Imperial Crown Sample Chapter

 

Gun’drak strode purposefully down the long corridor leading to his Lhesh’s audience chamber, eyes focused straight ahead, booted feet echoing with each step.  Torches flickered from sconces along the walls, casting eerie shadows.  Standing to either side of the ornate bronzewood doors before him were two hobgoblin guards.  Both warriors stood straight and tall, great spears in their right hands and banded shields in their left.  The warriors were standing so still as to resemble statues at first glance.  Inwardly Gun’drak praised the guards’ obvious diligence.      

“Sir, Lhesh Haruuc expecting you.  You go in,” grunted the guard to Gun’drak’s left. 

“Very well soldier, carry on,” replied Gun’drak with a slight nod of his head.

Gun’drak pulled the great doors open, and immediately brought his mailed palms up to shield his eyes from the intense light radiating from within.  Through squinting eyes, Gun’drak stepped cautiously into the room. 

“Lhesh Haruuc?”  Gun’drak said tentatively.

“Yes, come in my old friend,” replied Haruuc in his baritone voice.  “It’s too damn bright in here! The light globes have to be softer,” boomed Haruuc to someone Gun’drak could not yet make out, his eyes having not yet adjusted to the intensity of the light. 

“Yes my Lhesh,” came the quivering reply.

Suddenly the lights went out and the room was pitch black. 

“Am I surrounded by utter incompetence?” Growled Haruuc.  “If these globes don’t come back on immediately, and at the proper intensity, your head’ll be adorning my wall!”

Gun’drak heard rhythmic chanting, at least as rhythmic as his harsh sounding people could be, in the language of magic. Several moments later the crystalline globes throughout the chamber flared to life, but this time with a much softer luminescence.  With the light’s return, Gun’drak was able to reorient himself within the large audience hall.  He was facing Lhesh Haruuc, who was seated above him on his massive throne.  To his right stood Rothak the magewright. 

Gun’drak thought Haruuc was quite an imposing sight, seated as he was in his throne.  He wore banded plate armor over a chain-mesh underlay.  The skulls of vanquished enemies adorned his shoulder pads, flanked by the tusks of those same victims.  Haruuc’s own tusks were still long and strong, jutting from his lower jaw to just below the top of his upturned nose.  Gun’drak’s tusks were large in their own right, but nothing compared to Haruuc’s.  Haruuc’s course black hair sprouted out from underneath the back of his razor-ridged helm, and spikes of cruel metal sprouted from all his joints.  As if Haruuc wasn’t formidable enough by himself, he carried a mammoth, jagged-edged bastard sword on his hip that was reputedly enchanted so that any wound inflicted by the blade would never heal. 

Haruuc rose from his throne, brow furrowed, hands clenched and milky-white eyes boring into Rothak.  Rothak shrank visibly under his withering stare, but dared not move.  Haruuc stalked down the short dais to stand before the trembling mage.  Haruuc grabbed Rothak’s throat with his right hand, easily lifting him off the ground and bringing them eye to eye.  It wouldn’t have surprised Gun’drak at all if he killed the mage right then and there. 

Gun’drak couldn’t help but wonder, while witnessing this display of power, how he would fare in combat against his Lhesh.  He shook his head after only a moment’s thought and chuckled ever so softly when he came to the honest realization that he’d lose, and lose quickly. 

Haruuc’s body trembled with rage as he held Rothak aloft for what seemed like an eternity, never blinking once.  Finally his visage softened and he dropped Rothak to the floor with a thud.  The magewright clutched at his throat and gasped for air.

“You’re making progress Rothak,” said the Lhesh in a calm voice.  “Now see to the dining hall.  I tire of smelling burning tar while I dine.”

“Yes, my Lhesh,” croaked Rothak.  He rose stiffly to his feet, bowed to Lhesh Haruuc, then to Gun’drak, before hurrying for the exit.

