The Gateway (Harbinger of Doom Volume 1) Read online

  “Harrumph,” went Tanch.

  Claradon somberly related the mysterious events of the past few days. He told of how five nights previous, horrible, guttural sounds began to emanate from the Vermion Forest to the west of Dor Eotrus, the magnificent fortress in whose central tower they were now gathered. The patrician diction in which he spoke marked him as having studied under some of Lomion’s finest scholars. Similarly schooled, his brother Ector’s coloring and slightly ill-favored features branded him as one of Lord Aradon Eotrus’s sons. Happily, Claradon was said to somewhat resemble his mother.

  “The sounds began around midnight and continued unabated until dawn,” said Claradon. “Later that morning, father sent a patrol of soldiers to investigate. They discovered a strange area within the wood, completely desolate and devoid of life. The place was flat, perfectly circular in shape, and some fifty yards in diameter. They say the ground within consisted only of hardened gray soil and dust, featureless save for some scattered stones. They found no invading army, and no strange animal or troll spoor; no clues whatsoever as to the origins of the sounds or the circle. The men withdrew and returned without incident to the Dor. Later we learned that residents of the outlying farms had heard similar sounds the night before we first heard them at the Dor.”

  “Where in the Vermion did they find this circle?” said Gabriel.

  “Two hours ride through the wood, nearly due west.”

  “Then it’s near the old stone ruins.”

  “That’s what I thought as well, but the men say they didn’t come across them. The following night, the strange sounds resumed. As before, they commenced around midnight and continued unabated until dawn.”

  “That wretched wailing kept the whole Dor up all night,” said Tanch. “Without the wax it was unbearable. My poor ears were --”

  “That night, however,” continued Claradon, “from atop the Dor’s towers the moonlight revealed a dense fogbank centering on the desolate zone. The next morning, father sent out a second patrol to investigate the strange phenomena.

  “When they got back, late in the day, they reported that the diameter of the desolate area had expanded to over one hundred yards. Again, nothing else was found.

  “Father decided the area should be investigated during the evening hours. He felt whomever or whatever was causing these strange goings on was hiding amidst the fog.

  “The next patrol left at dusk and was led by father himself.” Looking toward Theta he continued, “He was joined by House Eotrus’s high cleric, Brother Donnelin, Par Talbon our House Wizard and his apprentices, our three rangers, eight knights and a half squad of archers. Before he left, father ordered that in the event - in the event that he did not return - I was to await the return of Sir Gabriel or Ob before taking further action. Father had sent scouts to locate you,” gesturing toward Gabriel and Ob, “shortly after the circle was first discovered, so we hoped you’d be returning soon.”

  “Get to the point, boy,” said Ob, “What became of the patrol?”

  “I’m getting there; have patience! Very late in the evening, shortly before midnight, the guards atop the battlements spotted the fog. It appeared to have expanded still further from its extent the previous evening. Shortly thereafter, the horrible sounds began anew. This time, though, they were even louder. Then began a series of bright flashes of light and at least two thunderous explosions that shook the keep. Par Tanch and I were atop the central tower, watching.”

  “What make you of them flashes and explosions, Tanch?” said Ob. “Was it a storm over the wood, or something else?”

  Tanch hesitated, and looked over at Theta and Dolan. “I’m not sure that—“

  “Do you think the arcane arts were invoked?” asked Gabriel.

  “I -- well, I wouldn’t --“

  “It’s all right, such things are known to our guests; you should speak freely.”

  “Very well then. Yes. I have no doubt that they were magical discharges and that the fog itself is of a sorcerous nature. Lord Eotrus’s party clearly engaged some enemy force within the fogbank and powerful spells were thrown by one side or both. My apologies, Lord Theta, but I didn’t think it appropriate to mention things arcane. Besides, this is all so hard to imagine. A Lord of a noble house attacked on his own lands by sorcery. It is unfathomable. The nerve, the audacity, the--”

  “The sounds,” said Claradon, “continued until first light. Father’s patrol failed to return, their fate unknown. A full day and this much of the night has passed since their disappearance, and the fog and maleficent sounds have continued in the same pattern. We all saw the fog from the high tower only minutes ago. Tonight marks the fifth night since the sounds were first heard.”

