PURE OF HEART (14 page)

Han drew back his bow, but the man leaped at him and, using his leg, swept Han’s feet out from underneath him. Han crashed onto his back and groaned loudly.

Dean lunged forward. The man turned and struck at Dean with his sword. Dean’s blade caught the man’s. They stood toe-to-toe, their swords pressed together. Dean slipped to the side and smashed the handle of the sword into the side of the man’s head.

The blow knocked the man to the floor. He rolled up onto his knees. He put his hands on the floor like he was going to jump up, but he did not stand.

Han drew back his bow. Bravic grabbed his axe, and Oieda lowered her spear at the man’s chest. They were all panting for breath, but the man seemed more winded than any of the four. He took off his helmet and let it fall to the floor with a loud clang. His hair was gray but so light it was almost white. He raised his head and his steel blue eyes fixed on Dean’s lowered sword. The man looked at his own sword, lying well out of his reach.

“Why don’t you run me through now that you have the chance, thief?” the old man asked. His thin, worn features narrowed.

“You’re alive,” Dean cried in disbelief.

“You think a nick like that would kill me?” the man grumbled as he stood up.

“You’re not a ghost?” Han yelped, wide-eyed as he gazed quizzically up at him.

“And how do you know I’m not?” the man asked ominously. He leaned toward the Elvana, who quickly moved back to stand behind Bravic and Oieda.

“We do not want to steal anything, ghost or man. Or should I call you a Wardevar?” Oieda kept her spear pointed at him.

“The Wardevar have been dead for fifty years,” Bravic said in disbelief. “They were all defeated and killed.”

“They were not defeated,” the man said. “They were murdered. And there is still one who lives. And one is all that’s needed to kill you, spawn of Volsur.” The man’s hands balled into fists.

“You have it all wrong. We’re going to stop Volsur!” Han jabbed his finger at the man.

“Stop Volsur?” The man stared questioningly at Dean. “Maybe you’re not thieves. Who are you?” He took a step toward Dean.

“My name is Dean Theradine. My friends are Bravic Volesunga, Oieda Halotic, and Hanillingsly Elvenroot,” Dean said as each in turn bowed low.

“Dean Theradine? Let me see the sword you bear,” the man demanded with an outstretched hand. “The sword is the sword of Panadur. You are not thieves,” he declared.

“How do you know we didn’t steal it from Panadur?” Han asked.

“Han,” all three snapped.

“I know you are not thieves,” the man repeated.

“Did you know Panadur?” Dean asked.

“No. I never knew him.” The man handed the sword back to Dean.

“Then how do you know we’re not thieves?” Han asked again, moving forward.

“No thief would give his sword to an enemy, unless he was a fool.” The man gave a half grin to Dean. “Follow me. Don’t speak anymore before the shadows of the warriors,” he warned as he picked up his helmet and walked, now with a noticeable limp, down the immense hall.

The companions marched in silence for a long time. How long they walked not even Bravic could tell, for they went by many suits of armor. The suits were of the finest craftsmanship, down to clothing that was almost rags, all of which seemed to exude energy into the companions. As they walked, their feet sounded like the drums of battle ringing off the stones. No matter how they tried to break up this rhythm, they’d all fall right back into the slow, steady beat. Finally, they stopped before two massive iron doors. Carved in the walls were long, rounded stone benches.

“Sit. Let me hear your tale,” the man ordered as he continued to stand.

Dean started the tale with Panadur but didn’t mention the Middle Stone or his world, and went right through the course of events until the companions came to the hall. Han would interrupt here and there to add details or tell how much he liked or didn’t like certain parts of their journey. When Dean finished, the old man turned and moved away from them to gaze down into the darkness of the hall for a long time. They sat in the solemn silence that descended once again on the hall as they waited. Suddenly, he strode away and vanished in the darkness without saying a word.

“Where do you think—ow!” Han asked, but Bravic’s elbow in his side cut him off.

Soon they heard the man’s footsteps return. As he came into the light, he carried a large, flat bundle under one arm.

“I believe what you’ve told me. Now you must believe what I’m going to tell you.” He moved before the companions.

Han leaned forward with a burning curiosity in his bright eyes.

