Thakar Vun

By Christopher Mac Lairn

Thakar Vuna subterranean world vast beyond the imagination. A world home to the race of dwarves, whose kingdoms there are ancient beyond the ancients; the trolls, who were here long even before the dwarves; and the elves and goblins, who came here from the surface world to carve out their own kingdoms. It is as well home for a beautiful but malevolent sorceress, who is both angel and demon and who means to enslave all other peoples of the realm to her own will.

Into this conflict is drawn Falchran, Gallic warrior, brought here by the Dark Sorceress, the self-styled queen of the realm.

But why?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984524003

Christopher Mac Lairn

Christopher Mac Lairn I have been a devotee of mythology and adventure-fantasy my whole life, and writing came naturally to me from the age of 12 on. So, it was only natural that I become a fantasy/mythology author.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by Christopher Mac Lairn.

ISBN:                  Softcover                                    978-1-9845-2399-0

                           eBook                                          978-1-9845-2400-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/20/2018

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

778561

CONTENTS

BOOK I

The World Below

Gateway to the Underworld

Shroom Forest

Thorak

The Goblin Hoardes

Pipes Upon The River

Blind Pike

Fire and Iron

BOOK II

The Demon-Queen

Red Bats Swarm

Separation Anxiety

Predatory Stalactites

Light Columns

The Hounds of Hades

Obsidian Altar

Epilogue: The Shaft

Appendix: Poems and Other Good Stuff

The Saga of Falchran/Falchran, Warlord of Yerth:

Oars of Olympus

In the Shadow of Krakatoa

Gates of Babylon

Thakar Vun

Bavarian Axe (on the way)

For Gary Gygax.

The original will never die!!!

Lord of the Rings meets Conan the Barbarian meets Journey to the Center of the Earth meets Dracula.

KOL

Book I

The World Below

Gateway to the Underworld

In a chamber far beneath the surface of the Earth, black robe-clad servants moved among two braziers, placing upon the red glowing embers materials which resembled purple leaves, although they were in reality made of no substance that can be found in the earthly realm. They ignited quickly but burned very slowly, creating a strong scent and filling the chamber with this, a scent fragrant and aromatic, sweet and noxious at the same time. And two pillars of purple gas rose high and swept across the platform, creeping like ivy vines moving at an unnatural, alarming rate, reaching up like tendrils, covering the platform with a purple mist.

And this mist covered an inexpressibly beautiful woman. She had jet-black hair, ivory skin, and was clad in shadows. She removed from the sheath at her hip a dagger that shone like silver and was embedded with gleaming rubies and diamonds.

She looked gleefully upon the victim bound to the altar before her. He was emaciated, long given barely enough food and water to remain alive. But he had also been drunk for much of that preparation time, for it had been seen to as well that his blood was enriched with choice wine

He writhed and wriggled, fighting desperately but uselessly to free himself as he saw the knife rise over him.

She methodically drove the blade into his abdomen, piercing a kidney. He screamed in agony and terror. She slowly, oh so slowly, cut across his stomach, creating a bubbling stream of blood. She could have simply killed him, but that of course would have been much too nice. She did not stop the trajectory until the other kidney had also been sliced in half.

The screams filled the air. To her, it was the most delightful music. The blood poured into two golden bowls, each of which had been placed with supreme care, according to the rite, to each side of the altar.

She walked around to one side, there watched the scarlet liquid of life pour like a faucet. When the bowl was nearly full, she reached down, picked it up, held it high into the air, high above her head.

The blood is the life! she shrieked.

A man stood beside a river. He was 3 ½ cubits plus one hand-span in height, had feral blue eyes which pierced all he looked upon as the gaze of the stalking leopard pierces the high grass, red-tinted brown hair, a trim beard, and possessed physical stature comparable to that possessed by Hercules, Beowulf, Gilgamesh or Conan. He wore a Sumerian kilt which went from just above the waist to just above the knees, and this fabric was dark blue of color, and was held in place by a belt which in addition held what appeared to be two sheathed daggers. Of course, in truth one was a true dagger while the other was the spear of Ishtar now in the form of a dagger made of a bright blue gem. He wore as well a pair of very light, very comfortable Assyrian boots, plus a big leather money-pouch which had upon it a picture of that distinctively Mesopotamian sphinx known as the Shedu. The fact that his massive upper body was bare made his many tattoos readily visible in the afternoon sun.

It was the latter part of the day. The Middle East has basically two seasons: the very brief but unbelievably torrential monsoon season, and the almost year long hot and dry season. At that time, the wet season was far away, so the merciless sun baked him in the hot air from above a cloudless sky.

