PURE OF HEART Read online

  By the fifth day, Han could walk on his own, and it raised everyone’s spirits, because he hunted and brought back plenty of fresh food. After they ate, Bravic set a very fast pace. They stopped much less to rest, and as night came, he quickened it more.

  “Can we camp here?” Han asked finally. His ankle was sore again.

  “Yeah, Bravic, we’ve hiked all day,” Dean groaned as he slumped to the ground.

  “I’d like to push on a little farther.” Bravic peered around. “The Hall of Fallen Warriors is supposed to be somewhere in this vale, and I’d rather be tired than spend more time here.”

  “The Hall of Fallen Warriors,” Han and Oieda shouted together as they rose to their feet and quickly looked around.

  “What’s this Hall?” Dean asked.

  “It is the place where the spirits of great, good warriors go to rest before they leave this world. It is said if the living enter the Hall, they will not come out,” Oieda explained. “We should not have come this way.”

  “It was the fastest,” Bravic grumbled.

  “I—I think I can travel a little farther,” Han stuttered as the hairs on his neck rose.

  They got moving again and soon came to a fork in the path. Bravic stopped. “I don’t know which way.” He cursed.

  “Don’t say one path takes us out and one takes us to the Hall.” Dean tossed his hands up.

  “That I don’t know,” Bravic muttered.

  “The path to the left is more traveled. I think we should take that one.” Oieda scanned the ground.

  “Why?” Dean asked.

  “The dead leave no trace of passage,” Oieda said.

  “Thanks for giving me the creeps,” Dean said.

  “Me too,” Han added.

  They hurriedly went down the path to the left. As they moved down the twisting trail, they walked faster and watched the shadows start to lengthen. When they came into a clearing, four huge statues loomed above them. Behind the statues was an enormous arched entryway. The statues stretched skyward, standing almost twenty feet tall. They were carved in the form of armed warriors: an Elvana, an Elf, a Dwarf, and a Human.

  “Oh, major creeps.” Han groaned as he stared up at the figures. “There’s four of them and four of us.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” Dean said. “There’s writing on the bases. Should we read it?”

  “I wonder if it’ll do something. I say we read it.” Han rushed up to the base of the Elvana statue. “Everybody read in order, okay?”

  “Something bad could come of this,” Bravic said nervously but he walked to the base of the Dwarf statue.

  “I say we read it. What’s the worst that could happen?” Han asked.

  “In my world,” Dean walked over to the statue of the human, “when someone says that, it’s usually right before something really bad happens.”

  “Should we not read it then?” Oieda moved into place. “No offense intended, Han, but following your decision is not my first instinct.”

  Dean and Bravic chuckled while Han frowned. “Thanks.”

  “Now I’m curious too.” Dean roguishly grinned. “Let’s do it.”

  One by one, they all read the words inscribed on the stones:

  “In this Hall of Fallen Warriors,

  there lie those who cared.

  They cared for others and not themselves,

  they were the few who dared.

  “In this Hall of Fallen Warriors,

  are those who gave their lives.

  They died for what they believed,

  their sacrifice saved lives.

  “In this Hall of Fallen Warriors,

  those courageous souls now lay.

  They had the courage to seek peace,

  But they fought when there was no other way.

  “In this Hall of Fallen Warriors,

  are heroes of the past.

  They want only one thing now . . .

  that what they died for will last.”

  As the echo of Dean’s voice faded, a silence fell. The four stood as motionless as the statues above them.

  “Nothing happened? I can’t believe nothing happened.” Han looked around. “That stinks.”

  “I thought something might happen, too,” Bravic said. “We need to—”

  “Something did happen. Look.” Dean pointed back to the mouth of the valley. Dozens of black forms flew straight toward them.

  “Tarlugs!” Oieda spat.

  “Those stupid flying Krulgs,” Han said.

  “We can’t fight so many. Into the entryway,” Dean ordered as he moved back.

  “Do what you want. I’m not going in there,” Oieda called back to him as she raised her spear.