  “What are we to do?” said Tanch. “Oh my, we--”

  “We have other problems as well,” said Claradon. “Rumors are spreading through the Dor. They say - they say that father is dead. They say they’re all dead and that whatever’s in the damnable fog will soon attack and kill us too. The people are beginning to panic.”

  “Bah,” spouted Ob as he rose and pounded his small fist on the table. “Who cares what them folks say, they don’t know nothing from nothing. Your father’s alive,” he said, his voice wavering and his face contorting as he tried to stay his emotions, “till I say he’s not. Do you hear me, boy? We’ll be going to them woods and we’ll be bringing him back, I say.” Quaking, he sat back down, and loudly blew his bulbous nose into his handkerchief.

  “Those ruins,” said Tanch, “There’s nothing there but a few scattered pillars of some peculiar black stone, and one crumbling building. Looks like some sort of old temple perhaps. Sir Gabriel, you remember, we rode out there once together. You must’ve spent half the day staring at those ruins. That wretched place made my very skin crawl. And it wasn’t just me, the horses felt it too. We had a difficult time keeping them calm near that fell place. As I recall, there was no game to be found within a mile or more. That’s why we never hunt out that way, you know. The whole time we were there, I felt like we were being watched by someone or something that wasn’t there – as if the place was haunted.”

  “Bah,” said Ob. “Don’t start spouting fairy stories Tanch. Ain’t no such thing as hauntings.”

  “I’m not saying it was haunted, Ob. I’m just saying that’s what it felt like when I was there.”

  “So who’s been doing all the wailing, and yelling and such each night?” said Dolan.

  No one responded; no one seemed to have an answer.

  Lord Theta leaned forward and spoke in a strong measured voice, “Speak more of these ruins, Gabriel.”

  All eyes turned to the foreigner and then to Gabriel.

  “Par Tanch is correct,” said Gabriel. “Tis a dark and evil place. As for the ruins themselves, they’re old, very old. Ancient.” He stared across the table at Theta for several seconds, seemingly considering whether to continue. “I believe that they were not human made.”

  “I’m doubting that Gabe,” said Ob. “Dwarves and gnomes wouldn’t build in a wood. Elves and hobbits don’t work much in stone, and lugron and their kin don’t have the brains. Humans had to make it; there’s nobody else it could’ve been. But who cares about the damn ruins anyways. All I care about is what happened to our people.

  “They must’ve been ambushed. That’s the only way that patrol could’ve been defeated or captured to a man.”

  Tanch shook his head. “Between Par Talbon, Donnelin, and Talbon’s apprentices, we had a formidable magical force in the field that night. Such men cannot easily be overcome.”

  “And rangers cannot easily be taken unawares,” said Gabriel. “There’s more to this than a simple ambush.”

  “Is it possible that those flashes and explosions were spells thrown by the enemy, against our patrol?” said Claradon.

  “Aye, maybe that could be Claradon,” said Ob, “Some type of magical ambush. But Aradon is no fool; I doubt he or Stern would walk into such a thing.”


  “Perhaps they met some enemy force so powerful it overwhelmed them quickly,” said Tanch.

  “Perhaps this, perhaps that. We’ll not know nothing until we get our behinds out there,” said Ob. He looked over at Gabriel. “Only question is - who and how many is to go?”

  Gabriel paused for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. He turned toward the younger Eotrus. “Ector,” he said, “you are needed here.”

  Ector grumbled and clenched his jaw, but offered no protestations.

  “You must take command of the Dor, and try to quell the panic of the people.” Shifting his gaze he said, “Claradon, in your father’s absence, you are Lord of the Dor. The expedition is yours to command.”