He was in a semi-desert, which is to say a region where plant life is scarce but not totally void. Patches of greenery and shrubbery dotted the landscape amongst rocks hot enough to cook on and patches of scorching sand. There were grasses and shrubs, but no flowers in bloom. He was in the border country between the true desert to the north and west and the Fertile Crescent to the south and east. From where he stood he could see in the far distance the ziggurats and aqueducts and irrigation canals and palaces and spires and towers reaching unto the heavens of the fabled city of Babylon. There, he had but recently left behind a treasure-chest of memories: his lover (for a while), the beautiful Nishrala, who, for all her incomparable surface beauty was as dangerous as a cobra; his friend and companion of many adventures, Mirissh-kruu; of the countless wonders, beautiful and deadly, splendid and decadent, of Babylon; of the enormous statues and fountains, houses of baked mud-brick; the Scorpion Men and the Shedus and a thousand other creatures, mythical and fantastic.

He looked upon the river. This was the Tigris, the river which, along with the Euphrates, made this Crescent fertile. The water here was sparkling blue, deep, glistening, disturbed by the light wind which made waves upon the surface.

He walked over the gravel and sand of the shore, waded out ankle deep into the water. It was biting cold; and very refreshing. The perfect relief from the heat. So, he continued out into the stream. Shortly, he was waist deep, then neck, then he was at a depth too great for him to stand on the bottom, and he swam out into the pure icy refreshment of the wondrously pure water.

Most of Babylon was, as of that time, just stirring, just awakening from the midday nap which here is not so much a leisure as a necessity. He found respite from the heat in another way.

And the other reason he had entered the river was he simply loved to swim. He always had, from his earliest memories, and very few indeed are the non-aquatic creatures (or people) who could claim to be nearly as at home or as adept in the water.

He drifted along lazily for what must have been about an hour or so, watching the scenes unfold before him: he saw an occasional ox-drawn wagon traversing one of the rocky roads. He occasionally passed other swimmers in the distance, or massive oxen who had waded out into the water for refreshment and to drink, occasionally dogs and children playing aside the banks, and a few fishermen out for the days’ catch (he was careful to avoid their lines, of course).

He at some point became aware that the sun had moved well along its daily course, and that it had been a long time since he had seen another person, even at a distance. These facts purely in and of themselves were, of course, not disturbing; he expected the population to thin out as he got closer to the border of Asia Minor. However, as he looked around he realized as well that he was now between two cliffs, cliffs which were steep to the point of being almost vertical walls of brown rock. They would, he could also tell, be quite unscaleable to all but the most adept climbers, which he was not, for, while he did indeed possess many talents, scaling was not one of them. Nor had he the needed equipment in any case.

So, he realized, were he for whatever reason to need to get out now, he couldn’t. He then became aware as well of the fact that the current had suddenly grown much stronger, and grew stronger still with each cubit forward he went. He had been swimming along at a leisurely pace, with the current; now he was being pulled into it.

Then he saw a whirlpool on the near horizon, covering the whole span of the river, bank to bank.

Immediately and instinctively he turned around and began swimming in the opposite direction with all his might – but it was absolutely futile. The current was much too strong. All he could do was slow his rate of progress towards the vortex, not stop it. He redoubled his efforts; but still, it was useless. Despite all his colossal might and swimming ability, it was all useless. The absolute best he could do was hover there, not moving any closer to the vortex yet as well unable to escape the powerful tow; and he was tiring, whereas the current obviously never would. Great as his stamina and his determination both were, he had to accept the fact that this phenomenon was far too powerful for him.

At least, far too powerful to oppose directly, but perhaps there was another way out of this, a way that relied not upon raw power but upon cunning…

So he changed tactics completely. He turned about once more and this time stroked towards the whirlpool. Gliding like a ray, his plan was to capture the outermost swirl and let the combination of his momentum and the acceleration of the boost throw him clear and, hopefully, out of reach. It seemed a sound plan – or, at least, his only hope.

And a sound plan it may well have been, but it was as well a futile one; for he caught the outermost swirl just as planned, but, even with this extra momentum, it held him too strong to make breaking free possible. He was then spinning about in pure aquatic pandemonium, each moment finding himself a little closer to the center of the vortex.

Most men, at this point, would have panicked – which is the worst thing anyone could possibly do under such circumstances. For here, losing it and struggling frantically against the current probably would have just gotten him killed, either drowned or battered to death against the rocks. But he remained absolutely calm, which doubtlessly saved his life. He decided to swim with the current, as it was beyond obvious that trying to fight it here would be useless.

Be that as it may, the shear velocity and the incredible hydraulic pressure of the vortex took him a good 10, 12, maybe 15 feet beneath the water.