  Dean stepped into the opening and saw it was an alcove with a large metal door at its end. “It’s a better vantage point than out in the open.” Dean looked at the approaching Tarlugs, numbering at least thirty or more. As the creatures descended, they screamed in glee at the sight of the four figures.

  “Maybe you are right,” Oieda said quickly as she turned and ran to the others.

  “Can they get us in here?” Han asked.

  In answer to his question, one of the beasts flew straight into the alcove, only to land at the end of Dean’s thrust sword. As Han leaped backward, he slammed against the massive iron door. It swung open easily and the Elvana tumbled through.

  “Han,” Dean yelled as he rushed into the darkness after the Elvana.

  The Tarlugs landed at the end of the alcove and drew their weapons. Bravic grabbed Oieda by the arm and pulled her through the door.

  “Let go,” she growled as she pulled her arm free.

  “There’s too many out there,” Bravic said.

  “We can take them one at a time,” Dean said. “Bravic, get on that side—”

  “Close the door,” Han begged as he saw the approaching Tarlugs and pushed at the door.

  “Don’t!” Dean yelled but it was too late. The massive door swung shut and the companions were plunged into a silent darkness. “Crud. Did you forget about the part where no humans who come in here leave alive?”

  “Oops. Sorry,” Han said.

  “Will someone light a torch or something?” Dean asked.

  “I don’t know if you want to.” Han’s voice was low.

  “Why?” all three asked.

  “Funny thing . . . the door locked.” Han nervously chuckled. His words echoed through the silence that again fell around them.

  “We opened it.” Dean set his back against the door. “Does it only open from the other side?”

  “I heard a lock click in place,” Bravic said.

  Oieda pounded on the door with her spear. “OPEN THE DOOR,” she screamed.

  “What are you doing?” Dean shouted. “We don’t want them to get in.”

  “I want out.” Oieda’s voice was strained.

  “Hold on. There’s a torch on the wall.” Bravic took flint from his pocket and lit it. A glow of light soon arose and they could see they were in a stonework hall where the ceiling disappeared into the dark. Bravic looked at the door and frowned.

  “Can you open it?” Oieda squeezed his shoulder.

  The Dwarf shook his head. “There is a lock here and here and here.” He pointed to three places on the door. “I can’t tell how it was triggered to lock.”

  “You’re a Dwarf,” Oieda snapped. “And you don’t know how someone got a door to lock?”

  Bravic scowled. “There are several different options rattling around in my head as to the how they did it, but they don’t do us a lick of good. That door’s not opening for me or anyone else.”

  Dean stepped between the two of them. “Shall we go forward?” he asked.

  “Do we have a choice?” Oieda snapped.

  Dean looked from Bravic to Oieda to Han and back to Oieda. “Oieda, you’re really pale. Are you okay?”

  “I am fine,” she said as her eyes darted everywhere except to look at him.

  �
�Seriously, did you get hit or—”

  “I am unhurt.” In the torchlight, her green eyes flashed. “I do not like enclosed places.”

  “Neither do I.” Han moved closer to her. “Especially when it feels like the walls are right in your face. It makes it hard to breathe when you think we’re in a tomb and—”

  “Stop talking, Han,” Dean said as Oieda turned even paler. “Let’s get moving.”

  Bravic held the torch up and led the way across the tiled floor. Han walked next to Oieda while Dean guarded their backs. Their footsteps echoed from far away but Dean could only guess how big the hall was.

  “Do you think that’s right?” Han asked. “That no humans leave alive?”

  “No,” Dean scoffed. “Shh.”

  “I’m not scared,” Han whispered. “I’m an Elvana.”

  “Why does being an Elvana make you not scared?” Dean asked.

  “Because they say that no human comes out alive,” Han said.

  Dean frowned. “Thanks.”

  “Sorry.”

  After only a few steps, they saw a gleam of metal on the wall to the left. It slowly revealed itself to be a suit of gray plate armor, standing as if worn. It was in front of a small raised iron door with carving on it.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Dean said directly to Han.

  “I won’t.”

  “Don’t read anything either,” Bravic called back.

