Heart of the Maiden: (Lords of the Deep Hells Book 3) Read online

  BEAR WITNESS TO POWER UNCHAINED

  Yozo glanced to his right and took note of the downed saren. He wanted to help her, but the three figures twitched wildly, ready to jump in at him at the first sign of a break in concentration. He had no armor, unlike his comrade. The moment the little wretches latched onto him would quickly become disastrous.

  The other three piled in, rushing the swordsman with such swiftness, even Yozo couldn’t respond to the six clawed hands that thrust in, ripping at his clothes, shredding and binding up his sword arm, pushing him back against the wall where the other one-armed greyoldor sprung out from, joining the imminent feeding frenzy.

  An azure bolt sliced into the side of one of the creatures that hung off of Yozo’s shoulders, felling it to the ground. It shrieked and writhed as it clutched the still glowing hole in its side that fizzled with dark blue sparks.

  The other three twisted pravens halted their ripping to look up, assessing what had happened to their ally.

  Hamui’s sneer was outlined and emphasized by the glow from his staff, hatred for the dark counterparts of his race clear as he lit the room with another bolt of blue, slicing the air between him and the group of darklings in a split second, melting the corner of one’s head off, oozing glowing brains from its skull before dropping it next to Yozo.

  Lords of the Deep Hells Trilogy, Book 3

  Heart of the Maiden

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Copyright © 2021 Paul Yoder

  Cover art by Andrey Vasilchenko

  All rights reserved.

  You can contact me at:

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  ISBN: 9798512411964

  Here’s to all the unexpected twists and turns in life that weave a tapestry of character and story that makes us who we are.

  Embrace this life, work to improve yourself, and enjoy each moment we’re gifted.

  Paul Yoder

  Lords of the Deep Hells Trilogy

  Book III

  Table of Contents

  1 The Sun Room

  2 The Call of Blood

  3 Regroup Post Victory

  4 The Blooming Lotus

  5 Of School Robes and Wildflowers

  6 The Soft Light of an Old Memory

  7 Sick and Dying

  8 Allies and Enemies

  9 Baiting the Strike

  10 A Dire Gambit

  11 Plunged Into Darkness

  12 Striking the Match

  13 Bear Witness to Power Unchained

  14 Endless Ash

  15 A Figure Along the Cliffs

  16 The Blood Eye

  17 The hoarish Nightmare

  18 Grace Along the Still Dunes

  19 Favela of the grey ones

  20 The Dead Host

  21 Under the Moon’s Gaze

  22 The Paths Ahead

  23 Totems and Spires

  24 The Forgotten Nightmares

  25 Eyes Along the Wall

  26 Arisen Along the Highway

  27 The Scouts Return

  28 The Ruins of Solstice

  29 The Experiment of Extended Sight

  30 The Sullen Canyon

  31 Reposition and Prepare

  32 Along the Ridges

  33 The Mouth of Hell

  34 The Night Rider

  35 The last day for many

  36 Flags Unfurled

  37 Clash of the Living and the Dead

  38 Test of wills

  39 Terrible Might Along the Lines of Battle

  40 The Rift of the Deep Hells

  41 Upon the Steps of Heaven and Hell

  42 The Dead of Night

  43 Recovery of the Victors

  44 A Renewed Peoples

  45 Judgment Day

  46 The Uncertain Path

  47 An Undying Friendship

  48 Burying Old Grudges and Regrets

  49 The Road Home

  50 A Table of Remembrance and Ambition

  51 Farewell to the Endless Dunes of the Southern Sands

  From THE AUTHOR

  1

  The Sun Room

  The darkness lingered deep in the pathways of the old temple much longer than they naturally should have after being exposed to torchlight.

  Denloth pointed to the recesses of the great hall, ordering the few torch-bearing arisen that accompanied them to light up the great chamber for him and his master to view.

  Sand trickled down from the cracks in the ceiling, sprinkling through the torchlight, creating dull sparkles along the skeletons’ paths to the edges of the long, dark chamber.

  “Impressive,” Sha’oul whispered, watching the torchbearers continue past pillar after pillar, showing just how grandiose the temple’s stonework was.

  “This is not some obscure cult’s temple. This was a temple devoted to the great Dannon, God of the sun.”

  “Then what became of it? By the looks of it, this place has been abandoned for centuries,” Denloth said, also speaking in hushed tones out of respect for the temple grounds they tread.

  “Dannon’s followers have receded, for the time,” Sha’oul thoughtfully said, stepping off towards a side passage as he mused. “They will be back to worship him in time. Religions have seasons too. Some are thriving today that will dwindle centuries from now, and vice versa. Mortals are quick to forget.”

  “You seem to know much of this god,” Denloth hesitantly voiced, wondering how many secrets his master knew regarding the temple they walked through now.

  “I know much of many gods,” Sha’oul retorted, humored by his companion’s probing. “But more of Dannon than most, admittedly. He is one of the few gods that Telenth-Lanor still communes with. Dannon is one of the few gods that remains neutral to all other gods.

