N’Saga.”
“Is that why the fairy told orc go to Votu N’Saga?” Fogrot asked.
“It is a reason worth considering,” Simon nodded, “It also stands to reason if other cities have fallen, like Votu Morgana, that the serpentfolk could be next. Perhaps the orcs might help them.”
“Orcs take and pillage,” Rummert frowned, “We don’t help.”
“If we all want to survive,” Simon retorted, “we might have to start helping each other! You never wanted to follow a human, but then I came along…”
“You’re… different,” Rummert shrugged, “Strong and powerful… well, the other one was.”
“My point is things change. Orcs included.”
“We will of course do as you ask,” Fogrot agreed immediately.
Rummert only offered a non-committal nod. It was clear by his words and expression that Rummert was severely missing the muscular Yidian-version of Simon. Based on the swollen size of Rummert, Simon could easily imagine what the orc and the demon had been doing together. Simon had to admit those times he shared with the orcs had been quite pleasurable, but he was not entirely himself or able to perform such acts.
“I can’t provide what you want tonight,” Simon caught Rummert’s gaze and made sure the orc could see his sincerity, “But things are about to get harder. War is coming.”
“Orc understand war,” Rummert smirked a bit.
“I want you to let the other orcs know that they can have their war,” Simon smiled, “We are going to fight the Order of Belothemid and any that stand in our way. I will meet you in Votu N’Saga.”
“To WAR!!” Rummert shouted so loud that an owl near their camp hooted noisily and then took flight.
Simon stood and looked out into the distance. His eyes were not human eyes any longer and with a little magic he could see the world laid out before him in shades of gray even in the dark.
“What are you doing?” Fogrot asked in surprise when Simon stood.
“Trying to find the correct direction for Graymere Falls.”
“You’re not waiting for morning?”
“You both get your rest,” Simon urged, “I find that I am still quite able to keep going tonight. Might as well get a head start.”
“Well, if you…” but Fogrot stopped in surprise as Simon had vanished.
“What the fuck?” Rummert blurted.
“Maaaagic,” Fogrot finally whispered into the long silence that followed while wiggling his fingers through the air to accentuate the eeriness of it all.
Simon appeared on a distant hill and immediately collapsed to his knees. Blinking was still possible, but he felt the strain on his constructed form. He also sensed the increasing distance from the Pool of Tears. When he was near it in Volox Ofoon the magic had felt strong, but now it was ebbing away. He’d need his body back with the endless supply of power before he could act so rashly.
“I guess I continue on foot,” Simon grimaced as he rose to his feet, his crystal knees making a dry cracking sound. He picked his way toward a nearby path he’d spotted from the camp.
__________
Connor was still disoriented from his travel through the Hidden Path, but in horror he watched the soldiers that had passed through the portal with him quickly set upon by several spiders delivering a venomous killing bite. Connor shifted completely into his lupine form. Lighter on his padded feet, he scampered around the areas where the webs lay thickest upon the ground. The clicking spider’s legs and unnatural hissing sounds indicated that the foul creatures were in pursuit. Behind him, the soldiers continued to scream.
The wolf ran as swiftly as possible, trying to find an area of the jungle where the spiders had not taken up residence. The sound of flowing water eventually lay ahead, and Connor discovered a great river cutting through the jungle. After swimming across the river, the wolf could scent the familiar aroma of smoke and ash. A great fire had occurred nearby in the jungle and was likely still smoldering.
Connor yelped in alarm as a great black spider dropped down from a tree above and attempted to ensnare him in webs or its many long legs. The wolf danced out of the way and began to run again following the scent of the smoke.
Connor pulled up short in utter amazement as he reached a high ridge. The charred remains of massive trees rose up like enormous black pillars in the valley below and ash still fell like snow upon the ground. At the heart of the former elven city remained a massive, lush tree, its long green bows towering above the charred battlefield. The entire tree was encased in a golden barrier that must have protected it from the fire.
Within the border of the tree’s shimmering barrier the fighting continued. Elves struck out with wooden staves carved with magic runes that sent black-clad soldiers flying in all directions. But for every soldier that fell, more took their place and the elves’ numbers were slowly dwindling. Spells cast by the elven mages seemed to be repelled by the black armor as if it had been blessed by some supernatural force.
Connor considered his options as he looked down from his vantage point. One werewolf could not change the tide of the battle, but he felt compelled not to abandon the elves to their fate. As Connor stood uncertainly, a horn began to sound on the far side of the valley below. Another small force of elves and what appeared to be priests were charging toward the black-clad soldiers. Connor saw the enemy’s focus shift and seized the opportunity to descend quickly down the steep drop toward the glittering tree fortress below.
