The Heroes Wake (Gregor)

Chapter 2 of a WIP novel I am Writing

Gregor pushed the remnants of his table aside, the large wooden pieces scattering to the floor. A violent cough tore from him. He spat out dust and fragments of stone. His body ached as he cleared the rubble from his legs, pulling himself free. His legs wobbled slightly as he rose.

The ringing between Gregor’s ears pounded relentlessly. He felt like his head was a cauldron being beaten by hammers. Between the ringing and the dust, he couldn’t focus.

His eyes burned furiously. Gregor wrapped his finger in the sleeve of his robe and attempted to clear the dust from his face. He squinted, trying to locate the source of the clicking noise. Shapes danced in the darkness. Something huge swung back and forth. A smaller shadow moved to avoid it, as if playing a game of cat and mouse.

This was bad. Whatever it was, he knew he was in immediate danger. He couldn’t do anything in this darkness. Gregor gestured, tracing a complex magical glyph into the air. Three balls of bright white light burst into existence. They exploded against the darkness, causing it to retreat into the night. Brick dust lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the pipe smoke that had once filled the common room. Its pungent smell was replaced by that of mortar and blood.

The dust cloud seemed to move away from the creature. The large hole it had torn in the tavern wall allowed a breeze to seep into the room.

Gregor could see it more clearly, his vision sharpening into focus. It was a huge insect, a beetle to be precise. It was as tall as the tavern’s walls and nearly three-quarters as wide. The beetle clicked furiously as it tore through a group that had been attempting to flee. Its huge, razor-sharp pincers sliced through them with ease.

A lone figure stood defiantly in front of the gaping jaws.

What a fool. He’ll be eaten alive

Gregor watched as the figure parried the creature’s bite, striking back with a sword blow of his own. It was the other man who had been sitting at the table across from him. The man was broad, clad in scale armour. A tattered brown cloak swirled behind him as he ducked and dodged the increasingly furious creature’s attacks.

Gregor assessed the situation tactically.

Large beast. Uncannily strong. Chitinous plating would be thick. A lone warrior fighting it with a longsword, parrying only with a shield. The man stood no chance. No chance at all. Magic might help, but to what end?

No, the best course of action was to run. That was the logical answer. This lone warrior was the perfect distraction he needed to get away.


Gregor commanded two of the orbs to stick to what was left of the ceiling. The third began circling his head. He scanned the room for exits, starting with the most obvious, the front door.


The main door into the tavern was buried in rubble.Blast, he thought. Why is there only one way in and out? What fool built this deathtrap?


He moved toward the far side of the room, stepping over the small halfling girl who had been knocked down. She stirred, shifting slightly as Gregor passed her. No way out here either. The only way out seemed to be through the entrance the creature had made.

The girl began to open her eyes. Gregor hesitated, then came to a decision.

“Here,” Gregor bent over to start clearing some of the rubble. “Let me help you.”

He took the halfling by the hand and helped her to her feet. She was short, which was expected, being a halfling. She had red hair, a pale face, and even in this lighting Gregor could see she was covered in freckles. Vibrant green eyes looked up at him through weary lids. Her confusion obvious.

The creature clicked angrily. Unexpectedly, the man seemed to be holding his own against the beast. To his credit, Gregor mused, he was a brave fool, but a fool nonetheless.

The girl coughed. Blood ran down her face. She swayed on unsteady feet, using Gregor to help her stand. Gregor squeezed her shoulders.

“We need to get out of here!” he yelled over the crashing of jaws on steel. The man was being pushed into a corner by the creature. The window of escape was closing.

He shook her, trying to get her to acknowledge the danger they were both in. She looked around the room, disoriented.

“What… what’s happening?” she asked. She felt her scalp and stared at the blood-streaked palm. The white light of the orbs seemed to shine like moonlight, making it hard to distinguish colours other than black and white. She stood underneath the pale light, its soft glow reflecting off her skin. Gregor stepped back into the shadow, the darkness enveloping his face.

“We need to get out of here!” Gregor snapped. “Is there another way out?”

The girl looked over his shoulder. She saw the other man being driven closer to the corner of the room. He was trapped. The creature closed in, snapping its huge scythe-like jaws again and again.

“He needs our help!” she cried.