  “Torchbearers,” Sha’oul called, causing a clanking of bones as all six scurried to the spot they stood.

  The archway along the section of wall they gazed upon was in ruins, most of the supporting stones crumbled beneath the weight of the collapsed ceiling high above.

  “Do you feel anything within that chamber?” Sha’oul asked, his excitement for what lay beyond clear in his wicked grin, his yellow teeth showing orange in the torchlight.

  Denloth reached out with his will, studying, tasting the aether beyond the cave-in. The presence of power within the old temple was undeniable, and sifting through it took a moment, but he did feel distinct threads of aether just beyond them, each emanating from a distinctly different source.

  He breathed in and out slowly, coming back to his physical senses.

  “There are…many auras just beyond. I sense Telenth, but I sense others as well.”

  Sha’oul’s smile only widened, and he brought up a hand, a black ring immediately beginning to glow red as he tensed his fingers, moving them into a strange, ridged formation.

  The sand that had filled most of the passageway began to sift up, sticking to the roof of the room, uncovering the path before them. Boulders began to roll off to the side, and the path was made clear as the sand solidified to the ceiling in a hardened glaze, showing them the partially collapsed room within.
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  They walked in, gazing upon the dozen or so black slate slabs that stood erect to either side of the room, quartz rods protruding from the floor on either side of the slate, and a beam of sunlight shining down from a fist-sized hole in the ceiling, extending up through an endless shaft, illuminating the room.

  “What is this place?” Denloth questioned, following behind his master as they passed slate after slate until Sha’oul stood before one towards the middle of the room.

  “It seems Telenth’s rift gate is undamaged,” Sha’oul said, sliding a hand along the textured slab, clenching his other hand so tight that his nails punctured his palms, blood welling up in his tight fist.

  He shot forth his bloody hand, speckling the stone in red, tracing with his bloody finger a crescent moon and an eye beneath with a streak down the middle of it. This, Denloth knew to be the secret sign of the one they served. Few in Una knew it, and fewer still ever dared to invoke it.

  “If this is a rift gate to Telenth, then to whom do the rest belong to? Surely not each to different gods. I have never heard of so many rift gates sharing the same region, let alone sharing the same room!” Denloth asked as his master finished his design, the significance of the chamber finally coming to him.

  “Yes,” the tall man laughed, seeing that his companion began to realize the power present in the room they had discovered. “The worshipers of Dannon were as ambitious as they were zealous. These rooms were called, Sun Rooms. Known by those not of the faith as rift junctions. A place where one might just as easily visit Aerath, the goddess of air, or Tekneon the god of the ages, as they might visit Fortia or Unerasct. I’ve only seen one other, and all rift gates there had been sundered. Though a few here seem damaged, that most remain functioning is a wonder.”

  “I have only seen two other rift gates,” Denloth mumbled, approaching an adjacent stone slab, gliding his fingertips along the bumpy slate surface.

  Sha’oul turned to consider his counterpart a moment before asking, “Have you never activated one?”

  Pulling his attention from the slate, he said, “I have not,” as he walked to the giant man’s side, standing before Telenth’s gate.

  “Then today, you will have the honors of connecting our lord’s realm to this one.”

  Though Sha’oul seemed sure of the offer, Denloth warned, “I have only studied the subject, and even that was just descriptions of the event with no mention to the detailed process of its function. I would need guidance.”

  Sha’oul looked back to the slate and quartz structure and smiled.

  “Then guidance you shall have.”

  He lifted his massive, bloodstained hand, holding it outstretched towards the blood-inscribed slab, chanting in Felmortum, the harsh tones and syllables peaking with Sha’oul’s twisted fingers. Denloth looked on, studying the words, the inscription his master had made, the hand movements….

  Denloth’s eyes widened as the slab began to move—or perhaps it was not so much as moving, but rather, an image was beginning to come into focus along its surface.

  The quartz rods began to glow faintly, and the image along the slate quickly came into focus, the memory of his shared vision of the Plane of Ash he had beheld weeks ago coming back to him, seeing in more lucid clarity the grey waste, ash falling from an endless sky of gloom, a burning red orb in the distance faintly illuminating the hills and plains of soot.

  There were creatures populating the desolate hellscape this time, and great and horrible did they appear to him, only seeing such abominations in tomes and fleeting images of like horrors amidst the Seam.

  One such creature, close enough to them, turned and noticed them as they peeked through the dimensional rift into his endless life amidst the ash.

  “Surely it sees us,” Denloth ventured a guess, seeing that Sha’oul discontinued his chanting, standing back beside his companion now to watch as the creature loped in their general direction, sniffing the air.

  “Perhaps...perhaps not,” Sha’oul whispered, transfixed on the creature. “Though it is easy enough to view into the hells, from within, things are distorted at the start of a rift connection. It takes time for both dimensions to sync. I know, for I have been there—once.”

  “Then surely he can sense us?” Denloth continued to probe, seeing clearly that the creature meandered closer and closer to them, looking as though it were a dog that had gotten wind of raw meat.

