The Gateway (Harbinger of Doom Volume 1) Read online

  THE GATEWAY

  GLENN G. THATER

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2009 by Glenn G. Thater.

  All rights reserved.

  The Gateway © 2009

  by Glenn G. Thater

  Published by Smashwords

  Visit Glenn Thater’s website at http://www.angletheta.blogspot.com

  Discover other titles by Glenn G. Thater at Smashwords.com

  First Smashwords Edition: October 2009

  BOOKS BY GLENN G. THATER

  THE HARBINGER OF DOOM SAGA

  THE GATEWAY

  THE FALLEN ANGLE

  KNIGHT ETERNAL

  HARBINGER OF DOOM

  (Combines The Gateway and The Fallen Angle into a single volume)

  OTHER WORKS

  THE HERO AND THE FIEND – appears in the Anthology Shameless Shorts

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE

  THE GATEWAY

  GLOSSARY

  PREFACE

  The Gateway is the first story in a collection of the adventures of the ancient warrior-hero most commonly referred to as Angle Theta

  Although the original historical manuscripts detailing the life and times of this classic warrior are still inaccessible to the general public my contacts and travels have afforded me rare opportunities to view and even duplicate some of the original manuscripts which consist of more than ten thousand documents stored in protected archives in twelve museums and universities scattered across seven countries.

  Due to the inaccessibility of these documents, few modern scholars or authors are familiar with the “Thetian manuscripts.” Consequently, the general public knows little or nothing about this ancient hero who some scholars believe helped shape much of the ancient world and perhaps was the historical inspiration for the legends of Beowulf, Gilgamesh, King Arthur and others.

  Until now, no scholar has attempted a detailed compilation of the entire Angle Theta saga although several notable works containing Thetian stories have been penned through the centuries. Grenville’s work “Ancient Warriors of Scandinavia” (1884) and Addleson’s “The Ancient Cities of Prehistoric Europe” (1921) both contain several stories of Theta’s exploits. The text “The Warlords” (1408) by Chuan Chien contains two tales of Theta’s adventures in ancient Asia. While there is no complete English translation of Chien’s text, the accounts contained therein serve as independent evidence of the existence of Theta as a historical figure. The essay “Forgotten Empires” by Charles Sawyer (1754) and Da Vinci’s manuscript “Of Prehistory” (1502) also contain story fragments and references to the historical Theta. The voluminous treatise “Prehistoric Cities of Europe” by Cantor (1928) presents noteworthy, though non-conclusive, evidence of the historical existence of the city of Lomion in what is now southwestern England.

  Some modern scholars do not accept the historical efficacy of the Thetian manuscripts due to the relatively small quantity of corroborating archeological evidence for the ancient cities and cultures detailed therein. Thus, they relegate Theta to the realms of myth, legend and allegory. Others maintain that the scholarly texts mentioned above, coupled with the original archived manuscripts, serve as sufficient evidence to verify the historical existence of Theta the man. One can only hope that in time the archeological record will further reinforce this position.

  Several years ago while researching Theta for a story that I had planned to write, I had the good fortune to meet and begin a long-standing collaboration with several leading Thetian scholars, most notably Professor Augustine DiPipcorno of the University of Padua, and Dr. Ann Lewis of The University of Indiana, who have for some years been actively translating the entire body of available original manuscripts. These professors are leading a team that is currently preparing a series of detailed scholarly texts that include all the original tales plus their commentary and thorough critique of the corroborating scholarly, historical, literary and archeological evidence.

  The work you are now reading, however, represents my re-envisioning of the first volume of the Professors’ translations into modern prose with additional dialogue and descriptive language added so that these stories will be found more accessible and entertaining to the typical reader. Further, I have sometimes chosen to label certain fanciful creatures and devices described in the original manuscripts using names and words that are familiar to modern readers of fantasy and science fiction tales. The story and chapter titles are my own and are meant to be entertaining. In all cases, however, the central plots, facts, themes, and spirit of the original tales remain unchanged.

  I hope you will come to enjoy the Thetian tales as much as I have. Please feel free to leave any constructive comments in the comments section of my website http://www.angletheta.blogspot.com and/or in this work’s listing on Amazon.com. Happy reading.

  Glenn G. Thater

  April 22, 2008

  New York

  THE GATEWAY

  An Excerpt from The Saga of Angle Theta

  “Ye wilt not thwart us again, harbinger of doom!

  We shall have this world this time.

  What once was ours will be ours again!”

  - The Chaos Lord Bhaal to The Lord Angle Theta.

  I

  VALKYRIES GATHER

  A grayed Lord and his lieutenants stood at the fore of a small wedge of armored soldiers, veterans all. Malignant, clinging mist wafted about, sickening the men and clouding their vision. With the mist came a thunderous cacophony that consumed the night, piercing the very souls of those unfortunates within its demesne. A maleficent, skirling, bestial sound, akin to naught in nature and much in nightmare. A preternatural wailing it was, and in its wake bounded death.

  “All hell’s fallen on them,” said Lord Eotrus.