And at the bottom of the river, he found himself traveling through clouds of disturbed sediment. He found as well a hole leading straight down, and the force of the pull being sucked into that hole left no question as to the place of origin for the vortex.

He swam down into it, and was enveloped by a darkness so complete that even he, with his magical eyesight, could see virtually nothing; the best he could do was discern the sides of the cylinder.

So he closed his eyes and made his way by feel.

The hole, he soon discovered, was very smooth, almost a perfect cylinder. The walls were slick and mossy, the downwards-pulling current very swift. But how far would it go?!? Already he had descended so far as to leave the sunlit world far behind. A normal human would long since have drowned; but he had a magical power, and so could hold his breath for far longer than most (somewhere between 7 and 10 minutes). So, while there are of course many ways to die, but drowning was the last possible way for him – so he had always thought, anyways. But now, he knew that that was exactly what would soon happen if he couldn’t find air, and fast.

So he redoubled his efforts, increasing his strokes and continuing onwards.

And he burned with rage, for with each passing moment it looked more and more certain that he would be unable to locate air in time. He never had been and never would be afraid to die, but he wanted to die as a true warrior should – for a true warrior he most definitely was. He wanted to die in strife. But, to go out like this, to simply be dragged to the bottom of a hole and held there, waiting helplessly as his air ran out, there to remain until whatever aquatic scavengers there may be came along to pick his bones clean… he could think of no more horrible, shameful way to end an adventure-filled life, and this was what tortured him above all!

Then, what sooner or later inevitably had to happen did happen: for even his lungs had a finite capacity, and that capacity was reached, for, as had been said, he was unusually at home in aquatic environments for a land-dweller, but by no means truly amphibious. So he began to experience the sensations of drowning, and while it was a very unfamiliar feeling, he immediately decided that, while there are countless ways to die, drowning surely must be one of the worst of them all! All the veins on his skin began to bulge and swell. The pressure of the blue-appearing blood within them was like a swim bladder that had already been filled to capacity with water, yet was continually being filled with no possible outlet or escape, so of course an explosion was imminent. Everywhere, all over his body, arms and neck and chest, the tissues became impossibly bloated. He felt his eyes bulge as well, ready to explode right out of his head. And he feared that this would indeed happen, in addition to the explosion of his veins. It did not, but he knew that it would within moments if not seconds more. And his lungs screamed their agony.

Yet still the indomitable Celtic spirit burning within him continued to fight on, even as he continued to propel downwards. He absolutely would not stop fighting until he was dead – if even then!

And finally, all his mighty efforts paid off. He felt himself going over a sort of shoot or slide. He spun around in chaos for a moment more; then found air!

He did not so much inhale as gulp down a huge quantity of the life-giving element. He breathed deeply and rapidly, panting like a hound, for some moments; but with each passing moment as well did his breathing slow, and soon it returned to its normal, steady, rhythmical pattern.

And once breathing was no longer a struggle, he had the luxury to begin to get his orientation:

He realized that he was no longer descending vertically, that he was in a stream about half as deep as he was tall, and that it flowed horizontally. So, the tunnel had spilled into this stream! He realized that, while his head may once more be above the surface of the water, he was far below the surface of the earth. Just how far below he could not begin to estimate, but whatever, he was in a tunnel half-filled by this stream, and the sides of this limestone tunnel were so smooth, so even, so round that they may well have been made by a huge worm or eel or serpent.

And that thought made him shudder. The idea of encountering such a monster in so tight an area, an area which provided so little room for maneuverability… to have to fight in such a space would surely be a hopeless fight, were he indeed to encounter such a creature… though he did not.

In fact, for a long while, he encountered nothing at all. Other than himself, this tunnel and this stream seemed to be utterly devoid of life. He could not even feel any aquatic flora along the bottom; no algae or moss or weeds along the path to make it even more slick than it already was made by the smooth rock, nor any fish swimming within it nor even insects skirting over the top.

And thus it continued for a long while: he moved through a stream in a subterranean tunnel of absolute darkness – a darkness so complete that even he, who could see perfectly well on even the blackest of nights on the world above, could barely see at all. And still worse was the shroud of absolute silence resting heavily over it all. Nowhere could the slightest sound be detected.

How marvelous! he yelled. He spoke aloud mostly just to hear his own voice, for he had to know that it was still possible to hear something; he had to know that such a thing as sound still existed. Any sound at all would, for him, at that moment have been as wonderful as the grandest music ever he had heard. I had feared to drown, he continued, yet that did not happen. A pity, that, too, for if I had it would all be over by now. Instead I shall float aimlessly in this underground stream until I die of starvation or insanity or whatever in this lifeless void. I say again: how marvelous!