“Oh, and Rothak,” said Haruuc, barely above a whisper, “Don’t disappoint me again.”

“No, my Lhesh,” stammered Rothak as he departed.

Gun’drak wondered how Darguun would ever to be taken seriously as a nation when its magewrights struggled with the simple task of illuminating the city with light globes.  Feats of such minor wizardry were taken for granted in human metropolises such as Sharn.  Still, he knew better than to reveal this thought to his Lhesh. 

Gun’drak knelt on one knee and bowed his head in deference to his Lhesh. 

“Stand up my old friend,” Haruuc said, waving his hand upward as he spoke.  “Thank you for coming so quickly - then again I expect no less of you.” 

“Of course, Sire,” replied Gun’drak, rising and standing close to his Lhesh. 

Lhesh Haruuc put his spiked arm gingerly around Gun’drak’s shoulder and led him to the back of the audience hall and through another exceptionally stout bronzewood door into his private chamber.  With a snap of his fingers four light globes ignited, one in each corner of the room, bathing the chamber in light like that of an early morning sunrise.  Gun’drak and Haruuc exchanged approving glances. 

“Have a seat,” spoke Lhesh Haruuc, motioning to one of the high-backed chairs seated around the polished oak table. 

Gun’drak took a seat opposite Haruuc across the table. 

“Why have you requested my urgent arrival?”    

“Always so direct, my friend,” replied Haruuc.  “I have long admired your single-minded sense of duty.  It is precisely that sense of duty that compelled me to call upon you.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

“Gun’drak, I have a most urgent task for you; a task that will change the fortunes of the hobgoblin people forever.  Just last week, Seetho-Jing returned with a most magnificent discovery from deep within the Torlaac Moor.”  Haruuc leaned over the side of his chair and opened a chest near the edge of the table.  Reaching in, he pulled forth a rolled parchment.  Leaning across the table, he gently handed the parchment to Gun’drak.  “This scroll contains all the information I need to restore the Dhakaani Empire to its former greatness and reinstate our kind as rulers over all Khorvaire.”

Gun’drak took the scroll from his Lhesh, but pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows skeptically.  He thought to himself that this scroll could not possibly reveal anything significant enough to validate all that Haruuc had boasted.

“I see apprehension upon your face my old friend.” As he spoke, he absently stroked the short thick hair sprouting in patches from his chin.  “I don’t blame you.  Open the scroll and read it yourself.”

Gun’drak did as his Lhesh commanded.  He unrolled the dry parchment and began to read. 

Lhesh Haruuc never took his eyes off Gun’drak as he read the scroll.  How similar his old friend was to himself he thought.  Had circumstances been different perhaps it would have been Gun’drak leading the revolt against treacherous Breland and Cyre.  This was his most loyal captain, and the one hobgoblin Haruuc trusted not to betray him under any circumstance.  He gauged exactly where Gun’drak was in reading the scroll and anticipated exactly when he expected to see his mouth drop open with awe.  Sure enough, he was right. 

Gun’drak’s eyes went wide and his mouth hung agape.  Both hobgoblins sat in silence for long seconds. 

“You’ve discovered the location of the Imperial Crown of Sarath-Ak,” Gun’drak finally managed to whisper.

Haruuc leaned forward in his seat, a toothy smile on his olive-colored face. 

“Now do you understand my words were not idle boasts?” Said Haruuc evenly.

“Yes, my lord,” said Gun’drak eagerly.

“One by one the clans will bow to me, including that mangy cur Mograath and his followers, the Kalkor.  With the combined might of the clans behind me, and the alliance with Sora Katra in place, King Boranel and Breland will be crushed!”  Haruuc clenched his fist tightly before him for emphasis.  “After that, the other nations will fall easily and I will be ruler of all Khorvaire!” 

Haruuc folded his arms across his massive chest, reclined back in his chair and grinned with greedy satisfaction.