  “I said I won’t. But I don’t think that us reading the text on the statues brought the Tarlugs. I think they followed us from Modos or they—”

  Dean held up his hand. “Don’t say anything either.”

  “Now I can’t talk?” Han asked loudly.

  Suddenly, torches on the walls burst to life. The flames seemed to jump from torch to torch until the whole massive hall was filled with light. The companions all froze in their tracks except for Han. He threw his hands up. “My talking did not do that. That was a coinciden—”

  “Quiet,” Bravic fiercely whispered.

  As they peered down the hall, they could now see suits of armor and clothes seemingly hanging in the air, each in front of small metal doors.

  “Any who enter the Hall of Fallen Warriors must die,” a voice echoed through the chamber.

  “Oh great . . . I knew it,” Dean grumbled as everyone drew their weapons. “I just knew it.”

  At the far reaches of the light, they saw an armored figure appear and walk toward them.

  “You have defiled the dead of this hall and now you must pay with your lives,” it said ominously as it continued to approach.

  “I didn’t read anything. I didn’t touch anything. All I did was ask a question,” Han whined as he nocked an arrow.

  “We didn’t defile anything,” Dean called to the figure.

  “Thieves,” the man spat. “You’ll steal nothing from this tomb.”

  “I’m not a thief,” Bravic retorted, now truly offended.

  “All that come into this tomb are thieves.” He was now only fifteen feet in front of them. “Choose who’ll die first.”

  “We didn’t come here to steal.” Dean stepped forward.

  “Choose who will die first,” he repeated.

  “If someone has to die, can we pick you?” Dean asked.

  Oieda groaned.

  “Your choice is made. You all will die,” the man announced.

  The man took four long strides and lunged forward. His sword swept down, aiming to cut Dean in half. Dean jumped to the side and the blow rang like a bell as it struck the floor.

  “I don’t want to fight you,” Dean yelled as he backed away.

  “But you must,” the man sneered as his sword cut at Dean’s chest and barely missed.

  “We were seeking shelter,” Dean explained as he blocked another blow.

  Growling, Bravic rushed at the man. The man sprang forward, grabbed Bravic, and flung him sideways. The Dwarf crashed into the wall and slumped to the ground.

  The man struck at Dean once more.

  While Han backed up with Dean, Oieda circled the man.

  “Listen! We don’t want to fight you,” Dean growled.

  “Die,” the man yelled as he thrust at Dean who parried the blow.

  “Don’t move!” Oieda ordered as she pressed the tip of her spear against the man’s back.

  Dean exhaled. “Nice move.”

  Oieda smiled.

  With one sudden motion, the man twisted, grabbed the spear, and pulled it forward with one hand; his elbow hit Oieda squarely in the chest and sent her sprawling to the floor.

  Han drew back his bow, but the man leaped at him and, using his leg, swept Han’s feet out from underneath him. Han crashed onto his back and groaned loudly.

  Dean lunged forward. The man turned and struck at Dean with his sword. Dean’s blade caught the man’s. They stood toe-to-toe, their swords pressed together. Dean slipped to the side and smashed the handle of the sword into the side of the man’s head.

  The blow knocked the man to the floor. He rolled up onto his knees. He put his hands on the floor like he was going to jump up, but he did not stand.

  Han drew back his bow. Bravic grabbed his axe, and Oieda lowered her spear at the man’s chest. They were all panting for breath, but the man seemed more winded than any of the four. He took off his helmet and let it fall to the floor with a loud clang. His hair was gray but so light it was almost white. He raised his head and his steel blue eyes fixed on Dean’s lowered sword. The man looked at his own sword, lying well out of his reach.

  “Why don’t you run me through now that you have the chance, thief?” the old man asked. His thin, worn features narrowed.

  “You’re alive,” Dean cried in disbelief.

  “You think a nick like that would kill me?” the man grumbled as he stood up.

  “You’re not a ghost?” Han yelped, wide-eyed as he gazed quizzically up at him.

  “And how do you know I’m not?” the man asked ominously. He leaned toward the Elvana, who quickly moved back to stand behind Bravic and Oieda.

