Harbinger - Book 02 - The Fallen Angle

102 Pages·2016·0.6 MB·German

by  Glenn G. Thater

THE FALLEN ANGLE
BY
GLENN G. THATER
A Tale from the Harbinger of Doom Saga

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
Please be advised that if you obtained this book from any type of free file
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you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2012 by Glenn G. Thater.
All rights reserved.
The Fallen Angle © 2012 by Glenn G. Thater Visit Glenn G. Thater’s website at
http://www.glenngthater.com
November 2014 edition
BOOKS BY GLENN G. THATER
THE HARBINGER OF DOOM SAGA
GATEWAY TO NIFLEHEIM
THE FALLEN ANGLE
KNIGHT ETERNAL
DWELLERS OF THE DEEP
BLOOD, FIRE, AND THORN
GODS OF THE SWORD
THE SHAMBLING DEAD
MASTER OF THE DEAD
VOLUME 9+ (forthcoming)

HARBINGER OF DOOM
(Combines Gateway to Nifleheim and The Fallen Angle
into a single volume)

THE HERO AND THE FIEND
(A novelette set in the Harbinger of Doom universe)

THE GATEWAY
(A novella length version of Gateway to Nifleheim)

THE DEMON KING OF BERGHER
(A short story set in the Harbinger of Doom universe)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
RIKER’S CROSSROADS
INQUISITION
THE SHADOW LEAGUE
THE BLACK HAND
TO PIPKORN WE WILL GO
EDWIN OF ALDER
GRAND MASTER PIPKORN
THE TEMPLE OF HECATE
THE OTHER PATH
HE WHO CANNOT BE NAMED
RECKONING
MIDEON GATE
TRAVELER’S REST
HARBINGER OF OUR DOOM
GLOSSARY: PLACES
GLOSSARY: PEOPLE
GLOSSARY: THINGS
ABOUT GLENN G. THATER
THE FALLEN ANGLE
A Tale from the Harbinger of Doom Saga
“How do you know these things? Who are you, Theta? Who are you really?”
— Ob to the Lord Angle Theta
PROLOGUE
I
’ve got it,” said Theta as he recovered Sir Gabriel’s dagger, Dargus Dal, from
an opening that he had made in the vast heap of stone rubble—the collapsed
remains of the ancient Temple of Guymaog in the Vermion Forest. Only one
night previous, that place had been a scene of otherworldly horror, wherein
somehow opened a gateway to the nether realm of Nifleheim, the very hell of
myth and legend. A great battle ensued between the knights of Dor Eotrus and
the Nifleheim lords and their minions before the open gateway was sundered and
forever held fast. The dead of both sides lay broken and strewn about the ruins,
putrefying in the chill morning air.
With the gateway closed, the monstrous armies of Nifleheim were barred
from entering the world of man and laying it to waste, but two of their dread
lords had made it through to Midgaard and were on the loose—one, a skull-faced
monster called Mortach, the other, Gallis Korrgonn, son of Azathoth. Through
foul magic, Korrgonn possessed the body of Sir Gabriel Garn, greatest hero of
the Kingdom of Lomion and weapons master of House Eotrus.
“Is it damaged?” said Dolan as he scooped black ichor (the remains of some
creature of Nifleheim) from another hole into a wide-mouthed flask while
holding his nose.
Theta held up the long dagger and closely examined it. “It is intact,” he said
smiling. “Its edge, still keen; ‘tis truly a wonder. It’s good to hold an Asgardian
dagger in my hand again; it has been long years.”
“I can’t believe you found both it and the shards of that orb thingy,” said
Dolan. “That necklace sure comes in handy, it does,” he said, referring to the
curiously bent and twisted ankh that hung from a chain about Theta’s neck.
“How did it find them through all this stone? What is its magic?”
Theta shrugged.
“Are you ever going to tell me how it works?” said Dolan.
“No.”
“Didn’t think so. What are we going to do about the wizard? He’s still
spying on us from behind that rubble off to our left; must think we’re deaf and
blind.”
“As noisy as he is, I smelled him first,” said Theta.
“As did I,” said Dolan. “He has got a weird stink about him.”
“It’s some kind of oil he smears in his hair,” said Theta. “That and his
thumping about make him less stealthy than a thunderstorm.”
thumping about make him less stealthy than a thunderstorm.”
“Why do you figure he puts that stuff in his hair, anyways? Does he think
women like it?”
“Wizards are a strange lot,” said Theta. “I don’t waste much thought on
them. I grow tired of his lurking, so you had best invite him over.”
In a flash, Dolan’s bow was in his hand, an arrow knocked and set to flight.
The arrow buzzed through the air and struck the remnants of a stone column
inches from Tanch’s head, which set him reeling backward on his rump,
screeching in alarm.
“Show yourself,” called out Theta.
“Don’t shoot; it’s me,” yelled Tanch. “It’s just me, Par Tanch Trinagal,” he
said as he stood up and stumbled forward.
They waved him over.
“Out for a stroll, wizard?” said Theta.
“I was just—I was—I wasn’t—I mean—I didn’t—”
“If he keeps babbling,” said Theta, “Shoot him between the eyes.”
“Aye, boss,” said Dolan as he raised his bow again, this time at point blank
range. Tanch’s eyes went wide and then promptly glazed over and he fell
backward in a feint.
Theta and Dolan both chuckled.
“Make sure the fool is alright,” said Theta, “and then let’s finish up here.”
Dolan moved to Tanch’s side and knelt, then froze, cocking his head to the
side as if listening for something.
“Thetan,” said a strange womanly voice on the wind. The sound was drawn