__________
Blood sprayed across his scaly skin as he plunged a dagger deep into a man’s chest. His eyes wide, heart pounding, forked tongue flicking out to test the coppery tang, Zolgrim pulled the dagger out and stabbed it down again. A guttural scream tore out of him as he made his first kill. As he finally staggered to his feet, the blood rushing through his veins made the intense cacophony of battle around him sound as if it was reaching him underwater. Mute in the muffled roar, he witnessed a churning meat grinder of carnage around him.
Pikes skewered onrushing attackers. Swords split flesh spilling blood and entrails upon the blackened earth. Axes removed heads from shoulders. Wood staves shattered bone and sent men flying. On his right, a priest that had foolishly followed him back to Votu Morgana lay in a shallow pool of blood. On his left, the jawless corpse of an Order soldier seemed to be laughing up at him. His mind took in everything at once, as if time had slowed down so that he could see and remember every gory detail of the horrifying moment. He even saw the spear flying in his direction as if in slow motion, so he ducked out of the way.
As soon as the spear had whistled past his head, reality seemed to speed back up again. Zolgrim gripped the dagger with both hands and began to run toward the glittering golden border ahead. The tree was so beautiful, towering above the blood-soaked land, it seemed to radiate a sense of obvious refuge. Zolgrim had to reach the cover of the tree, so he ran hacking wildly with his dagger at anyone who dared approach.
Zolgrim locked eyes with an Order swordsman in front of him. The man’s cruel sneer crumpled, then contorted with pain as Zolgrim charged at him. Then, Zolgrim slashed at the man’s exposed flesh wildly leaving long deep gashes until the man fell to the ground dead.
“What are you doing?” a gruff voice asked, “That’s a good way to get yourself killed.”
Zolgrim took a moment to recognize the wizened old elf standing before him, Magister Inaxalys. Long white hair framed the elf’s thin face, and his long goatee trailed down over his battle robes. Piercing, pale amber eyes assessed Zolgrim critically.
“I had to kill him!” Zolgrim practically shouted, then seemed to doubt his own words.
“Well,” Inaxalys shrugged and brandished his staff, “You’re lucky I killed him first or you might have lost that arm.”
Inaxalys pointed the end of his staff toward Zolgrim, Zolgrim’s eyes followed and realized the Order soldier’s sword had left a deep gash in his shoulder. Zolgrim stared dumbly at his bleeding wound wondering why it didn’t even hurt. As Zolgrim went on staring, even sticking a clawed finger into the wound, Inaxalys nimbly danced around him battering enemy soldiers away with his magic staff.
“You clearly have no fighting experience,” Inaxalys was suddenly right next to Zolgrim and the dazed priest jumped in surprise. “You were just running with your dagger pointed straight out before you. Stay by my side and we’ll reach the Nemeton.”
Zolgrim didn’t shut his eyes as he followed Inaxalys toward the tree because he needed to see the way, but he wished he could. Every step was a new horror. Zolgrim even thought he saw a furry, beast-like form stalking among the ranks of enemy soldiers and rending their flesh with massive, clawed hands. He blinked his eyes and the beast was gone, replaced by more men and elves being cut down and slaughtered.
At long last, they crossed the golden barrier which left a warm tingling sensation beneath his scales, and Zolgrim began to run away from the terrible battle.
“You’re welcome!” Inaxalys barked gruffly at Zolgrim’s back, before returning to the fray.
A beautiful elven woman caught Zolgrim by the arm as he made his mad dash toward the base of the tree. He tried to shove her away, but her grip was surprisingly strong.
“Let me go!”
“You are in a state of mania,” the woman spoke calmly, “We healers have seen such things, when you are safe, your mind will shut down to save itself. Let me help you. You will want to be alone, but it is better to have a guide.”
Zolgrim took in the kind expression on the elf’s face, and he looked toward the canopy of the lush green tree above. He could still hear the sounds though of the battle raging so close at hand. Numbly, Zolgrim allowed himself to be led toward a series of squat lean-to structures that had been erected for the healers and their charges.
“My name is Morwyn,” the healer spoke as she guided Zolgrim to sit on a cot. She then sat next to him, holding each of his hands delicately in hers, and she closed her eyes. Zolgrim considered speaking, but then he could feel the warmth of magic tingling through him and fell silent. Over time, his outright terror abated, and he relaxed muscles he was unaware he had been tensing. His thoughts became more ordered, and he began to recall why he had returned to this nightmare, the Moon Stone.
