The Gateway (Harbinger of Doom Volume 1) (7 page)

“
I cannot hardly believe what I’ve
seen. I missed it afore, I missed it entirely,” he said shaking his
head in disgust.

“
What did you see Ob?” said
Claradon. “Are there tracks there or not?”

“
Theta’s been speaking the truth,
about the tracks at least. There be tracks all right. There be
nothing but tracks, which is why I missed them afore. That ground,
it’s been stamped down and compressed by a thousand thousand feet
walking over and over it. The tracks are so overlapped; they
obscure each other almost completely, making them appear not to be
tracks at all. But they are -I’m sure of it now. And they’re not
people tracks or the tracks of some animal neither. They’re the
tracks of some type of beastie, some type of monster like I’ve
never seen afore.”

“
How do you know that?” said
Claradon.

Ob held out his palm and displayed an object
that he had pulled from the soil. It was a claw - pitch black, more
than nine inches long and nearly three inches wide.

Blood dripped from Ob’s hand. “It’s razor
sharp,” he said. “And look at the size of it. No natural beast has
such a claw.”

“
Gods,” said Claradon. “It must’ve
broken off some creature, some monstrosity, some thing from the
hell Lord Theta spoke of.”

“
All right, Theta,” said Ob. “So
how do we seal this gateway?”

“
When the fog comes, we shall find
a way,” said Theta. “There is always a way.”

“
Find a way?! What the hell kind
of plan is that?” said Ob. “And what-- and what of
Aradon?”

Theta looked toward Claradon before
responding. “He and his men are dead. Of this, I have no
doubt.”

Claradon’s throat tightened up and his hands
grew icy cold as he realized the truth of Theta’s words. Gabriel
put a hand around his shoulders. “We’ll get through this,” he said
quietly.

“
How do you know all these
things?” said Ob. “Who are you, Theta? Who are you
really?”

Lord Theta turned and began to walk away.
“Perhaps tonight ye wilt find out.”

Ob’s weathered visage blanched at Theta’s
ominous words. Gabriel, Ob, Dolan, and Claradon watched the
mysterious knight walk back toward the makeshift
encampment.

“
Should we tell the men?” said
Claradon.

“
What would you have me tell
them?” said Gabriel. “That the world is ending?”

Claradon shrugged.

“
That we’ve a madman amongst us,”
said Ob. “He’ll be the doom of us all. Stinking
foreigners.”

“
You’re the stinky one,” said
Dolan wrinkling his nose, and then following after
Theta.

X

THE FOG

Not long before midnight, the moonlight
revealed a small area of fog forming at the center of the zone of
desolation. There was no fog anywhere else about, only there at the
circle’s center, and it was forming fast, too fast for something
natural.

“
Make ready!” shouted Ob. The men
scrambled to their feet.

An unnatural wind sprang up and the fog
rapidly expanded radially outward, rolling toward them like a giant
wave.

“
Form up, men!” shouted Sir
Gabriel. “Tight formation! Shield wall! Shield wall!”

“
Draw your weapons men, and make
ready,” boomed Ob.

The men rushed together, and aligned shoulder
to shoulder, four rows deep, in expert fashion. In moments, they
were ready. The front row held tower shields tightly together. The
second row held pikes.

“
This is it,” said Dolan, a smile
on his face. “Mr. Claradon, get ready to spew.”

Claradon felt near ready to comply.

In moments, the eerie cloud filled the entire
circle, but expanded nary an inch beyond its rim. Standing just
there, the expedition was untouched by the foul vapors. No one
dared move; they barely breathed. Moments passed that seemed like
hours whilst they looked and listened for some sign of their
enemies. But there was nothing.

A second gust of wind and the fogbank expanded
again, swallowing the whole of the expedition within its maw. The
men suddenly felt lightheaded and nauseous as the diabolical fog
settled around them, clinging to their flesh, threatening to rend
it from their very bones. The foul mist even stung their eyes,
blinding them. The temperature plunged instantly to well below
freezing, chilling them to the bone and sapping their strength. A
strange bestial odor filled the air.