out and otherworldly, but what it said was distinct enough.
Dolan’s bow was back in his hand and he pivoted all around, searching for
the speaker.
“Thetan,” said the woman on the wind again.
Theta was on his feet, his falchion in his left hand, his shield in his right. He
crouched and turned this way and that, but could not find the source of the voice.
As his eyes passed over Dolan, he noticed that his manservant looked odd, as if
paralyzed or frozen in place. “Dolan,” he said sharply, but Dolan did not reply,
nor did he move. Tanch too was stone still. “Dolan,” he shouted again, but to no
avail.
Theta caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, and turned
toward it. A blur of cloth, perhaps a woman’s shawl, passed behind a pile of
rubble, though the pile was too narrow to conceal a person, and yet, whatever it
was, was gone. The scent of flowers and springtime appeared in the air, though
winter was fast approaching.
“Show yourself,” said Theta, menace in his voice.
“Show yourself,” said Theta, menace in his voice.
“What have you done, Thetan?” said the wind. “What mischief have you
wrought this time?”
Each time the voice spoke, it came from behind Theta, and when he spun
toward it, he saw only the merest glimpse of a translucent gray fabric that trailed
behind someone or some thing that moved too fast for his eyes to follow.
But Theta knew nothing moved too fast for him to see or for him to stop. His
mouth dropped open; his brow furrowed in surprise. He pulled his sword and
shield close, and crouched, all his energies poised to spring into action, to crush
whatever threat that thing represented.
“Did you open the portal, Thetan? Did you open the gateway?” said the
woman on the wind, her voice bittersweet. “Tell me; speak the truth; speak the
truth.”
Theta stopped turning toward the voice, for there was no hope to catch it. Its
speed was beyond him. He stood ready; all his senses heightened to their limits.
He pulled his shield closer against his chest, close enough that his thumb grasped
his ankh. When he touched it, it pulsed with eerie light. He called on that relic,
as he had so many times afore, mouthing the secret words that empowered it. He
commanded it to reveal whatever it was that taunted him.
“Your tokens hold no power over me,” said the wind.
And it spoke the truth, for the ankh failed Theta, though it had rarely failed
him before. It was as if the speaker was invisible to the ankh, just as it was nigh
invisible to Theta. Or was it even there at all? Was this all just some figment in
Theta’s mind; madness come over him at last?
“Did you open the ever-barred door?” it said, its tone demanding an answer.
“No,” said Theta. “I closed the gateway to Nifleheim.”
Silence ruled the scene for several moments.
“Do you speak the truth, Thetan—you who they call the Prince of Lies?”
“I closed it.”
“So you say, but your heart and your mind are closed to me. I cannot see
within them, just as I could not see within that temple the other night, though my
eyes pierce all darkness throughout the world, and into the hearts and minds of
all the world’s children.”
“Who are you?” said Theta.
“You have seen me before. Am I so easily forgotten?”
Theta’s eyes narrowed. “You were at R’lyeh.”
“There and elsewhere. I have watched you since the dawn of time,” said the
voice, now from close behind Theta.
He spun, and there before him, mere inches away, was a tall woman, or some
thing that took a woman’s shape. She was strangely insubstantial, for he saw
thing that took a woman’s shape. She was strangely insubstantial, for he saw
clear through her, but then, as the moments passed, she became as solid, as real,
as any woman he had ever known. Her skin was gray but smooth, without lines
or blemishes; her hair, green as springtime’s grass; her eyes, piercing blue like a
mountain stream; her dress, gray and flowing and lithe; her features, young and
beautiful beyond compare with curves to make any woman brim with envy; her
voice, soft and melodic, but haunting.
“What do you want?” said Theta, holding back the swing of his falchion,
perhaps for curiosity’s sake, or perhaps for something more, though she was now
well within his range.
“I want you to keep safe the world,” said the woman. “As only you can.”
“That is all I have done for years beyond count.”
She put a gentle hand to Theta’s face and caressed his cheek. “I wish that to
be true more than I can say. I need that to be true, for I foresee great calamities
ahead. Midgaard will need your sword and your strength to weather what is
coming or all may be lost. She needs you now, more than ever.”
The woman leaned forward and brushed her lips against his, gently at first,
then stronger.
“Do not betray me, Thetan,” she said when she pulled away, though he could
not be certain whether that was a plea or a threat. And then she was gone. She
faded away to nothingness right before his eyes.
“What was that?” said Dolan. “That voice on the wind?”
“What?” said Tanch as he pulled himself to a sitting position. “What voice?”
Then from the east came the sounds of many horses and men.
“The Eotrus,” said Dolan. “They come to collect their dead.”