Before Gregor could stop her, she pushed past him and staggered toward the battle, almost falling as she stepped through the carnage of wood and stone. Gregor watched as she picked up a chunk of stone and hurled it at the creature’s head.

The stone connected. The creature turned to face this new combatant, clicking with sharp irritation.

The halfling stood a few feet in front of Gregor. There was nothing for it now. He would need to fight his way out of this room. If he could keep these other fools alive long enough, he might be able to bring it down or at the very least, find an opportunity to escape.

The creature stepped toward the halfling, its eyes burning with killing intent. Gregor signed a complex glyph, finishing the spell with a swish of his wrist. A bolt of fire soared across the room, an orange glow cutting through the unnatural white light as it shot like an arrow.

It struck the creature in the face. It recoiled as sparks leapt into the air, fading into the darkness.

It cried out again, not with a voice, but with the chittering crescendo of vibrating shell plates. A dry, rattling bellow echoed like bone grinding on bone.

The creature surged forward. Tables and chairs scattered across the room as it ploughed through the wreckage. Its huge mandibles snapped shut on the spot where the girl had stood just a heartbeat earlier. She had rolled aside, moving toward the bar.

The armour-clad man seized the opening and hacked at the creature’s legs, slicing back and forth with his sword. The creature whirled back to face the man.

The halfling moved around to the left, trying to flank it. She grabbed a tankard from a nearby table. Her face twisted in rage as she roared and launched it at the creature. The tankard flew through the air, bouncing harmlessly off the chitinous shell. She looked at Gregor, exasperated, then at the bar. Her eyes widened. She had an idea.

Gregor moved to the right, firing another bolt of flame at the back of the creature’s head as he navigated the wreckage and bodies strewn across the floor.

A roar filled the room. Not the chitinous clicking, but something wild. Something primal.

What in the blazes could that be?

Gregor gaped as a huge forest bear crashed through the hole in the wall. Pure fury and fur. Its teeth and claws swiped at the beetle’s legs.

The creature swung its head in a brutal arc, striking the bear with a sickening crunch. The beast was hurled sideways, crashing into the last intact section of the wall. It let out a pained roar as brickwork and timber collapsed on top of it.

The armour-clad man seized the opportunity. He plunged his blade into the creature’s neck without a moment’s hesitation.

The creature clicked in fury and turned back to him. It was under attack from all sides and couldn’t decide where to strike. It lowered its head and charged, slamming the man into the wall. He cried out, the sound sharp and guttural.

The creature flicked its head, catapulting the man over its back and into the same corner of the room as the bear.

It turned to face Gregor. Its beady black eyes locked onto him.

It charged.

The creature closed the distance quickly. Gregor held his breath, waiting for the impact. Out of nowhere, the bear leapt onto the creature’s head, clinging to its face and biting at the gaps in its natural armour, trying to blind it. The creature swung its head back and forth, trying to shake the beast free.

The halfling reached the edge of the bar and grabbed a bottle of deep orange liquid from a broken shelf.

“Wizard!” she cried. “Fire!”

She launched the bottle across the room. It smashed into the side of the creature’s face. Gregor understood now.

Clever girl, he thought. Gregor released another bolt of fire soaring into the creature’s face.

It hit squarely before bursting into blue flames. The fire spread across the creature’s face, highlighting the details once hidden in the darkness. Its crablike mandibles sat at the base of its huge pincers. The creature staggered back clicking in agony. The bear leapt down and moved away, avoiding the pincers and finding the perfect angle to dodge a retaliatory strike.

That bear… that was strange. Unnatural intelligence. Fascinating , he thought.

The creature clicked in fury, its face consumed in fire. The armour-clad man sprang to his feet, charging confidently toward the beast. He slid underneath its head, swinging his blade upwards in an arc of deadly precision.

It sliced across the underside of its neck. Thick black ichor spilled from the wound like a waterfall of liquid night. The creature staggered from side to side, clicking loudly at first, then quieter, before collapsing in a heap.

It was dead.

Silence filled the room. The only sound was the faint crackling of the creature’s still burning flesh. Thick black smoke rose from its body in curling plumes, a foul pungent stench forcing Gregor to hold his nose.

