Stone of the Denmol

by R C Gray

  “There’s always a choice,” Faine said, “you just have to choose wisely.”

  “And the wise choice is to get the stone before someone else does. If Braig was able to see it in his dreams, how long do you think it will be before the person that bought him finds someone else that might help, or at least not hold up under the pressure of being tortured?” Skara said, sitting up and looking at the three.

  Renna nodded her head. “He’s right. If Braig has seen the stone, there’s a good possibility that others have too.”

  “Then we better get there first,” Faine said, moving the bags off the horse and into the wagon.

  Tying the packhorse to the back of the cart, Faine moved his horse to the front and began leading the way down the old road. “We all ready to move?” he said, turning the horse in a tight circle on the road to look back at the wagon. “We have a long, dark road ahead of us.”

  The Broken Temple

  The road south out of Banrielle was long and arduous. It had been nearly a week since the wagon had left, and there was still over a week of hard travel before arriving in Mivara. As the cart rattled over the rut-filled road, the cold rain gathered in deep puddles and turned the once hard-packed earth into thick mud that gathered around the wheels, causing them to slide and stick as the horses struggled to pull the weight.

  “We can’t keep going like this,” Renna said, pulling her woolen blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  Looking back into the wagon, she could see Skara wrapped up and huddled near a crate in the corner, his face showing a miserable look as the rain ran down his cheeks. His body shook as the water gathered in drops on the wool blanket around him and dripped down to soak into the wooden planks of the wagon.

  “We have to stop until this storm lets up before we end up getting stuck or risk the horse throwing an ankle,” Braig said, guiding the horses to the side of the road away from the ruts. Faine pulled his hood over his head and kicked his horse into a trot and rode away from the wagon, scouting ahead for a place to rest for the night. Nearly a mile down the road, he reined to a stop at a fork and squinted his eyes as he peered through the trees in both directions. Just around the corner to his right, he thought he could make out what looked like a structure in a small clearing, but the edges of the trees seemed to blend together in the rain, and he couldn’t be sure.

  Striding forward, he made his way around the bend and saw a lone wooden building standing in the middle of a field surrounded by a broken wooden fence. Guiding his horse through the open gate, he tied it to a post and looked around the field. The grass was overgrown, and vines climbed over the building, snaking their way into the cracks between the boards, prying them loose. The building had two carved statues, one on each side of the double doors, but they were too weatherworn to make out what deity they may have represented. Opening the door, Faine drew his sword and crept inside.

  The smell of old, damp wood, mold, and the faint sickly smell of rot filled the room. The roof had a large hole near the back corner, and water poured in, splashing off of a long bench that sat directly underneath, filling the room with a low drumming noise as the water tapped against the wood. The faded grey planks on the walls were warped and covered in patches of dark-colored moss that gathered in uneven clumps along the baseboards. Tattered strips of fabric hung from the bare rafters overhead, and Faine could barely make out the faded symbols of several deities painted on the tattered pieces of bright cloth.

  Stained glass from the windows laid in piles on the floor, and a broken wooden podium stood near the front of the room; the sight of which filled him with a fleeting feeling of guilt and sadness, which he quickly shook off, thinking this wasn’t the time or place for nostalgia.

  Walking between the benches, Faine crept down the middle walkway, looking down the rows of seats for any movement. Reaching the back of the temple, he used his sword to push open a set of doors that led to a small back room. The doors squeaked slightly before stopping on their hinges only partially open. Clenching his left hand into a fist as the sound echoed off the walls, he grimaced and bit lightly at his finger as he pushed the doors open the rest of the way and looked around the room, hoping nothing was around to hear the noise.

  The room was bare aside for a single chair and a small chest that sat in the corner of the room near an unbroken window. As he lifted open the lid to the box, several black roaches crawled out from inside and scurried down the chest and under the floorboards. There were several candles in the bottom of the box, along with a stack of paper that had partially dissolved in the moisture. Picking up a sheet of paper, he held it to the light and tried to make out the blurred words. “Something about graves and the forest,” he said, dropping the paper and grabbing the candles before he closed the lid.

