The Dark Prince of Rhadnor

by Ray Watkins

Cover Art by Simone Hunter
Copyright ©2004
ISBN: 0-87714-903-8 eBook edition
ISBN: 0-87714-330-7 PB edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Robyn Dormer for all your help, support and belief.
Thank you...

THE AUTHOR

Ray Watkins has lived and worked in countries as varied as the United States and Mozambique in jobs as diverse as merchant banking in London and railway station foreman in Botswana.

He holds a postgraduate degree in education and has penchant for philosophy and history.

He lives on a South Pacific island near Auckland in New Zealand.

THE BOOK

In the world known as Fourealms the scholar and mage Kardoman attends the seven yearly Convocation of Magi. He and the other Magi are betrayed and slaughtered. Only the shapechanger Cilla survives. Sorely wounded she takes flight and seeks refuge with the Elven Princess y Lili-Ana.

Lili-Ana is already aware of a dark evil stalking her world having that very eve been attacked in the realm of her dreams. Confident in her talent as one of the foremost magic users in Fourealms she is astonished by the power of that which assails her. She only just survives. With the arrival of Cilla and the news she bears it is with absolute horror that she realizes that she alone is all that stands between her world and an alien evil of incomparable power. Desperately she seeks allies skilled in the magic lore.

In our world Conrad Bearson is on the run. Wife and son killed by drug smugglers the ex marine has assassinated the leader of the Cartel. Now he has to pay the price. Hired killers stalk him. At last there is nowhere else to hide. Wounded and frozen he takes refuge in a mountain cave as a blizzard rages without. Here he makes his peace and prepares to die. It is not to be.

A call for aid from another reality plunges him into an adventure like none other. It is not long before he begins to wonder if death might not have been the easy way out

The story begins.

EXCERPT

Friends in Deed

One

As always he woke instantly, hand seeking desperately a weapon, weakness forgotten in concern for survival. It came up with the short sword as his eyes, adjusting to the dim light searched for the intruder. The rest of his body remained frozen.

"I can assure you, it's just as much of a surprise for me to find you here as it is for you to find me," a voice issued from a corner of the room to be followed by a deep-throated chuckle. Bearson focused on the place from whence it came. The dais on which he lay was approximately 1.2 meters high. The figure that moved towards him stood maybe 20cm above it.

Conrad tried to sit up quickly but felt a wave of nausea roll over him.

"Easy my Lord, I mean you no harm," Gandor was all concern as he noted for the first time the dark bloodstains on the sleeping furs.

"If I'd wanted you dead you'd be so now," he assured in a voice that echoed his concern. The dwarf had an abnormally large and craggy face well covered by a long brown beard, His deep-set blue eyes showed warmth and care.

"Who are you?" his words came out as a dry croak. He felt worse than when he had awoken the first time. The loss of blood had weakened him more that he realized.

"Gandor my Lord, third son of Zendor King of the Dwarves, Lord of Cragtooth Mountains, Warden of the West under charter from Kahn e Rhadnor High King of the Fourealms, at your service." The dwarf bowed.

If his throat had not been so dry Con might have laughed at the sight. Dwarves are not the most delicate of bowers.

"A fine introduction Sir, I wish I could do the same but at the moment I'm not sure who I am or where I am for that matter."

"Perhaps I can assist," responded the dwarf. "According to my father, my Lord, you should be the High King, Kahn e Rhadnor. We've been expecting you for some time."

The possible high king must have passed out because his next memory was of his head being lifted and water being sluiced gently down his throat. Shaking his head and spluttering he pulled the rest of himself up.

"Careful, my Lord, you're still weak."

"Would you stop calling me my Lord," His throat and mouth felt considerably better with a little lubrication. "I don't know what you are talking about. The name is Conrad Bearson, lately of Willis Hole, Texas, in the United States. So where am I?

Sitting up again caused a sharp pain. Gently he examined his wound surprised to find that it had developed that pink puckered look indicating that it was nearly healed. He had always been a quick healer but this, in only a few days. What was in that ointment?

He now took the time his helper more closely. At first view Gandor looked quite fierce. His face seemed over-large for his height, and the long beard did not help. Through his shirt and leather jerkin it was possible to see the massive arm and chest development that indicated he could use that axe, slung so casually at his side, with good effect. What belied his otherwise fearsome exterior were his eyes. They were light blue and showed, at this moment, only deep concern for his companion. Lines of humor surrounded them indicating a great capacity for the enjoyment of life.