  Par Talbon made to move forward, but the old knight’s hand darted out and held him fast.

  “We hold our ground,” said Lord Eotrus gripping the small man’s shoulder tightly. “We cannot advance in this mist and you can’t turn it all. Stern’s fate is in Odin’s hands now.” Staring into the mist he drew forth his sword from its ornate scabbard and raised the steel blade to his face - a salute from olden times - then lowered it again, though he kept it at the ready. “As is ours,” he said. “Our path is clear.”

  “What’s out there Aradon?” said Brother Donnelin.

  “What are we facing?”

  “Nothing of Midgaard, my good priest,” said Lord Eotrus. “Nothing of this world.”

  The wailing grew ever louder. A deep rumbling sound began and quickly intensified. Soon, the very earth itself began to shake and shudder. Archers closed ranks before their lord and his lieutenants. Swordsman and pikemen stood at the ready, eyes wide but feet planted. Several cloaked men with staffs matching his flanked Talbon.

  Lord Eotrus’s gaze drifted upward to the midnight sky. “The Valkyries gather. Soon they’ll carry us home.” More quietly then, “I thought I’d have more time. Thank Odin at least the boys aren’t h
ere.”

  Donnelin and Talbon exchanged worried glances as they stood protectively about their lord.

  “Here they come!”

  “I still can’t see them,” said Donnelin. “Damned mist.”

  “Keep your formation men!” said Lord Eotrus. “Talbon! Dispel the mist! Now!”

  At his liege’s command, the sorcerer uttered forgotten words of eldritch power; secret words lost to all but the chosen few. The ancient sorcery he called up crushed the unnatural mist back against the night, though the darkness lingered beyond the limits of the soldiers’ torchlight.

  Lord Eotrus’s face grew ashen and his eyes wide as the horror thundering down upon them came into view. A war cry burst from his throat and he charged forward to meet his fate. A few of the bravest soldiers followed him, but most dropped their weapons or froze in a panic. Not one even bothered to try to flee.

  II

  THE WAILING

  Angry wood screamed as the stairwell door burst open. Brother Claradon Eotrus’s hand went to his sword hilt as several figures flew through the portal onto the tower’s roof. Par Tanch spun toward them, death flaring in his eyes and blue fire licking the apex of his staff. But the wizard lowered his ensorcelled weapon, and his aspect softened at the sight of Sir Ector Eotrus’s haggard face. At the young nobleman’s heels were his diminutive comrade Ob and a glinty-armored leviathan known as the Lord Angle Theta. Behind them came one Dolan Silk, a wiry man of sickly pallor and strange ears.

  Ector approached his older brother and Tanch, Ob following, whilst Lord Theta strode past them to the crenellated parapet. Enshrouded in a midnight cloak, Theta stood transfixed, gazing westward through the starlight at the Vermion Forest. Dolan Silk melded into shadow.

  “Master Ector, thank the gods you’ve returned safely,” said Tanch, though his gaze was affixed on the mammoth figure at the parapet.

  “What’s happened here?” said Ob.

  “We heard a patrol disappeared,” said Ector.

  Tanch ignored them, still staring at Lord Theta.

  “We’re talking to you man!” shouted Ob. “Tanch!”

  Tanch turned back toward them; an inscrutable expression on his face.

  “Where’s father?” said Ector. “Where are Sir Gabriel, Brother Donnelin and the others?”

  “Oh it’s dreadful Master Ector, just dreadful. Your father’s gone missing.”

  “They’re all missing, dammit!” said Claradon. “Father, Brother Donnelin, Par Talbon and all the rangers. They never returned from the Vermion.”

  Ector’s face blanched. His mouth agape, too stunned to speak.

  “Stop shouting you fools,” said Theta, his eyes never straying from the distant wood, his hand gesturing to quiet the others.

  “And Sir Gabriel is in the mountains somewhere,” said Claradon, more quietly this time, as he glanced back toward Theta.

  “A hunting trip,” said Tanch. “Can you believe that? The world’s ending and he goes off hunting.”

  “Ector, who in Odin’s name is that?” said Tanch, gesturing toward Theta. “And where did the other go?” he said, looking about for Dolan.

  “We’ve got to find out what happened,” said Claradon. “We’ve been debating all day and we’re not getting anywhere.”

  “I’ll certainly not stand here whilst my father lies dead or dying or worse,” said Ector. “We must fly.”

  “Dammit all to hell” said Ob, “I’m with Ector on this, what’re we waiting for; let’s get moving.” Ob turned back toward the stairwell, then froze. He cocked his head to the side and his prodigious ears twitched up and down in strange fashion, as the pointy ears of gnomes are sometimes wont to do. “What the hell is that? That don’t sound right natural to me.” Ob held up his hand to silence the others. “Can you hear it?”

  “Hear what?” said Ector.

  “Oh no, not again,” said Tanch. “Please don’t let it start again.”

  “The wailing,” said Claradon.

  “Gods preserve us,” said Tanch.