“Many years ago, before Volsur was banished, there lived a young lord named Coren. He ruled a land called Wardevar. It was a dry, barren land where it was a fight to survive from day to day. But Wardevar bred the strongest and bravest warriors in all the lands. Their bravery and fierceness in battle was unparalleled. This strength enabled them to live in peace, for none would or could challenge them. Peace is what Lord Coren sought, and not just in his own land; they would often go to the aid of any in need. Volsur didn’t want their help for peace. Volsur wanted it for war. With the Wardevar behind him, he could not fail. He tried to sway young Lord Coren to his side. Volsur offered Coren money and power. Anything and everything, but Coren refused.

“Because of that, Volsur thought they would aid others against him, so he laid a trap. First, he won over a warrior named Norouk—may the traitor forever burn—with promises of riches and power. Next, he used Norouk to lead the others into a trap at the valley Grenadil. The valley only has two exits and lies between steep cliffs. It was the perfect place for Norouk’s betrayal. The traitor led his comrades and Lord Coren into the valley where the Vereortu fell upon them. They are evil creatures who thrive on fear. The warriors fought with all their hearts and might, but the sheer numbers of Vereortu cut through them.

“As they died, Norouk watched atop a huge rock. He stood up there so he could get the best view as his comrades were butchered. You could hear the screams of pain mixed with the sound of his laughter. He even murdered some with his own hand. The coward didn’t have enough honor to go down to the battlefield. Instead, he had the Vereortu drag the fallen warriors up to him. Then he’d kill them slowly as they lay dying at his feet. That’s where Lord Coren died. As the Vereortu threw him before Norouk, the young lord slashed at him. His sword cut deeply into Norouk’s face. Then dozens of Vereortu attacked and killed him. Before he fell, he took many evil creatures with him.

“The rest of the Wardevar were not to die easily either. The warriors fought with such ferocity that, as they fell, their final blow would shatter their sword. All their valor was not enough; soon only Graylen stood, his body ripped and torn from many fatal wounds. Graylen was said to have been a descendent of the people from the Isle of Mist: the people of magic.

As Graylen stood with his life flowing away, Norouk called the Vereortu off. Graylen asked to speak his last words. I don’t know why, but Norouk agreed to listen to Graylen. Maybe he just wanted to see him suffer longer. Graylen had something else in mind, though. In the middle of all his fallen comrades, as he himself stood dying, he picked up a shield and lay his hands upon it. The Vereortu came and dragged Graylen up to the rock where Norouk stood and drove Graylen to his knees. Graylen’s voice was so faint, it was like a whisper in the wind:

“As their screams of vengeance go unspoken

Let their spirits fly to the shield unbroken

On this spot, they again you will see

On that day their spirits will be free

Their souls will fly

Yours will surely die.”

“After Graylen said this, Norouk ran his sword through him, and Graylen fell upon his shield. Then the creatures and the traitor left. One thousand warriors went into the valley. Only two came out.”

“If the first was Norouk, who was the other who came out?” Han asked and the others glared at him.

“One was Norouk. The other was the flag carrier named Ranadin. Ranadin was among the first to fall in the battle. A spear ripped through his leg, but the wound was not fatal. A young warrior dragged him beside a fallen horse and hid him from battle. When all was over, Ranadin crawled to Graylen’s body and saw his once plain shield was now covered with many runes. Ranadin brought that shield here, knowing one day it could be used to avenge the Wardevar’s deaths.”

“But all this happened before Volsur was banished. Is Norouk still alive? Is he with Volsur now?” Han asked.

“Norouk, curse his name, went into the Barren Lands with Volsur. Now he’s master of the Vereortu and dresses in golden armor made from the gold Volsur paid him to betray his fellow warriors. Volsur’s power keeps him from aging. If you plan to stop Volsur, you’ll have to face Norouk.”

“What? But if he killed all the Wardevar, how can we stop him?” Han groaned.

Dean shook his head. “Listen. There are only four of us. If we do run into this Norouk guy and the Vereortu, we can’t fight them. We have no chance.”

“We will try.” Oieda jumped to her feet and held out her spear.