Gandor was also weighing Con up. He'd met very few larger people during his life. Dwarves have long memories and with few exceptions had not had good dealings with big people. Most business was still done through agents, the Dwarves preferring to keep as much to themselves as possible.

His first impression of Con was of sheer size. Even sitting, Con seemed to tower over Gandor's diminutive 1.4 meters. When standing he must be at least 2 meters tall, Gandor guessed and the big man's body was well muscled in proportion. Even though he was weak at the moment the dwarf sensed a latent power and strength in this man. Bearson's face, pale from his ordeal and covered by a few days stubble, still held the deep mahogany color of outdoors that emphasized a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His hair was a deep auburn at the roots and black on top. Most peculiar. Then there were the eyes. They were something else. Mesmerizing in their intensity. In color they were a pale amber but even in this dim light he could see they were flecked with gold.

The two looked at each other for those few moments quite openly. Each liked what they saw and it was the beginning of a comradeship and trust that they would later take to their graves. Instinctively each knew the other could be trusted. It was an instinct that would be born out in the not-too-distant future.

"So where are we?" Con's words broke the silence.

"You're in a cavern in the Cragtooth Mountains, my Lord," said the dwarf tactfully. Odd sort of question, he thought, where else might they be?

"The name is Conrad Bearson, Con to my friends." Con put out his hand.

Gandor looked at it curiously before taking it. In this land the equivalent of a handshake was to hold one's fisted hand across one's chest. Most peculiar.

"I'm sorry, my Lord but it does not seem right for me to call you by your name." Dwarves were very strict on protocol.

"Look Gandor, if I am the lord you seek, surely I can say what I want to be called?"

The dwarf grinned. The big man's logic was impeccable. "I suppose. Con it is."

"Now bear with me if I seem a little dim. Treat me as if I have lost my memory." He looked to the dwarf, who nodded. Anything to humor his patient.

"Now, in what country are these Cragtooth Mountains? I've never heard of them?"

"I don't know what you mean by country my uhh Con. This is the Fourealms. Actually there are five really. Kingdoms that is, but somehow it never got changed. Sometimes called Rhadnorac in the old language. I don't know what else I can tell you. I have been brought up in these mountains and to be honest, I've never been very far away from them myself."

Not much help really, thought Con but continued anyway. "Excuse my curiosity but do people usually dress like that here?" The dwarf was dressed in a similar manner to his and wore a thick leather jerkin over a linen long-sleeved cream-colored shirt tucked into tanned leather breeches and knee boots. Around his waist a wide belt supported not just his breeches but also his axe and a pouch that hung to the front.

"Actually we normally dress differently, this is just for special occasions such as going in search of missing kings," the dwarf replied, eyes twinkling at the question.

"I could also ask you the same about these I suppose," he said, picking up Con's discarded and blood-stained bush shirt, thermal vest and waterproof mountain jacket. "I've never seen the like before."

"Fair enough." Con laughed at the dwarf's droll humor and tentatively stood up. The dwarf quickly offered his arm as Con wobbled slightly.

"At least from this I know you're real." He felt the firmness of the dwarf's grip. "So, to sum up, you're telling me that I am some sort of lord that has returned to his land after a long absence and you have been sent to meet me?"

"About six hundred years actually," and seeing the absurdity at the same time they both burst out laughing at the. "It does seem a little weird when you put it like that. But I'm afraid so," replied the dwarf.

"Okay, I'll not argue with it for now, just how do we get out of here. I'm starving. Can we deal with the last first?"

The dwarf leaned over and picked up a leathern backpack that Con had not noticed before. He took out a cloth-wrapped package and a water-skin. Opening the package he proffered the contents, a mixture of dried fruits and nuts.

"This is called scraggle. It's very concentrated so eat it slowly and not too much."

Con took the dwarf's advice and found to his surprise that a few handfuls were sufficient for even his giant appetite. The water-skin was filled with the same honey- flavored liquid he remembered from the earthenware pots. He sipped it slowly, savoring every drop and felt its warmth circulate through his body.