  Frantic servants scrambled hither and fro covering the war room’s windows with thick draperies, pillows, and great tapestries to drown out the unnatural din that demanded entry. Claradon paced back and forth near the head of the ponderous oaken table that dominated the room; a vacant expression covered his face and sweat beaded on his brow. Ob berated the servants for their slowness then climbed up on the chair that Brother Donnelin had made for him and plopped down into the seat, his chainmail armor clanking against the hardwood. The finely crafted mahogany chair was so tall that when the old gnome sat in it, his head was nearly level with those of the others. A servant passed him a bowl of softened wax from which he plucked a finger full to stop up his ears. “Ah, now that’s much better,” said Ob. “Now I can think straight again. Claradon, I’ll be wanting your tale of what you know of your father, and of this foul wailing and, and I’ll be needing it quick. So gob up your ears with a slab of this stuff so your head’ll be on straight, then start your telling.”

  Claradon made use of the wax then continued his pacing, ignoring Ob.

  Dolan Silk found a seat, promptly leaned back, and put his boots up on the table’s edge, seemingly oblivious to the skirling sounds that still found their way inside. Ector and Tanch sat to Dolan’s right, and each made use of the wax in turn. Before taking the seat across from Dolan, Lord Theta propped his massive battle shield against the wall. The old shield was sorely battered from untold battles, yet so highly burnished was its surface, much to Dolan’s credit, that one could clearly see their reflection within its depths.

  A disheveled servant crashed into the room. “Master Claradon, Sir Gabriel has returned. He’s on his way up.”

  Claradon sighed in relief and found a seat near the table’s head.

  “Thank goodness!” said Tanch. “Sir Gabriel will know what to do. He’ll clear up this troubling business.”

  Soon, they could hear Gabriel shouting from down the hallway. “I can’t leave you people alone for even a few days without all hell breaking loose. My first damn hunting trip all season. Where are Aradon and the boys? What the hell’s going on? What’s this damnable din? Someone answer me, for Odin’s sake!” Guards and servants scattered before his wrath. One servant tripped and landed on his face as he passed the war room’s door. The flustered retainer barely managed to scramble out of the way as Gabriel stormed into the room, his left hand gripping his sword hilt. As he entered, he rapidly scanned each face, as if searching for someone. His eyes widened as he spied Lord Theta, but his gaze lingered for only a moment before he turned his attention to the others.

  “What’s going on here?” said Gabriel, “What’s this noise and who’s gone missing? Someone speak up,” he said, his withering gaze clearly focused on Claradon.

  “Father is missing. So are Brother Donnelin and Par Talbon and all the Rangers. It’s a long story. I sent out the scouts at first light. No word yet. The garrison is gearing up, and I’ve tripled the guard in the Outer Dor.”

  “By Odin,” said Gabriel. “This is what I get for taking a holiday.” But his aspect softened as he moved to Claradon’s side. “You’ve done well.” They clasped arms in a firm embrace. “Aradon is in good hands - Par Talbon is most capable and Stern and his men are amongst the best woodsman north of Doriath.”

  “Pardon my interruption good Sirs,” said Tanch, “but protocol requires that I introduce a visiting dignitary.”

  At this, Theta adjusted the meticulously groomed moustache that dominated his rugged features, rose and strode confidently toward the new arrival. Theta’s ornate plate armor was enameled deep blue and damasked with a proud and noble standard upon its breastplate. His long stylish cloak, although open at the front, partially obscured the two exotic curved swords sheathed at his waist. Dolan scrambled to his feet and followed his master.

  “Sir Gabriel Garn, this is the Lord Angle Theta, a renowned knight errant from a far off land across the sea. Attending him is his manservant,
Dolan Silk.”

  “When I heard thy name bespoke,” said Theta, “I thought thee mayst be the Gabriel I knew of old. Now I see that I was correct, though I have feared thee dead these many years.”

  “Death hath not caught me yet, my Lord, though it pursues me relentlessly. It be good to see thee again,” he said, falling into the archaic dialect that Theta used.

  “Friend of old times,” said Gabriel as they firmly clasped hands.

  “Friend of old times,” responded Theta. “Tis good to see thee also.”

  “How is it you know this here fellow, Gabe?” said Ob. “We just met up with him on the road the other day and he tells of how he never set foot in Lomion afore this week. Besides, in all the years I’ve traveled with ye, I’ve never laid eyes upon him, nor heard tell of his name.”

  Gabriel frowned and paused a moment, locking his gaze on Ob before responding, “We served together many years ago my friend. But those are stories for another time. Now, who can tell me the details of what has happened here?”

  “The timing of your arrival Sir Gabriel is most fortuitous, as Master Claradon and I were about to relate the tale to Lord Theta, Ob, and young Master Ector who only just arrived themselves. If you gentlemen would be so kind as to take your seats,” said Tanch in his most deferential tone, “perhaps Brother Claradon will begin the tale.”

  “Start talking, boy,” said Ob. “Where are your father and the others?”

  “Claradon,” said Gabriel as a servant passed him the wax bowl, “Start at the beginning, and leave nothing out. Good thinking about the wax.”

  “The wizard’s idea, of course,” said Ob. “Nobody better at avoiding pain or work.”