Dean exhaled but the old man smiled. “I admire her courage. It would be madness for you to face Norouk, but if you do head to Volsur, you will meet him. Or he will come after you.” The old man unwrapped the bundle underneath his arm to reveal a silver shield, on the front of which was inscribed hundreds of dark runes. “It is to you, Dean Theradine, I give this shield of Graylen.” As he handed the shield to Dean, he said, “I know not how to use it. But you’ll know when the time is right.”

“I thank you,” Dean said.

“Give me no thanks. It was my duty,” the old man snapped and then moved to the massive doors. “Night comes. You must now leave the hall.”

Dean opened his mouth, but the old man held up his hands. Each of the companions bowed low as they passed by him into the growing darkness.

As the massive door closed behind them, Han turned and called inside. “But you never gave us your name.”

“My name is Ranadin,” the man answered as the great gates swung silently shut.

The companions walked away from the hall and down a worn path that curved up and out of the valley. The midnight-black storm clouds again swirled above their heads. They traveled in silence as they climbed. Han constantly looked behind him. A look of fascination appeared on his face as he glanced at the cloth bundle underneath Dean’s arm and back again.

Dean smiled at Han until something in the sky caught his eye. “Not again.” Dean cursed. “Tarlugs. A whole squadron of them.” He pointed to thirty shadowy shapes that swept toward them. “Down this path. It runs next to the cliff. We can find shelter there.”

The four scrambled down a rocky path that wound its way along the sheer cliff, towering above them. The other side of the path dropped steeply off, the bottom of the valley nearly one hundred feet below. The wind had died and the sun was just about to set in the distance. Screams split the air as three Tarlugs suddenly dove straight down for them. The first Tarlug fell shrieking as one of Han’s arrows impaled it. The second beast flew in close to the wall. The tip of its wing caught against the cliff, dragging the rest of its body with it. It slammed into the wall and fell over the ledge, screaming. The third winged creature plummeted as Oieda stabbed it with her spear. As the tip ripped into its chest, the Tarlug grasped Oieda as it sped by. With a cry of pain, Oieda flew frontward and tumbled toward the edge of the cliff.

Dean lunged forward. Landing hard on his stomach, he grabbed Oieda’s arm just as she fell over the edge. Dean started to slide over too. His sneakers dug into the stone but Oieda’s weight kept dragging him forward. He grabbed her arm with both hands. Bravic grasped Dean’s legs.

“Pull me up,” she screamed, dangling over the valley below.

“I’m trying!” Dean yelled back. “You weigh two hundred pounds.”

Oieda’s eyes went wide. “I do not!”

“Stop yelling at each other and pull,” Han cried as he held onto Bravic’s belt.

While Bravic held Dean’s legs, Han helped Oieda back onto the path.

“You can’t pull up a girl?” Oieda huffed as pressed her back against the ledge.

“Now you’re a girl?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“What does that mean?” Oieda snapped.

“You gave me a ration of crud back in the stable about how a girl can do anything a guy can and how you want to be treated like a guy. But now you throw
I’m just a girl
in my face—”

“I did not mean it that way. I didn’t think you were so weak that you weren’t able to lift a girl.”

“You’re wearing forty pounds of armor and ten pounds of weapons. You alone have to weigh at least one hundred and—”

“I know how much I weigh—”

“Can we fight the Tarlugs and not each other?” Han yelled as he searched the sky.

“I don’t see them. Did they flee?” Bravic asked as all four looked up.

The sound of rolling stone came from somewhere above them.
Crack!
A large rock smashed into pieces as it crashed onto the path just behind them.

“They’re bombing us with stones!” Dean pointed at a ridge above them where Tarlugs held large rocks in their arms.

Crack!
Another boulder shattered as it slammed into the ground and showered the four with splintered pieces, flying like little daggers through the air.

“Ah-ooh-ga! Ah-ooh-ga! Dive! Dive!” Dean ordered as he sprinted down the path.

The companions raced down the trail as stones rained down on them. Boulders fell all around, blowing apart as they landed. One shattered right before Dean, and a large fragment hit him just above his eye. The cut was thin, but a small amount of blood flowed down his cheek.

“I’m going to get those stupid flying Krulgs.” He held his hand to his face.