"This is wonderful, what is it called again?"

The dwarf looked at him curiously for a moment. "You really have forgotten much haven't you," he said, not without sympathy.

"This mixture of fruits is scraggle," he repeated. "It's a journey food and will hold your strength for days of hard traveling. The liquid is fruwein, also very concentrated and is a food as well as a drink."

Con supped a little more and tried to determine its flavor. It was different from the other and like nothing he had ever tasted in his world. This latest version retained a nutty pineapple aroma with a delicate after-taste not unlike kiwifruit. Delicious.

When he finished, the dwarf carefully packed everything away.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked.

Bearson stood up slowly. He already felt much stronger and healthier, apart from a nagging ache in the side. Amazing.

Gandor watched him closely. "Good," he nodded approvingly. "We should leave soon."

Con sensed the tension in his new friend.

"Is there a reason?" he asked.

"Aye. Certain signs on the way indicate that I may not be the only one who is aware of your arrival. This southwestern part of the mountains is far from dwarfish territory, and has an evil reputation. I'd like to be gone as soon as possible."

To Con this whole scene still held a dreamlike air. Yet the Dwarf was definitely real, as was the food he had provided. He turned and went to check that section of the wall that had provided the entrance to this world. There must surely be a way back. The wall showed none. It was totally solid and not even a hairline fracture indicated the existence of anything but solid granite.

"I guess I've got no choice. It seems I am not going back the way I came. Just tell me one thing. How did you come to get into this chamber? I could find no door."

Gandor walked to the wall opposite and touched a rocky outcrop. A stone door opened inwards.

"You can't do that on this wall?" Con asked, pointing to where he had entered.

Gandor walked to where Con pointed and examined it for a moment. "I'm sorry Con but there is no exit key here. If there is a door it can only be opened from one side."

"I had a feeling you might say that."

"I'll wait for you to dress," said Gandor.

"I thought I was," replied Bearson, pulling on his boots.

"Your weapons, Con." Gandor indicated the sword belt on the dais where the big man had been lying, raising his eyes to the heavens in mock despair.

Feeling a trifle foolish, Bearson strapped them around his waist. The odd thing was that everything seemed right. For example, he had always had trouble with shirts for size. His chest measured nearly 180cm with shoulders and arms to match. This was not due to weight training, although he enjoyed all physical sports. It was just the way he was built. Yet these clothes fitted him perfectly. He hefted the long sword with more interest than he had felt before in his previously weakened state. It must have weighed 8 or 9 kilograms and was well over a meter and a half long. Both point and edges were razor sharp. And while he had no memory of experience in sword sports, even from his army years, the weapon felt comfortable to his hand. Shaking his head he sheathed it and turned to face or rather look down at the dwarf.

Gandor had been watching him closely. There it was - a certain innate dignity or charisma that the man himself seemed unaware of. But Gandor, himself the son of a King, knew that there was something special about this one. He had been skeptical when he had first seen him asleep on the stone dais but no longer. Whether Con Bearson knew it himself or not, Gandor was sure. The High King had returned.

Bearsn caught his look and smiled. Gandor responded in kind. But as he smiled he realized that, even though he accepted this man as a friend, Con was, first and foremost the High King. And when the time came Gandor was one from whom no formal statement of allegiance need be asked. For it was already given.

"Now then lead on, my friend."

Three

Gandor stopped just long enough to check the box under the dais in case anything useful was left behind. (Dwarves are well known for their frugality.) As well he did. Lying at the very bottom were two fire torches. Con asked what they were. Gandor explained and showed him. They were wooden poles hollow inside, approximately one meter in length, containing oil that when lit gradually leeched out burning the pole as it did so. Normally these could last up to two hours or so.

Tucking them into his belt he led the way out. They exited the chamber into a tunnel that traveled left and right. They went left.

As they walked Gandor explained that following the left would lead them to the eastern side of the mountains and out, whereas the right led them west and further in.

"This is as far as dwarves have traveled into this particular area of the mountains safely. None who have traveled further west by this way have ever returned."

Very promising, thought Con but said nothing.

Together they made good pace. And as they walked Con noticed two things about the tunnels. First they were cut squarely and evenly. The floor in was quite flat. Second, they were adequately lit in the same soft pink light as had been the chamber.