  “--Unless he defers command to the Dor’s Castellan,” said Ob, “Which he does - and I’ll pass it to you, Weapons Master - and there will be no more debating about it. There can’t be any fooling with this one, it’s too damned important. In a standup battle, either Claradon or I could lead, but that’s not what we have. There’s something queer about this whole business, what with the wailing and the circle and such. It’s just not natural, not natural at all. It stinks of sorcery and the like. In this, the only man amongst us that has the experience to lead is Gabriel. He must take command.”

  “I agree,” said Claradon as he turned toward the Weapons Master. “You can handle this much better than me. You must lead us. I don’t have the experience.”

  Gabriel stared down at the table for several seconds. “For good or ill, it’s your place to lead us Claradon, not mine. But Ob’s points are well taken; Aradon’s life may depend on our course, for that reason only will I agree to this.”

  He stood up. “We’ll take a full squadron of knights. Ob, you will choose them and captain the squadron. Be sure to include Glimador, and Indigo, they’re amongst my best students. And my squire and sergeant shall accompany us. The rest of the garrison will remain to defend the Dor. Par Tanch, you’ll come with us of course.”

  Par Tanch’s face blanched.

  “Ector,” said Gabriel, “If there’s no word from us by midday on the morrow, you will send word to Lomion, Kern, and Doriath Forest, asking them each for aid. You will also send scouts to each town and hamlet within our demesne, instructing them to prepare for battle or to flee to Lomion or to the Dor. Understood?”

  “Understood,” said Ector.

  “Perhaps I should stay behind and assist young Master Ector,” said Tanch. “What with my delicate back and such I may not be—“

  “We need your skills, wizard,” said Gabriel. “You’re going.”

  Tanch slumped back in defeat.

  Gabriel’s gaze, and then everyone else’s, shifted toward the two foreigners.

  “I shall accompany ye,” said Lord Theta before any could address him, “and Dolan as well.”

  “I thank you, Lord Theta,” said Claradon, “but this isn’t your fight. Don’t feel obligated.”

  Theta cut Claradon off with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. “I shall accompany ye.”

  “Then you have my gratitude.”

  Theta nodded.

  “Everyone, go now and make ready your equipment,” said Gabriel. “We’ll meet in the chapel in one hour.”

  III

  ON MAGIC AND MUMMERY

  As the men filed from the room, Theta motioned to Claradon to remain. He walked over as Theta gathered up his shield.

  “Your wizard was reluctant to speak of magic,” said Theta. “I would ask that you explain this.”

  “He behaved that way, because in Lomion it’s considered rather improper to speak of such things. One reason being most people believe magic is no more than mummery. The greater reason being it’s illegal to practice the true arcane arts publicly. Those that do so face ostracism at best, and prison or exile if things go against them. I gather that in your lands such is not the case.”

  “Indeed, things are different there. With your laws as they are, how is it that ye have a House Wizard?”

  “Ah, well- being a wizard, or rather, proclaiming yourself a wizard is not illegal. On every street corner in the great cities of the realm, there are those that call themselves wizards, sorcerers, or seers. But they are charlatans all. They trick the unwary and unwise with sleight of hand, and fool the foolish with palm readings, astrology, and other such bunk. As far as the common people know, that’s all there is to magic and wizards. All that they know of true magic comes only from legend and superstition. We’re a superstitious people you see, so the people fear those olden tales. They fear the olden magic and those that weave it. It’s better to believe only in the card tricksters and their ilk.”

  “So they think thy House Wizards are no more than well-dressed street hawkers.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And I gather that that isn’t the case.”

  “Indeed, it is not. There are those few, those most singular few that belong to the Order of the Arcane. These men are learned in the true mysteries of the magical arts of thaumaturgy, divination, sorcery, necromancy, and other such esoteric fields of study. A goodly number of their members can command fantastic magics and enchantments to accomplish all manner of wondrous deeds. Par Talbon, our House Wizard, is such a man, as is Par Tanch. These men are sworn to never use their skills publicly, save in the defense of their lives, the lives of their master, or by order of the Crown. Rare it is that such vows are broken. When magic is used, the authorities quickly cover up the incidents and remove the evidence; the government long ago having decided that the common people mustn’t know of such things. For good or ill, that’s the way of things.