“There’s a cave up ahead.” Bravic panted and nodded to a large opening in the side of the cliff.

They raced forward and darted inside the cave.
Crack!
A large rock tumbled down the side of the cliff to land outside the opening.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Three more rocks slammed into the cliff and a shower of splintered rocks slid down.
Crack!
The whole cave shook as rock broke rock and a large section of the opening fell in.

“The cave is letting go,” Bravic gasped as he peered overhead. “We must do something, or we’ll be crushed when the ceiling collapses.”

“We can’t go out there. One of those rocks would crush us like bugs too. How far back does the cave go?” Dean looked back into the darkness.

Crack!
The mouth of the cave crumbled inward and parts of the ceiling fell to the floor. Shards of rock flew all around.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Han muttered as all of them dashed into the blackness.

After a few feet, a deep rumble came from the mouth of the cave as an avalanche of rocks sealed it off, and erased all traces of light.

“Why are you stopping?” Bravic asked.

“Because I can’t see a thing,” Han piped up.

“Bravic, can you make a torch?”

Dean could hear Bravic huffing and puffing for a minute. “No,” Bravic muttered. “I can’t find my flint.”

“WHAT?” Oieda gasped.

“Han, take Oieda’s hand.” Dean said quickly.

“Sure,” Han answered nervously.

“Bravic, grab Han’s hand. You can see a little?”

“A little,” Bravic muttered. “It’s more that I can sense where the rock is.”

“Well, just move slowly. Oieda, I’ll take your hand.”

“Hey! That is not my hand,” Oieda snapped.

“Sorry.” Dean coughed. “Got it.”

“Bravic?” Han’s voice trembled. “We don’t know what’s down . . . I didn’t say it. I’m not saying anything.”

“If you keep not saying anything, anything down here will know we’re here too. Light or no light,” Bravic grumbled.

“Stop squeezing my hand so hard. He said it, not me,” Dean said as Oieda continued to grip his hand tighter.

“I am fine,” Oieda said.

Dean heard the angst in her voice and remembered her fear of closed spaces. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine,
Han
. You don’t have anything to worry about,
Han
.” He tried to sound as confident as possible.

“I’m not afraid of closed spaces,” Han said. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better. OW! You’re hurting my hand Bravic.”

“Then be quiet,” Bravic grumbled.

They traveled in silence for a long time. Although Bravic led the way, they moved very slowly. They tripped over unseen rocks and bumped into one another in the dark. The invisible path they traveled was relatively flat but rocky, so they kept next to the cave’s rough wall.

“Bravic, no offense, but do you have any idea where we are?” Han finally asked.

Bravic sighed. “This path has doubled back. We’re now beneath the Hall of the Fallen Warriors.” There was a slight ring of annoyance in his voice. “I’m a Dwarf—a miner. I don’t get lost underground. Ever. I don’t mean to snap, Han, but that’s like asking a Dwarven seaman if he knows the way back to his port of call.”

“Dwarves sail? I didn’t think that Dwarves even—” Dean began to say but Oieda’s grip slowly tightened painfully around his hand, urging him to stop.

“We are beneath the Hall?” The dread in Oieda’s voice echoed ominously through the chamber.

“Oieda, what’s the matter with this place?” Dean asked.

“There is another part of the legend about the Hall of the Fallen Warriors. You know the great warriors above us were good in spirit and heart. It’s said the great evil warriors lurk beneath the Hall. Their hate for the warriors above keeps them prisoners here. The legend says they walk in the dark shadows with a hate for the living, never able to leave this hall, never able to rest.”

“Let me get this straight: you’re saying this is where all the best of the dead bad guys hang out?” Dean groaned.

Suddenly an eerie light flared up and filled the cavern. The ceiling towered above them; its walls were two hundred or more feet apart. At the end of the chamber, far away, was a large opening.

“I didn’t touch anything,” Han muttered as the companions let go of one another’s hands and drew their weapons.

“Run for the end,” Dean ordered.

As the four, with Oieda in the rear, sprinted for the far wall, the sound of galloping hooves rang on the stone behind them. They dashed across the smooth floor as fast as they could.