Yet still he did not lose his wits. He brought his feet up above the floor of the stream and began swimming. Not the frantic struggles of one panic-stricken, but a leisurely swim, as though he were in a perfectly familiar lake or river. He propelled himself at a rate far greater than the far-from-swift current ever would.

And once again, his perseverance was eventually rewarded. In the distance he could make out, oh-so faintly, oh-so painfully far away, what appeared to be a definite light source. This made him quicken his pace, and the light grew clearer and clearer, closer and closer, and the current grew stronger and swifter…

Then he was swept over a waterfall.

Fortune, though, was finally with him. His luck had turned around completely. He did not crash onto the rocks of a very shallow stream as he had feared would happen, but hit with an enormous splash, and was carried approximately three times his own height beneath the surface of an, obviously, huge river – and he did not even touch bottom! He quickly swam back to the surface, and as his head got once more above water he saw that he was in a world such as he could never before have dreamt the existence of.

The chute he had just spilled over, the tiny stream which emptied into this river nearly as large as the Tigris itself, was just behind him. On the one side of this river was a shear wall going up to what appeared – at first glance, and just a rough estimate – to be 30 or 40 or even 50 cubits. This wall was shear, smooth rock, obviously unscaleable, but on the opposite bank he saw an unimaginably vast, wholly subterranean world, fantastic far beyond anything any words could begin to do justice to.

In the blink of an eye, his spirits lifted from the pits of despair to the heights of wonder.

He swam over to the bank, pulled himself out onto shore, and found himself exploring a forest.

Of course, he had a great deal of experience with wilderness of all sorts; right from birth, literally, as he had been born in an enchanted forest on the Atlantic coast of Gaul. And in his time he had found adventures from the mountains of Greece to the jungles of Indonesia to the savannas of the Middle East. But here was a completely different sort of wilderness, one he never before could have begun to imagine. A Shroom Forest! he said aloud. What else could it be called?

What else indeed! Actually, ‘Fungus forest’ would have been more accurate, for by no means were mushrooms the only of the dark plants here represented. Still, somehow, ‘Shroom forest’ just seemed to have a better ring.

The point is that the whole vast spectrum of the dark plants – that is, plants that can grow and survive and prosper with or without sunlight – was not only here represented, but most abundant.

He fell to the ground and drove his hand into the soil, and found something very unexpected: it was loose! He would have thought the ground here to be solid limestone, but it was of much the same composition and texture as of the ground above ground: dirt-filled with rocks, pebbles and sediment. Sift and filter through it ever how much he may, though, he could find no evidence of habitation by worms or insects or their larvae. Of course, this didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t there…

All around were molds and mildews growing in patches which could be anywhere from a few inches across to a stadium or even more in span, and could be as thick as carpet in some places, or knee-high or even waist high on him in others. This must be the Underworld’s answer to grass. Some such patches grew on rock-faces, others in open soil.

Lichens, also, were everywhere to be seen. Many of these formed patches as well, but others draped from the larger, more stable and structured of the dark plants, just as moss is often known to form beards on cypresses in the swamps of the Surface World.

But most astonishing of all this Underworld flora unquestionably were the shrooms. They were everywhere as far as the eye could see in any and all directions: mushrooms and toadstools. The smallest of these were the size of a baby’s finger; the largest, the size of a beech, and every size in between these two extremes could be found by anyone who wanted to spend but a moment or two searching.

‘Yet how,’ this man, so utterly foreign to this world, so amazed by everything he saw, wondered, ‘how can mushrooms attain such a size? They are much too soft… at least, I’ve always thought so. They haven’t the wooden support such as do trees…?’

To seek the answers to the questions he formulated, he went over to one of the largest of them, about the size of a pine, and felt it. Amazing! he announced. It had bark.

He felt the stems of some of the smaller ones. They had no bark. So, he concluded, it’s something they develop upon reaching a certain size.

He looked up and saw that even the largest of these giant shroom trees reached barely halfway to the roof of this vault. That should give a good idea of just how spacious this place was. Far above the branches… oops, sorry; I mean the caps, the canopy of this forest, there was a faint light source. What it was he could not clearly see. Lamps or torches they had to be, he figured. But who could have made them? And who could have placed them there? And when? And why?

Such questions were far beyond anything his already over-taxed brain could possibly begin to ponder at the moment. He simply continued his explorations, looking about in purest wonder.

The region was vast, balmy, humid, though not quite wet enough to be foggy. Occasionally he would encounter a drip or a series of drips, water dripping from the ceiling, leagues overhead it seemed. It seemed as well