  “We do not want to steal anything, ghost or man. Or should I call you a Wardevar?” Oieda kept her spear pointed at him.

  “The Wardevar have been dead for fifty years,” Bravic said in disbelief. “They were all defeated and killed.”

  “They were not defeated,” the man said. “They were murdered. And there is still one who lives. And one is all that’s needed to kill you, spawn of Volsur.” The man’s hands balled into fists.

  “You have it all wrong. We’re going to stop Volsur!” Han jabbed his finger at the man.

  “Stop Volsur?” The man stared questioningly at Dean. “Maybe you’re not thieves. Who are you?” He took a step toward Dean.

  “My name is Dean Theradine. My friends are Bravic Volesunga, Oieda Halotic, and Hanillingsly Elvenroot,” Dean said as each in turn bowed low.

  “Dean Theradine? Let me see the sword you bear,” the man demanded with an outstretched hand. “The sword is the sword of Panadur. You are not thieves,” he declared.

  “How do you know we didn’t steal it from Panadur?” Han asked.

  “Han,” all three snapped.

  “I know you are not thieves,” the man repeated.

  “Did you know Panadur?” Dean asked.

  “No. I never knew him.” The man handed the sword back to Dean.

  “Then how do you know we’re not thieves?” Han asked again, moving forward.

  “No thief would give his sword to an enemy, unless he was a fool.” The man gave a half grin to Dean. “Follow me. Don’t speak anymore before the shadows of the warriors,” he warned as he picked up his helmet and walked, now with a noticeable limp, down the immense hall.

  The companions marched in silence for a long time. How long they walked not even Bravic could tell, for they went by many suits of armor. The suits were of the finest craftsmanship, down to clothing that was almost rags, all of which seemed to exude energy into the companions. As they walked, t
heir feet sounded like the drums of battle ringing off the stones. No matter how they tried to break up this rhythm, they’d all fall right back into the slow, steady beat. Finally, they stopped before two massive iron doors. Carved in the walls were long, rounded stone benches.

  “Sit. Let me hear your tale,” the man ordered as he continued to stand.

  Dean started the tale with Panadur but didn’t mention the Middle Stone or his world, and went right through the course of events until the companions came to the hall. Han would interrupt here and there to add details or tell how much he liked or didn’t like certain parts of their journey. When Dean finished, the old man turned and moved away from them to gaze down into the darkness of the hall for a long time. They sat in the solemn silence that descended once again on the hall as they waited. Suddenly, he strode away and vanished in the darkness without saying a word.

  “Where do you think—ow!” Han asked, but Bravic’s elbow in his side cut him off.

  Soon they heard the man’s footsteps return. As he came into the light, he carried a large, flat bundle under one arm.

  “I believe what you’ve told me. Now you must believe what I’m going to tell you.” He moved before the companions.

  Han leaned forward with a burning curiosity in his bright eyes.

  “Many years ago, before Volsur was banished, there lived a young lord named Coren. He ruled a land called Wardevar. It was a dry, barren land where it was a fight to survive from day to day. But Wardevar bred the strongest and bravest warriors in all the lands. Their bravery and fierceness in battle was unparalleled. This strength enabled them to live in peace, for none would or could challenge them. Peace is what Lord Coren sought, and not just in his own land; they would often go to the aid of any in need. Volsur didn’t want their help for peace. Volsur wanted it for war. With the Wardevar behind him, he could not fail. He tried to sway young Lord Coren to his side. Volsur offered Coren money and power. Anything and everything, but Coren refused.

  “Because of that, Volsur thought they would aid others against him, so he laid a trap. First, he won over a warrior named Norouk—may the traitor forever burn—with promises of riches and power. Next, he used Norouk to lead the others into a trap at the valley Grenadil. The valley only has two exits and lies between steep cliffs. It was the perfect place for Norouk’s betrayal. The traitor led his comrades and Lord Coren into the valley where the Vereortu fell upon them. They are evil creatures who thrive on fear. The warriors fought with all their hearts and might, but the sheer numbers of Vereortu cut through them.