A scream ripped through the silence. A bloodcurdling wail of sorrow. A sound Gregor knew all too well.

He turned to see the halfling desperately pulling rubble from behind the bar.

“No!” she cried. “By the Gods, no! Please!”

She pulled a shape from the rubble. It was the dwarven innkeeper. Drulla, Gregor remembered. Not that he particularly cared, but his mind could recall exact details. It was a skill he had always possessed. Forced to remember everything, even when he didn’t want to.

He watched as the halfling struggled to pull Drulla away from the bar’s remains.

Gregor scanned the body. The torso was twisted. Something heavy had caused that. Possibly a beam, he guessed, glancing up at the shattered ceiling. The chest cavity had been crushed, and with it, her lungs and heart were likely destroyed. The blood that bubbled around her mouth suggested that serious internal bleeding had taken place. The cause didn’t matter. The result was the same. She was dead.

Catastrophic internal injuries. Totally incompatible with life.Shame.

Gregor bore her no ill will. She had been perfectly pleasant since his arrival. She had even given him an extra pillow when he checked in.

Gregor turned to the creature.

An elf stood next to it. He was tall and slim, draped in the signature leaf armour of the Eldari. The leaves shimmered with silver light, scattering it like thousands of tiny stars.

A Silverscale Elf, if he wasn’t mistaken. And a shape-changing one to boot. The transformation had been fuelled by natural magic, effective if not a little quaint.

The halfling was inconsolable. Gregor closed his eyes and tried to block out the woman’s wailing. Grief was a sound he was all too familiar with, and he had no use for it in this moment.

The other man opened his mouth as if to speak to her, then slowly walked over to where she knelt. He avoided stepping on stones or debris, as if trying not to startle her.

The elf turned his head, brow furrowed in deep thought, face full of remorse. He turned to the creature, inspecting it closely. He took a small crystal vial from his satchel, then drew a blade from his boot. It did not catch the light in the way that other metals did.

Stone, Gregor realised.

He watched as the elf used the stone dagger to pry something from the creature’s chitinous husk.

Ulrich knelt beside the halfling. His face reflected concern and grim understanding.

He knows she’s dead, Gregor thought. This is all an act.

“Let me look,” Ulrich said, gently touching her shoulder. “Maybe I can help?”

But as Gregor watched him kneel, he noticed how easily the man offered comfort. How instinctive his empathy seemed. It came to him as naturally as breathing.

Gregor felt a pang of jealousy.

The halfling looked up at Ulrich, eyes red and tear-filled.

“No… she’s… she’s dead,” she said grimly, her voice breaking with grief, barely audible.

Her gaze shifted back to the dwarven woman. Her eyes fixed on the stars now visible through the open roof. Dry blood clung to the corner of her mouth.

She began stroking Drulla’s hair, her fingers trembling. Then her eyes widened in realisation. Her head snapped to the other side of the room.

“Merril!” she cried, stumbling through the wreckage. “He’ll be okay. He’s always okay, the useless sod. Trust him to sleep through this.”

She started pulling rubble aside, right next to where the elf was still examining the creature.

“Traegar!” she cried, her voice desperate. “Here boy, come on! Biscuit!”

Her voice softened, now pleading.

“Please, boy… come on… please.” Her voice trembled.

Gregor scanned the room for anything of use. None of the patrons had survived. The band’s instruments lay in tatters, their owners strewn around in pieces.

No encore tonight, he thought wryly.

He looked at the halfling, digging through the rubble near the shattered wall.

Stupid girl, he thought, watching her with a mixture of pity and irritation. If these people are dead, anyone sitting over there when the wall collapsed would be too. It was plainly obvious.

He watched as she clawed desperately through the brick and wood, then froze. A gag escaped her throat, and her head fell forward in defeat.

See? They’re dead, Gregor thought coldly. As sad as it was, there was no point in hope. There was no luck in this world other than that which you made for yourself.

She began stroking something from beneath the rubble, then leaned down into the hole she’d made. She paused, whispering to the ground, then raised her head again.

In the silence of the aftermath, the tavern’s roof groaned ominously.

“May I suggest,” Gregor said, motioning to the group, “that we continue our grieving outside? This building doesn’t seem structurally sound anymore.”

With that, he turned and stepped into the moonlight.