Chapter One – The Hunt

The great black bear lowered his snout to the ground, took several large sniffs, and then raised his head to the sky, searching for the same scent  he had already been tracking for several hours.  In a moment he found it, wafting on a gentle breeze.  The bear ran, slowly at first, then with more urgency through the dense brush, following the scent as clearly as if following a well-marked trail.  Twigs, branches and even small saplings snapped, cracked, and easily broke from the force of his charge.

Running steadily onward, the bear enjoyed feeling the wind whipping against his thick fur.  He bounded up a slight hill, then down the other side into a small creek.  The water was crisp and cold, a stark contrast to the still humid evening air.  The sun was setting in the west, casting long shadows across the land.  The golden flecks, marking the Rings of Siberys, shimmered ever more radiantly in the sky as day slowly faded to night.  

Some distance behind, a solitary figure stalked the bear’s clearly marked path through the forest.  The figure was dressed entirely in black, from the dark cowl and flowing cloak covering his head and back, to the black boots on his feet.  Although not particularly tall, his strides were long and sure.  He effortlessly bounded from fallen log, to rocky outcropping, to tangled brush, without missing a step.  He carried a long sword strapped to his left hip, and had a small, hand-sized crossbow slung across his back.  He was gaining on the bear, he knew it, and it was only a matter of time before the battle would begin.

The bear splashed through the creek to the other side, and then headed up a much steeper sloping hill.  He was aware he was being followed and knew his pursuer was getting closer.  He wasn’t particularly concerned so long as he arrived at the source of the scent before his pursuer did.  As he crested the hill he abruptly stopped, his target coming into view down below.  Two large campfires marked the end of his search. 

Perched high atop the hill, he watched the wretched creatures scurry back and forth about the make-shift camp.  In his estimation they were particularly vile looking.  Although they were almost four feet high, because of their stooped posture and lack of clearly defined heads, they appeared much shorter.  They resembled two creatures rather than one, as if two goblins had been smashed into one body.  Four spindly arms sprouted from their grossly elongated torso and two large, misshapen mouths dominated their chest.  The whitish-grey color of their bulbous bodies made their beady-red eyes stand out even more distinctly.  He counted the creatures as they scurried too and fro.  There were at least a dozen, and perhaps more: an easy night’s work.

The breeze shifted and the bear caught the scent of his pursuer and knew he was near, at least at the foot of this very hill, if not closer.  The time was right.  With a deep throaty growl preceding him, the bear charged down the hill, his taut muscles propelling him swiftly. 

The dolgrims heard the bear’s roar echoing through the shallow canyon, followed by loud crashing sounds bearing straight down on them.  They began to panic and scatter in all directions, some grabbing weapons, some running into their crude hide-huts, while others simply froze in terror. 

The cloaked-man also heard the roar and knew he had to pick up his already intense pace if he was to arrive in time.  He wasn’t worried.  He knew once he reached the hill’s summit that getting down would be quick and easy. 

Two dolgrims managed to grab weapons and run to the side of the camp where they heard the unseen enemy approaching.  Each clutched round wooden shields in their lower left hands, crossbows in their upper two hands, and short, jagged swords in their lower right hands.  They squealed back and forth in high-pitched tones, trying to steady each other.  All the steadying in the world could not have prepared them for the nightmare that approached.

The bear exploded out of the forest right in front of the two dolgrims.  With a great leap he was upon the dolgrim to the left, his massive bulk knocking the second dolgrim off his feet as well.  The crushing weight of the bear stole the air from the dolgrim’s lungs stifling its death-cry, as the bear’s massive claw raked through flesh and bone from the bottom of its second mouth to its groin. 

The second dolgrim managed to skitter to its feet in time to watch the other get torn apart.  It hurriedly fired its crossbow, barely grazing the top of the bear’s head.  The bear tossed the lifeless carcass aside with a flick of its paw and turned upon the second adversary.  The bear rose up on its hind legs, towering nearly three times the dolgrim’s height, and bellowed a challenging roar.  The dolgrim froze, rooted to the ground.  Its death was quick.  The bear’s giant paws literally ripping its face off. 