Stopping for a moment he put his hand to the sidewall. The glow underneath it immediately dimmed , finally going out completely as his hand reached the wall. He was curious as to the type of rock it was. The surface had a rather chalky consistency and seemed porous. It had rather soapy feel. Easy to cut through, he thought. But it must also have been quite strong. There was no bracing of any description holding it up. And there was nothing in between the wall and his hand that explained the light.

Yet as he withdrew it the light appeared once more. It emanated, he decided, from inside the porosity of the rock itself. Moving quickly to catch up with the dwarf, who showed quite a turn of speed considering the length of his legs, Bearson tried to take it all in. He wondered idly if he somehow had become involved in a game of dungeons and dragons. But Gandor seemed deadly serious. It was no game he was playing.

Once out of these tunnels he hoped to make some sense of it. It may be possible to disguise a closed environment. It would be much more difficult to do so on the outside.

Clearing his mind of questions he started to pay a little attention to his surroundings, only to find a soft tendril of something trying to enter his mind. Intuitively he could tell the contact was not harmful in intent. In fact the touch was so gentle as to be almost shy. Not at all like his memory of the earlier mind touch of Lili-Ana. This seemed almost without pattern. He was not even sure this was intelligence, as he understood it. It more a mass of minute thoughts all meshed into one.

He stopped walking and the soft mind touch withdrew. He put his hand to the wall holding it just above the warm pink glow.

The mind touch grew stronger, not so much as an expression of words but more of feelings. It was not unpleasant. Con shook his head and the tendril/feeling drew back quickly before ever so shyly returning. It reminded Con of the time he had made friends with a wild deer on his farm in Texas. It had been a slow and time-consuming process to build up the trust of that wild creature. With an almost physical effort he focused his mind on the intruder, taking care not to let his thoughts become threatening or aggressive. The response was immediate and came as a feeling of warmth, almost happiness.

"Can you understand me?" he asked gently with his mind. He felt a slight movement from under his hand. It felt rather as he imagined radio waves to feel if it were possible to feel them. There was a sort of up and down, on and off sensation.

As he hurried to catch up to his companion he was struck with a wave of excitement. There was definitely an attempt to communicate, but it seemed much more on the sensual level than the physical. He considered the problem. Perhaps they could understand him and receive his messages but did not have a means of response in a conventional sense, such as speech. He knew it had something to do with the light. Well he also knew their image was capable of change and could glow bright or dull.

Perhaps that was the answer! Again he focused and tried to transmit, this time with a communication framework in mind. Using their ability to turn their image off and on, he suggested the adoption of the short/long communication found in the Morse code. The response was immediate in the form a feeling of tremendous excitement and pleasure. There was a definite intelligence here. Did all these millions of tiny lights form a group consciousness? It was only then did he consider the oddness of the situation.

"Who or what are you?" he asked.

"We are named phosphors," they signaled back. "We are cave-dwellers - the mines and tunnels of these mountains are our homes and offer us our sustenance. But who are you? We have tried so long to talk to other creatures but none has ever heard or listened. We have been so lonely."

Con, considering his response to this, walked straight into the back of his companion, who had stopped suddenly.

The dwarf growled in protest at being bumped by his hefty companion.

"There is something really weird happening. The lights are going on and off. I'm not sure what it means. They usually go off only in the event of danger."

"Don't worry, I'm just talking to them. They are called phosphors."

The dwarf responded with a look that questioned Bearson's sanity.

Slowly, in a voice normally used for very young children or village idiots, he said, "you are talking to the phosphors? You mean those little light worms on the cave walls?"

"Yes."

"I was afraid that that was what you meant. I mean, excuse me for mentioning it, but I haven't heard you actually talking, or them talking back for that matter." Gandor chose his words carefully.

"I'm talking to them with my mind Gandor. And they are responding in code by using the strength of their brightness. For instance, the word yes is projected as bright/ dull/bright. "Phosphors," he spoke loudly for Gandor's benefit. "Do you have intelligence?"

The lighting changed immediately at his words and reflected bright/dull/bright.

Gandor looked on in disbelief. "Phosphors, can you hear me too?" he asked. Bright/dull/bright.