“
What is this, what’s going on?”
shouted one knight.

“
Tis some evil magic” said a
second knight.

“
I feel ill,” said another. “My
head swims.”

“
And mine,” said several
others.

“
Black Sorcery it is,” called out
one man.

“
Devil’s work,” said
another.

“
Steady men,” shouted Ob,
“remember your training.”

“
Hold your formation!” boomed Sir
Gabriel.

Soon their vision cleared, but the thickness
of the vaporous stuff was such that one could scarcely see ten feet
ahead.

Theta moved from his position in the line and
boldly advanced into the preternatural fog, lance in hand, with
nary a word or glance to any. Dolan scrambled to follow his
liege.

“
Draw the daggers I gave you and
follow Theta,” commanded Sir Gabriel.

“
Steady boys and forward,” shouted
Ob. “And for Tyr’s sake stay together. I’ll not be searching the
fog for you.”

The warriors caught up to Theta about a
hundred yards into the fogbank. He was standing amidst a killing
field. The mutilated corpses of more than a dozen men littered the
ground where minutes before there was nothing. It was the missing
patrol. How the bodies appeared there, they could not fathom. Each
corpse was horribly desecrated in unspeakable ways; ways which
should not be described save to say that the remains could only be
identified by fragments of their armor, shields, and
clothing.

Claradon made to approach. “Get back boy,”
said Ob, as he interposed himself between the young knight and the
grisly remains. “You don’t want to see this.” Ob grabbed him
tightly by the arm to hold him back.

“
Stand aside. I have to
see.”

“
No you don’t,” said Ob. “You
don’t want to remember him this way.” Claradon shoved him aside and
moved forward.

“
Dear gods,” said Claradon, as he
drew close. “Dear gods,” was all he could utter. Claradon’s eyes
welled with tears; try as he could to prevent it.

“
What could do this to a man?”
said Ob to Gabriel.

Gabriel shook his head, and then looked
away.

Despite the terrible chill, some of the
knights reverently placed their cloaks over the fallen. The men
gathered around, and bowed their heads as Ob spoke a short prayer
to Odin.

“
We cannot linger here,” said Ob.
“We’ll be giving them a proper burial when the night’s work is
done. Then there’ll be time to grieve. Now there’s not. Now we’ve
enemies to find and to kill.”

“
Now is the time for vengeance!”
shouted Claradon. “For retribution!”

“
Vengeance!” shouted the
men.

Claradon picked up his shield and adjusted his
helm, wondering whether they’d all end up like that before the
night’s done. But Sir Gabriel was with him, thank the gods. He’s
never been beaten. He can’t be defeated. I’ll stay at his side he
thought, and make it through this. My path is to victory and
tomorrow. “To victory and tomorrow!” he shouted.

“
To victory and tomorrow!” shouted
the men as they resumed their progress, deeper into the
fog.

“
We will find whoever did this,”
said Claradon. “For them, there will be no escape.”

Gabriel and Claradon joined Theta at the
vanguard of the group. The three advanced as one, Theta in the
center. Soon they came upon a mammoth black stone building. It was
directly in the center of the fogbank, where nothing had been only
minutes before. Blacker than anything natural, it absorbed all
light, even that of Gabriel’s mystical daggers. This and the dense
fog prevented the men from discerning the true shape and full
extent of the sinister edifice. At the front of the structure were
six black steps that led up to a raised landing. Atop the landing
were six cylindrical columns of the same black stone. The tops of
the columns, lost in the fog, presumably supported some type of
canopy far above. Climbing the strange black steps, the feelings of
lightheadedness and nausea returned, more powerfully this time.
Claradon forced himself onward despite his swimming head and
churning stomach.