  Setting the candles on the chair, Faine looked out the back window and saw rows of stone tablets surrounded by tall, brown grass sticking out of the ground. Pushing open the back door and stepping out into the rain, he sloshed through the grass and squatted down next to one of the stones and brushed the dead leaves away into a pile. “A gravestone,” he said, running his hand over the rough surface. “Lots of gravestones.”

  Looking around the small plot of land, he could see nearly twenty graves scattered around the grounds. His eyes darted from stone to stone until they reached the woodline just past the clearing. Tilting his head to the side, he strained to look deeper into the forest. The trees were gnarled and broken at their bases and looked as if they had been stacked together to form some kind of structure. Dead cedar boughs covered the top of the wooden posts, and a thick bed of leaves and grass were piled underneath.

  Thinking that it must have been a pavilion that had collapsed, Faine sheathed his sword and ran back to his horse. Pulling himself up onto the saddle, he rode back towards the wagon.

  “Did you find anything?” Braig said, seeing Faine riding towards them.

  “There’s an old temple up ahead. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been there in a long time. It’s not perfect, but it’s a lot better than being out here. We can put the wagon and horses on the side of the building. There should be enough of an overhang to keep them fairly dry.”

  Giving the reins a snap, Braig urged the horses on, keeping them on the side of the road as they followed Faine. Pulling the wagon close to the building, they unhitched the horses and tied them to a nearby tree, giving them enough slack to move. Moving their blankets and gear inside, they set them in a pile and pulled a long pew in front of the double doors in the front and back of the room. Spreading out their bedrolls near the fireplace, they broke off pieces of the benches, tossing several into the hearth and throwing the rest into another pile that could be added through the night.

  Using her magic, Renna started a fire and began digging through her pack for some dry clothes. “I hate being in wet clothes,” she said, facing away from the others as she pulled off her shirt and tossed it to the floor beside her. Her shoulders and back were firm and taut, her muscles flexing as she slid her arms through the sleeves. Her pale green skin was covered in scars running in different directions across her back and down to her waistline. Pulling the shirt over her head, she picked up her wet clothing and set it near the fire to dry.

  Noticing the scars, Braig glanced over at Faine, who only looked back before slightly shrugging. Thinking that this wasn’t the time ask about how she got them, he pulled a piece of dried meat from his pack and began to chew absently, closing his eyes and leaning back onto his bedroll. Listening to the sounds of the crackling fire, he let his limbs fall to his side, feeling the stiffness ease from his aching muscles as he quickly fell asleep.

  THE SKY WAS DARK, AND lightning split the clouds as Braig walked onto the desolate field. The dry, blackened soil beneath his feet crumbled under his boots, and his throat felt dusty and raw. Filtered light illuminated the landscape around him, and he could see rolling hills that seemed to stretch out to meet the horizon. Large black stones were scattered across th
e field and stabbed upwards towards the sky. The sparse trees that dotted the hills were short and twisted, their grey branches covered in long, sharp thorns with deep red tips. In the distance, he could see a tall, spiraling tower, reaching high into the darkened sky, its walls surrounded in a faint aura of blue flame.

  Covering his face to shield his eyes from the blowing dust, Braig gritted his teeth and made his way towards the dark tower. A slight hum filled his ears as he grew closer, and he could see the faint silhouette of several dark masses gliding between the jutting stones as he pushed forward. Pulling his shirt over his mouth, he coughed as the black dust swirled around him, coating his lips and beard with a thick black powder. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head and saw a naked, pale man limping towards him from behind one of the stones in the distance. His arms were outstretched, and his head flicked back and forth in the air as if he was following Braig’s scent.

  Reaching to his belt for his dagger, he felt the empty scabbard and glanced on the ground around him, hoping that it may have fallen out as he walked. Seeing no signs of it, he picked up a handful of black dust and held it tightly in his hands, ready to throw it at the man’s face if it came to a fight. Brushing the dust out of his beard, he strode forward, reaching out his left arm, ready to fend off an attack.

  The pale man shambled forward, his thin body covered with loose flesh that hung like a rumpled sheet hanging on a line to dry. Folds of skin hung off his narrow frame and trembled as he walked faster, his face darting from side to side. Readying his hand to throw, Braig planted his feet and watched the creature stumble forward, his eyes growing wide. The man had a large nose that sniffed furiously as he moved closer, but his eyes and mouth were shut tight, the upper eyelids and lip pulled over the lower and sewn closed with thick thread.