"Can you hear me now?" This time he asked in his mind. There was no response. It seemed only Bearson could speak to them by mind alone. He turned to Con, a question on his lips, but before he could speak Con gave him a short oral outline of the code he had established with the cave dwellers.

"When we get to wherever it is we're going I'll go into more detail with you," he promised. "It seems they are most interested in talking to you and your people. They think that with their knowledge of the mountains and with the skills of your people in mining there might be mutual benefit to be gained by cooperation. For instance, they have a tremendous knowledge of the whereabouts of mineral deposits in the mountains."

The dwarf's mouth dropped in amazement. The benefits were immediately obvious. Silver, gems, iron. The list was endless.

"But you said help each other. How could we help them?"

"Evidently by your tunneling. The removal of the rock gives them room to expand their numbers. And as they do so it helps increase their intelligence. They would be happy for that and just to have someone to talk to. Minerals have no importance to them."

Gandor couldn't resist. "Do you think we could work together?" he asked the myriad of light creatures.

Bright/dull/bright came back the enthusiastic reply.

Gandor was still considering the potential of such a partnership when the light in the tunnel dropped noticeably. Even more so to their rear.

There was a sudden chill in the air as he turned to Con. "This sign I do know Con. It is danger. There is something coming from the west very fast for the brightness to change so quickly."

Con felt the phosphors withdraw from his mind. He could feel in them fear verging on near panic. "What is it?" he asked them. "Can you tell me?"

There was total silence. It was as if they no longer existed.

"Any ideas?" he asked Gandor.

"Only one," was the terse reply. "Run!" And they did just that.

They did not reckon the time they ran but it seemed forever. Yet it felt that they had covered little distance when Gandor felt his legs begin to give out.

Dwarves can work all day without a break in the mines using their massive upper body strength. When it comes to running their short legs, while perfectly adequate for walking long distances are just not up to it. Nor it seemed were their lungs.

"Go on. I've got to stop," he puffed to his companion who was jogging effortlessly at his side.

"I think we can probably do a little better than that," said the big man and without effort picked Gandor up and put him on his shoulders. "Hang on," he said they were off. They continued for several kilometers then even Con's strength began to flag.

"Put me down Con. There is still too far to go. Go on alone, please."

"No I'll wait while I get my breath back. I'm still not sure why I'm running anyway."

"I'm not sure either, my friend. But I do know the phosphors are never wrong. There is something evil on the prowl and I suspect it has something to do with your arrival."

They rested for only a few minutes but even in the short time it took Con to get his breath back they felt a sudden drop in temperature as a chill passed over them with

Con, sweating as he was from his efforts, shivered. At the same time he heard a strange noise beside him. Gandor too, for the noise was the chatter of his teeth. Both, without being conscious of it, had their hands on their weapons and were peering into what was now semi-darkness. The visibility had dropped to less than 5 meters.

Whatever was following them was now close. It was now too late to escape.

Four

Standing tense and expectant, the first thing they noticed was a dank and fetid odor of old graves, freshly opened. The sickly sweet perfume of rotted flesh and decay.

Both had to control an urge to retch there and then, so powerful was the stench.

Then they heard it.

A high-pitched screech echoed down the tunnel, a screech that ended with the ugly cackle a hyena makes as it slobbers over its prey. The sound sent shivers down Con's spine and another bout of the teeth-chatters to Gandor.

The dwarf's ruddy complexion was now absolutely white.

"What is it?" demanded Con.

"I think they're Skagouls," replied Gandor. "I've never seen them personally but the older dwarves tell of them. For Rhadnor's sake, under no circumstances let them bite you. If they are skagouls once your blood comes into contact with their fangs it is contaminated. They are creatures of decay. The death they inflict is slow and endlessly agonizing. The flesh just rots away. There is no known cure."

"Charming. Thank you for that piece of cheery news. Is there anything else you would like to tell me while you're at it?" Con asked sarcastically in total disbelief.

"Just one piece of advice. When you strike, go for the head. The only way to be sure of stopping them is to cut through the skull and destroy whatever it is that substitutes for brain matter. Even if you chop off their heads they can still come at you. I hope by all the Gods that guard the Fourealms that there are not many of them."

Con listened to all this with a certain amount of skepticism. Much as he liked the dwarf, this story had all the elements of a B-grade horror movie of the type his stepson Carlos had liked to watch on late night television.