  “And no one other than those in the Order can command the magical arts?”

  “Some few members of certain militant orders are trained in the ways of magic. But their command of the arts is typically far more limited than members of the Arcane Order.”

  “I take it that these knights are under the same restrictions regarding using their arcane skills.”

  “They are.”

  “You have such skills,” he said in a manner that could easily have been mistaken as a question – though it most certainly was a statement.

  “I do,” said Claradon, not quite holding back a slight grin at Theta’s insight. “As you’ve no doubt already discerned, my brother and I are knights of the realm of Lomion, each holding membership in one of the militant orders. I serve the Caradonian Order of the Knights of Odin, and they afford me the title of ‘Brother’. Ector and my brother Jude are members of the Tyrian Order, whose patron is Tyr, god of justice. Jude and Malcolm, my youngest brother, are in Lomion, our capital city, on House business.”

  IV

  THE PRAYER

  “Hear me my brothers,” said Claradon as he stood beside the lectern, “now gather close and harken to my words, for they art passed down to us from the before time.”

  The assembled knights of Dor Eotrus dropped to one knee and bowed their heads. Lord Theta and Dolan stood alone in the rear of the chapel.

  “Now look to the north and behold ancient Asgard, shining and bright, though hard and cold as the stone, the ice, and the sea.”

  “To the north lies Asgard,” said the men in unison.

  “Now look unto the east and behold thy brothers, thy sons, and thy comrades.

  Now look unto the west and behold thy sisters, thy wives, thy mothers, and thy daughters.”

  “Around us are our kinsmen, always,” said the men.

  “Now think not again of them until we march on the homeward road.”

  “Not until the homeward road,” said the men.

  “Now look unto the south and behold thy father, and thy father’s father, and all thy line afore thee, back unto the beginning.”

  “Unto the beginning,” said the men.

  “Now look forward and behold thy fate. For before you lay the paths to victory and glory, and the paths to defeat and disgrace. Intersecting these paths are the road to tomorrow, the road to Valhalla, and the road to
darkness.”

  “Beware the dark road,” said the men.

  “Now look above thee and behold the all-father. He beckons us forth to meet our fate. He tells us that the path we choose is of our own making.”

  “Our path is our own,” said the men.

  “Now my brothers, vow thy path.”

  “We choose the path to victory and tomorrow if we can, to victory and Valhalla if we must,” said the men. “This we vow.”

  “We shall bring Lord Eotrus home, or take vengeance on his slayers if he has fallen. This we vow.”

  “This we vow,” said the men.

  “Rise now my brothers,” said Claradon, “and go to thy fate with Odin’s blessing.”

  The men arose and stood silently for several moments.

  “--All right, you slackers,” bellowed Ob. “That’s enough standing around. Check your weapons and secure your packs. We’ll be heading out forthwith.”

  As the men prepared their equipment, Claradon moved to where Theta and Dolan were standing. “I hope that our rite did not offend or make you uncomfortable,” he said, as he removed his clerical vestments.

  “Not at all,” said Theta.

  “Vowing thy path,” said Claradon, “is an ancient prayer amongst our people. We wouldn’t embark on a quest or go off to battle without speaking it.”

  “We have a similar rite in our land,” said Theta.

  “Then why may I ask did you not join us and reaffirm your path?”

  “I chose my path long ago, Eotrus. I know its every crag and crevice. I could no more divert from it, than could the sun choose not to rise in the morn.”

  “Then I’m glad that we’ll face this road together, since you know it so well.”

  Theta stared off into the distance. “Mine is a perilous road; those that walk it with me are seldom long for Valhalla.”

  Dolan raised an eyebrow at this.

  “Ominous words, my Lord,” said Claradon. “I’d gladly end the day in Valhalla, if before I drew my last I avenged my father.”