Oieda stopped. She turned and raised her spear in the air. The other three continued to race for the opening, not aware that Oieda was no longer running behind them.

A mounted horseman appeared and galloped straight toward Oieda. Oieda tightened her grip on her spear. Light flashed white on the horse’s flanks. When the rider came into full view, Oieda’s heart stopped. The beast was but bare bone. The visor on the rider’s helmet was up. Oieda could see the rider was a skeleton.

The tip of the skeleton’s lance lowered, and Oieda put one foot back and readied her spear. The rider raised a large shield on his other arm.

“Oieda?” Dean looked around and stopped. “Oieda!”

The Elf spoke in a tongue no man could understand.

“Run, Oieda!” Dean screamed.

“That crazy Elf!” Bravic cursed as they all ran back.

The horse’s hooves rang like rolling thunder across the stone floor. Oieda lowered her spear. Han fumbled to string an arrow. The tip of the skeleton’s lance flashed dully. Bravic and Dean ran forward. The skeleton’s eyes glowed with a pale green light. Oieda held out her hand. The horse stopped. The skeleton sailed through the air and crashed onto the floor.

Sword and axe swung as one to cleave its body in two. The skeleton’s head turned to look at them and its arms moved. They continued to strike it until they broke all its bones.

Dean glared at Oieda. “What did you think you were doing?” He stopped when the skeletal horse slowly lowered its head before the Elf.

Oieda reached out to Bravic and laid her hand upon his battle-axe. She carried the axe in both her hands back to the horse. She bowed her head for a moment, and then the axe slashed down and the horse fell.

“It was not evil.” Oieda looked up at the others, and her eyes glistened. “Now it is free.”

“We’d better go,” Dean said softly.

“Wait.” Bravic kicked the bones of the skeleton. “I know this shield.” He picked up a small circular shield that was so small it only covered his forearm. “It’s called the Buckler.”

“It’s tiny.” Han giggled. “Even for me.”

Bravic twisted his wrist and the metal plates on the shield snapped open with a swift click. The shield was now taller than Han.

“That’s cool.” Dean whistled.

“Do you want it?” Bravic twisted his wrist again and the shield returned to its small size.

“Wow. But no, thank you. I don’t know how to fight with a shield.”

“I’ll teach you.” Bravic held out the shield.

“Until you do, you should keep it.”

Bravic nodded and took it back.

“What about the spear?” Han asked. “Do you want that, Oieda?”

“I already have one.” Oieda held up hers.

Bravic picked up the spear. “I have a feeling that down here, we should have as many weapons as possible.” He pushed the bones around with his boot and saw a leather pouch. He grabbed the leather straps and gasped when he saw the gold coins inside. “A small fortune.” He sighed and held the coins out. “Take your share.”

Dean shrugged. “It won’t buy us a way out. Hold on to it, though.”

The four walked quickly toward the darkened opening. A large entranceway led to a rectangular opening the size of a normal doorway. There was no door but it looked as though one should be there.

“There are lights farther down.” Dean pointed to a dim glow far away.

“Stay close to me and the wall,” Bravic instructed.

Once they had gone twenty feet down the hallway, lights flared to reveal a long, stone corridor with many openings on either side.

“It’s a trap,” Dean groaned. “I know it. It’s going to be something like poisoned spears or a pit with huge stakes at the bottom.”

“What do we do to avoid it?” Bravic nervously scanned the stones.

“We can always turn back,” Han suggested.

Slam!

A large stone section thumped down behind them and sealed them off.

“I should have known it.” Dean laughed. “The old falling wall trap.”

“You think this is funny?” Oieda shrieked and grabbed his jacket.

“In a weird way.” Dean held his hands up.

“It is not funny.” Oieda grabbed both sides of Dean’s jacket and pulled him closer so her face was right in his. “I want out.”

“Okay. We couldn’t go back anyway. The cave entrance is smashed, and I doubt there’s a fire exit. I’m going to go down first. Han, keep me covered with the bow.”

Dean looked down at Oieda’s hands clenched tightly around his jacket. She was breathing heavily. “I’m sorry,” she muttered as she stared at his feet but didn’t let go of his jacket.