He was about to comment to this effect. His mouth opened to speak. It stayed open as he saw what it was that shuffled towards him out of the gloom.

It had no resemblance to any living thing that he had ever seen or even heard of, even in Indian mythology. At first he thought it was just a skeleton. A white stick figure.

Gandor lit a fire torch and he got a better look. He wished he hadn't. There were what appeared to be arms, more like rotting stumps of what was left of them, legs and a head. But there all resemblance to humankind ended. Where nose and eyes should have been were only dark pits, filled with giant white maggots that wriggling like tentacles.

Where there should have been teeth were a series of jagged extrusions, some gray, some black but all oozing a pale green drool over a jaw long since rotted away. What at first he had thought to be flesh he saw, as it came closer, was a slimy transparent and leprous off-white membrane, reminiscent of the inner belly of a fresh-killed animal. The membrane covered a green and pulsating jelly substance, which took the place of the bone structure found in a normal human being holding it together.

For a moment he stood transfixed by his disbelief. If it had not been for Gandor's quick thinking, that hesitation would have cost him his life.

The dwarf's axe came across in front of him and cleaved down through the skull. The blow was so powerful that it almost cut the creature in two. A fine green spray jettisoned from its center leaving a mass of green slime to fall to the floor white worms writhing maggot-like amongst it.

Bearson stepped back, his face a pallid mask.

"Beware my Lord," in a moment of forgetfulness Gandor used his title. "They normally travel in packs, there will be more."

Even as he spoke they came out of the darkness, impossible to see how many in the dull guttering light provided by the fire torch.

Both thanked their respective Gods that the tunnel was just wide enough for two to stand side by side with no space for the skagouls to flank them.

Con dealt with the first to attack him by slashing through the neck. It was not the stroke he had intended and like cutting into blancmange. He had still to get used to his weapon. He hoped he would have time.

The skagoul's head, decapitated, rolled to the ground. It did not stop there. Still it moved, its jagged teeth chattering in an insane grin as it rolled towards his legs, green poison oozing between the two slabs of jellied flesh that acted as lips.

Bearson, nauseated at the sight, struck out blindly at another following closely behind the first. A side slash that carved a space between what once may have been ears. At the same time he brought the heel of his boot hard down on the skull rolling across the floor. His boot held it, but that was all. It was surprisingly strong. The teeth still clattered in mad cacophony. He pinned it to the ground with his short sword.

Leaving the weapon sheathed in the skull, he took the claymore, in both hands, and swung it at anything that came out of the gloom with powerful head-high strokes.

Glancing to his left he could see the dwarf wreaking his own havoc, battle-axe a blur of motion.

The ground was soon blanketed with head-cleaved bodies and a writhing mass of white and green slime. Underfoot the ground was becoming increasingly uncertain.

Gandor called to Con to fall back and in unison they did so, Con extracting his weapon from the pinned skull at his feet.

As they moved he heard the dwarf cry out. Slipping on the slime, he had fallen, cracking his skull hard against the side wall.

For a moment he lay there vulnerable and dazed.

Con jabbed his sword at another of the unnatural creatures and leapt to Gandor's defense. Legs astride the prone body of his friend, he made up for the lack of backup in the fierceness of his attack: his sword a flash of blue light in the dimness about them, his back now hard against the wall.

As the dwarf's head cleared, he slowly regained his feet, taking care to come up behind his friend and keeping well clear of Bearson's swordplay.

Now they stood back to back. For the skagouls were now behind them. Their exit was blocked. There was no way out!

Five

Con and Gandor were tiring now. It seemed as if the fight had gone on for hours. Yet there seemed no fewer of their foes.

So far they had avoided skin contact with the poisonous greasy slime of their enemies. But where it had come into contact with their clothes it ate its way through the material. Even the stout leather of their boots was pitted and etched by the acid.

Then Con had his first contact. As he struck a splatter of the poison vomited from its foul flesh to spray his left hand. Where it landed, he felt a burning sensation as if struck with strong acid. Dark welts scarred the leather of his jerkin as it too was splattered.

Con now held only the claymore, his short sword sheathed in the ground in front of him for easy access. But both arms were tiring now. Even the dwarf's blows were noticeably less effective. It was only a matter of time before they were overcome.

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