The remaining dolgrims managed to organize themselves.  Four dolgrims stayed back, crossbows nocked and ready in each set of the creatures’ arms.  Six other dolgrims circled the bear, spears at the ready.  With a shrill cry from their war chief the crossbowmen fired.  A hail of bolts struck the bear’s hide, mostly in the chest region, but several found their mark in his head and abdomen. 

The bear howled in pain and rage as the bolts pierced his body.  Two dolgrims with spears rushed in, one spear impaling the bear’s right forepaw and the other his side.  The bear lashed out at the spear that was sticking in his paw with his left forepaw, splintering its shaft into kindling.  The dolgrim looked quickly down at his now useless weapon and back up just as the bear’s immense jaws crushed its right shoulder.  In an instant the dolgrim was jerked hard into the air and ripped in two. 

Undaunted, the other dolgrim’s rushed forward, spears jabbing and poking the bear wherever they could.  The bear turned in circles, swiping and pawing at the spears that were coming at him from every angle.  His breath was coming in ragged gasps now and he could feel the blood draining from his body.  Suddenly the bear collapsed with a shudder, and lay unmoving. 

Reaching the hill’s summit, the cloaked-man heard the sounds of battle below.  Looking down he could see the shadowy images of combat.  He watched as the dolgrims surrounded the bear and began impaling him with their spears, and he knew this was his cue.  Grabbing the small crossbow with his left hand, and drawing his long sword with his right, he stretched his arms out wide, pulling the folds of his cloak tight. 

“Sirak,” spoke the man, and the cloak shimmered for an instant, leather transforming to a translucent membrane.  The man felt the ever so subtle hint of a breeze, and leaped off the ridge.  Like the wings of a bat, the cloak caught the shifting air currents and propelled the man silently down the hill and straight towards the battle.

The lead dolgrim cautiously prodded the still bear with its spear, once, then again, and the bear did not move.  The disgusting creatures exchanged nervous glances with each other, then began hopping from foot to foot, braying and screeching at the sky in victory. 

So loud was the screeching that they did not notice one voice fall silent, a small crossbow bolt buried to its fletching in the dead creature’s eye.  They did however notice the great black wings that cast a shadow over their encampment. 

Several dolgrims scrambled to reload their crossbows as the cloaked-man spoke the word “Sirak” again, and landed in their midst, his cloak resizing itself to fit snuggly on his back.  The cloaked-man snapped his sword out straight, disemboweling the closest dolgrim, then whipped it out quickly to the right, slashing a garish wound across the face of the next dolgrim.  Three dolgrims managed to reload their crossbows and took aim at the cloaked-man.  They fired at him, or rather where he had been, for the bolts never got close.  The man did a back hand-spring and easily dodged the oncoming quarrels.  However, this bought time for the remaining three dolgrims to scoop up short swords and small morning stars in their right hands and wooden shields in their left. 

They had the cloaked-man surrounded and believed they had the advantage.  Thinking to catch him in a rush, they all charged.  The man fended off the blows of the nearest dolgrim with his sword, while he kicked out hard with his left leg.  The kick did no damage, having been blocked by the dolgrim’s shield, but the force was enough to knock the creature off its feet.  The third dolgrim knew it had the man.  It stabbed straight with its short sword, while it brought the morningstar around in a hard, arching swing. Impossibly, the man somersaulted over him and landed on his feet, sword at the ready. 

The crossbowmen reloaded and were aiming at the twisting, whirling man, but something else caught their eye instead.  The bear’s body began convulsing violently. Paws elongated into human-like appendages, its torso stretched and heaved until it resembled both man and bear, and its head shrank down, twisting and popping until it looked like a hairy man, with a bear’s snout and ears.  The crossbow quarrels embedded in his flesh shot out, with the wounds sealing shut behind.  The dolgrims stared at each other in disbelief and confusion.