  The large man tilted his head slightly, considering the question. “Perhaps. Sense may be the wrong word for what that one is feeling just now. Draw may be a better descriptor. Always the draw to leave the realm of a Deep Hell is gnawing, ever at your thoughts. And you are punished for those thoughts, but persistent they remain, on and on through the ages…,”

  Denloth considered his master’s words as Sha’oul drifted off into thought, or through the old corridors of memory. And as he considered the words, the creature came to the rift’s edge—close enough for him to now make out every detail of the beast—or man—he knew not which it was.

  It stood a massive ten feet from the ground, its slumped posture indicating that it could stand even taller if it wanted to. Its face was that of a man, but by no means that of a normal man; it was one of nightmares, even for Denloth who had seen his share of horrors.

  Its mouth was slack agape, rows of disheveled teeth arbitrarily lining his wide jaw, his wide-bridged nose burnt, holes along his skin, sizzling in the acidic ashfall.

  His eyes were haunting. Sunken and so soot-smeared that they would have been lost in their depths, except for the soulless, blindingly white eyeshine.

  A jagged rack of antlers grew from its skull, and its middle was worn away—spine and ribs on clear display. Its claw hands were bloodied, though the blood seemed dried and old.

  It looked at Denloth then, and its haunting stare didn’t waver now as it began to walk towards them, towards the edge of the portal, raising a clawed hand to the surface of the stone, and entered the Sun Room.

  “Stand back,” Sha’oul said, Denloth immediately complying with the order. “Let’s give him some room to enter.”

  The bloody hand lingered in the temple air, testing what it had happened upon for a moment before dipping its antlers and head through the gate, squeezing its torso and limbs through the relatively small portal.

  It stood, stretching out into the cool, dim Sun Room, looking to Denloth, then to Sha’oul, awaiting an answer for its presence.

  Sha’oul spoke to it in Felmortum, and though Denloth wasn’t well practiced with the language, he had been studying it long enough now to understand his master’s words.

  “All to blood, and blood to ash. The Great Ashen One has need of you here in Una. I serve him here, and you serve me now. Disobey any command, and you will be sent back straightway, and the Ashen One will not be pleased.”

  The creature tilted its head, looking around at its surroundings for a moment before returning to gaze upon Sha’oul, nodding its head in understanding.

  “Good,” he crooned, ordering, “await us in the great hall.”

  The beast looked in the direction the man pointed him, and began to lope to the sandblasted threshold, stooping under, exiting to join the skeletons that awaited at the archway.

  “A wendigo. Not the most intelligent, or loyal creatures found in the Plane of Ash, but devilishly powerful, and somewhat cunning when it knows there’s blood involved,” Sha’oul spoke in a soft voice, only loud enough for Denloth to hear.

  “Not the most loyal, you say?” Denloth asked, side-eyeing the lumbering beast out beyond the archway.

  “No,” Sha’oul admitted, “but with simplicity of mind comes simple and powerful fears, and above all, they fear our god. It will obey the Ashen One’s chosen. Even if it does test me, I have dealt with countless wendigos through the ages. I will force it to submit before me if it comes to it.”

  As Denloth stood, considering the creature that now leaned down to shine its beady eyes in upon them, Sha’oul clapped
, breaking the eerie moment, standing before the rift gate once more, indicating for Denloth to step up to the slab.

  The only sound in the room was from the slightly glowing quartz rods sticking out of the ground, both the rods next to the slab, and one of the neighboring rods beside another rift gate, humming a low, vibrating tone.

  “It will be safe to activate the rift again so soon?” Denloth asked, watching the energy in the rods continue to buzz at a consistent frequency.

  “Two minor demons will not stress a rift like this. All of those rods,” he answered, indicating the sixteen undamaged rods that still stood next to their respective rift gates, “will help dissipate any excess aether as the rift remains active.”

  “And what if no rods were present to absorb aether?” Denloth quizzically asked.

  “Then we would absorb it, or our souls would try, and would fail. The aether ejected from the tears between realms is a chaotic energy. None that I know of know how to utilize it, though, rift makers have found how to neutralize it, hence the augmented rift crystals that hum before us. It will take hours, if not days for it to complete the process of defusing the stored aether, so when one uses a rift gate, the need must be great,” Sha’oul answered.

  “Alright,” Denloth said, stepping up to the rift, inspecting the symbols Sha’oul had drawn with his blood. “Where do I begin?”

  Sha’oul began to slowly step behind the black slate, looking upon it, considering the mechanics of the device before answering, “You…summon the Seam—easily as I understand it—do you not?”

  Denloth nodded, agreeing with his master’s assessment.

  “Then you should have no issue calling forth a rift. Focus is the key. You had mentioned that in your early years you were a priest of Hassome—he is a master of focus. Surely your upbringing will aid you in this task.

  “Simply think upon the one you summon, the land, the smell, all associations you have with that place. You do not need to have set foot in that realm, though this does help, but simply knowing some details of the place you call to helps the rift to puncture. After that initial connection is made, maintaining a rift is simple.”