As he reached the top step, he turned and
faced the men. Through the fog, he gazed upon a sea of shining
helmets lined up three abreast. The biting cold of the place
assaulted him. Through chattering teeth, he shouted, “The guiding
light of just Tyr shall preserve us, men. And we shall have our
rightful vengeance!”

“
For House Eotrus,” shouted the
men.

Claradon realized his mistake after catching
Theta’s withering glare and hearing the growls from Ob and Gabriel
behind him.

“
Let’s pipe down and keep moving
men,” said Gabriel.

“
Yeah, there may still be some
beasties way in the back that haven’t heard us coming yet,” said
Ob. “Maybe we should take up a tune, so we won’t startle
them.”

XI

THE TEMPLE OF CHAOS

They proceeded across the front landing and
came upon a large pair of black stone doors. Theta gripped the huge
bronze handles and pulled. Though there was no visible lock or bar,
the doors didn’t budge. Before Gabriel and Claradon could move to
assist him, he pulled again, this time seeming to strain somewhat
with the effort. Thundering crunching and cracking sounds emanated
from the doors and the whole landing vibrated, threatening to
collapse around them. The men scattered. Suddenly, the doors
shattered and began to crumble to pieces, Theta’s mighty grip
having literally ripped them asunder. The stony remains fell in
heaps about the entranceway, the two bronze handles remaining in
Theta’s iron grip.

“
Damned showoff,” said Ob. “They
was probably about to fall apart on their own, anyways. Bad
workmanship, probably elvish.”

Theta peered inside for a few moments, then
stepped over the rubble and stalked cautiously into the malevolent
stone edifice. The rest followed, weapons bare. Strangely, it was
even colder inside than without, though the mist was thinner. The
air, oddly thick and heavy, had a curious, acrid taste. The same
bestial odor resided here, as outside, only stronger.

Theta removed one small object and then
another from his belt pouch. He tossed one to each side of the
darkened hall. The objects shattered, and then somehow illuminated
much of the place. The men gasped at this bizarre phenomenon and
gazed warily at the foreign knight. The mysterious lights were
bright and strong for a few moments, then they grew softer and
dimmer as the foul blackness of the place devoured them, turning
all to shadow. The light didn’t wane entirely; enough remained for
the men to see.

The structure’s interior was a most singular
hall, some sixty feet in width, stretching into the darkness beyond
the limits of the men’s vision. The size and scale of the place
were all wrong. It was too massive, too ponderous, and too
meticulous to have been man-made in the days of yore. It featured
two rows of massive ornate obsidian columns set thirty feet apart,
forming a wide corridor extending from the entranceway toward the
rear of the foreboding structure. The ceiling, lost in the
darkness, surely resided more than fifty feet above. The flagstones
were ground perfectly smooth; the joints between them so flawlessly
cut and fitted as to require no mortar. Expert craftsman,
possessing skills far beyond those of the most renowned of modern
masons or artisans had built this place. Surely, the Old Ones or
their minions - those ancient fiends that walked Midgaard before
the dawn of man, had constructed it. Somehow, the fell sorcery at
work here had restored the antediluvian temple, which had only
lately been no more than a crumbling ruin, to all its former
majesty and fearful glory.

The men stalked into the sinister structure,
their way illuminated by Theta’s magic, and by the soft white light
emitted by their mystical daggers. From the moment they entered
that foul place, it seemed to Claradon that everything moved in
slow motion. Perhaps it was the dizziness and nausea afflicting
him, perhaps something more. Even his boots made ominous echoing
sounds as he crossed the strange black stones. Unnaturally loud
they were - the mystical nature of the edifice serving to amplify
the sound tenfold.

At Gabriel’s direction, they fanned out and
began to move deeper into the black hall. As they did so, a bizarre
inhuman wailing sprang up all around them, emanating from the very
walls themselves. The men halted, weapons held at the
ready.

“
What madness is this?” said one
knight.

“
Where is the sound coming from? I
can’t see them,” shouted another.