With a guttural roar the werebear exploded into motion.  He slashed his clawed right hand across, turning the closest dolgrim’s face into a mask of crimson gore.  In the same motion he picked up a morning star lying next to him with his left hand and caved the other’s head in. 

Hearing the werebear’s roar, the three dolgrims engaging the cloaked-figure turned their attention momentarily to the grisly scene unfolding behind them.  This distraction was all the cloaked-man needed.  He stepped forward into his thrust, sending his sword bursting completely through the back of one of the dolgrim’s and out his lower mouth on the other side.  He then took a step back, spun to his right, withdrawing his blade in the process, and slashed out wide, scalping the next dolgrim.  Before the body could hit the ground he took the short sword from its lifeless fingers.  The third dolgrim looked from the werebear to the cloaked-man, unsure where to strike.  The cloaked man ended all doubt for him with a thrust of the short sword to the eye.  The remaining dolgrim dropped its weapons and ran as fast as it could into the dark forest, with the werebear quick on its heels. 

The cloaked-man searched the ramshackle tents.  He wasn’t interested in the few bags of coin he found in one or the filthy clothes and supplies he found in another.  In the third tent he found what he was looking for.  Laid out in a line on their stomachs, gagged and tied, both hand and foot, were four humans: a man, woman and two children.  He produced a large dagger from a sheath in his boot and quickly cut their ties. 

With the gags removed the children began screaming and scrambled to the back of the tent.  The woman immediately followed after her children, and hugged them both tight against her bosom.  The man turned over as soon as he could, willing to die in defense of his family.  The cloaked-man grasped his wrists so tightly that there was nothing the man could do.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe now,” said the cloaked-man in a calm tone. 

The man struggled for a moment, his body having to catch up with what his ears had just heard, and then his body relaxed. 

“Thank the Sovereign Host you found us,” said the man, tears welling up in his eyes. 

The cloaked-man released his grip on the man, and pulled his cowl back revealing his blue eyes, smooth fair skin and sandy-brown hair.  The freed villagers eyed their savior for long seconds until the father broke the silence.  “Vigilaron?”  He asked.

“At your service Jarret,” replied Vigilaron with a comforting smile and a nod of his head, as he helped the man to his feet.  “Now, I need to get you and your family out of here quickly before any more of those vermin show up.” 

Sylvia, the mother, ran to Vigilaron, threw her arms around him in a tight embrace and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, thank you,” she repeated over and over.

Vigilaron hugged her back.  “I’m just glad you’re all safe.” 

After several long moments Sylvia finally let go of Vigilaron.  Just then, they all heard the crunching of twigs and leaves outside the tent. 

“Everyone all right in there?” Came a deep booming voice.

“Everything’s just fine Grim,” replied Vigilaron.  “Did you get the last one?”

“Don’t ye be worrying about that one, I took care of him,” returned Grimlar with a chuckle.

Vigilaron led the family outside the tent and over near the still blazing campfire to warm them up.  They all stopped abruptly when they saw the sight before them.  Grimlar stood with his back to the fire, nude except for the filthy rag around his waist.  Vigilaron had long ago gotten used to seeing his large friend with not but a rag standing between him and full nudity.  He did, however, wonder how the family would react.  He got his answer quickly as Sylvia’s hands shot out incredibly fast, covering both her children’s eyes completely.  With a mischievous look on his face, Grimlar eyed Sylvia, then Jarret, and finally settled his gaze on Vigilaron and just shrugged his shoulders.    

“Uh, how can we ever repay the both of you?” Asked Jarret uncomfortably.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Vigilaron graciously.  He turned to regard Grimlar.  “Put some clothes on will ya,” he chided.

“Sure, just as soon as we get back to town,” returned Grimlar with a wink.