  Breath catching in his throat, Braig dropped the handful of soil and covered his mouth, coughing harshly as the wind whipped the dust up around him. Looking towards the glowing tower in the distance, he took off in a sprint around the man, keeping distance between them as he ran. The pale man’s hand reached for him, his long bony fingers wriggling and clenching as he pulled empty air towards his sewn mouth.

  Passing well beyond the man’s reach, Braig could feel an intense hunger fill his body. Visions of large plates of food filled his head, and he could see plump arms and thick fingers digging utensils into rich desserts before shoveling them into a waiting mouth. He could see fattened legs struggling to climb a set of stairs before falling to the basement to hit with a thud as the stairs gave way beneath him. He felt the fear and uncertainty of waking up blind and unable to speak, a sense of insatiable emptiness growing inside as fingers ripped at the unyielding threads binding eyelids and lips tightly shut.

  Shaking his head, Braig cleared the visions from his mind and pushed closer to the tower. His legs burned as he sprinted past grotesque figures emerging from behind rocks or drifting through the shadows. As the lightning flashed, he could see the distorted bodies of men and women lurking in the shadows, forming a loose circle around him.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Turning around, Braig could see a cloaked figure standing only several yards away. His long, black hair hung loosely over his shoulders and blew in wisps around his pale, sharp features, his pointed ears pushing through several knots. His deep blue eyes cut like a knife into Braig as he scowled and stepped closer, teeth flashing under his cracked lips.

  “You’re not the one I’ve been waiting for,” the elf said as he took another step towards Braig. “You don’t belong here. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Who are you?” Braig said, looking at the distorted and bloated bodies around him.

  “You know who I am...”

  A bright light flashed in front of Braig’s eyes, his head rolling back as visions pierced his mind. He could see the elf standing at the top of a tower, looking down at men, elves, dwarves, and orcs working in chains below him. The light flashed again. He could see the enslaved workers revolting, breaking their bonds and fighting their way free as arrows flew around them. Flash. He watched as a hammer struck blow after blow on white-hot metal, forging the long blade of a sword before being quenched. Flash. He saw the sword placed in a circle of runes, surrounded by high elves strengthening it with magic. Flash. The elf placed his hands on the sword and called down a golden dragon out of the sky and held it in place with spells and enchanted chains. As it was held in place, the elf used the sword to slay the dragon, catching its blood in his hands and consuming it.

  The light flashed again in Braig’s eyes, and heat surged through his body. He watched as the elf stood in the tower, blood pouring from his hands and mouth as the tower began to shake. A great chasm split across the land, sending sections of the town of Ruwen down the deep fissure and releasing dark magic upon the face of Hiraeth. Flash. He watched as the elf led his Fallen armies against the forces of the Reverent in a great battle. After stabbing Tuvak with Uvereth, the defiled blade, light exploded from the slain man and engulfed the elf, destroying his body and sending the Fallen armies fleeing the battlefield.

  The visions faded from Braig’s mind as he stared at the elf. “You’re Emin, the Defiler. The high elf that released dark magic and broke the world with his hubris. It was you, and all of the Thiarri caught up in your lies that brought darkness into the world. You thought you had the right to control anything you laid your eyes on!” Braig clenched his fists as he took a step towards Emin. “You kept us as slaves and tormented my people.”

  “The darkness was already there, hiding behind every good intention or white lie. And let’s not forget, I also created your people,” Emin said as he leaned against a nearby rock. “If not for me, your kind wouldn’t exist.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to keep us in chains and use us as you see fit!” Braig’s face was distorted in anger and fear as he noticed the circle of looming bodies growing steadily closer.

  “This isn’t the time or place for this. You’re not the one that I’m waiting for, and it looks as though we both have more pressing matters to deal with. Now, wake up!”

  “Wake up!” Braig heard again, his body shaking. “Wake up, damn you!”

  Braig’s eyes opened to the dim light of the temple, Faine standing over him, shoving him with his foot and shouting down at him.

  “On your feet!” Faine said, shoving his boot into Braig’s side. The silver blade of his sword reflected the fire burning in the fireplace as he held the sword close to his body, ready to strike.

  A loud thud echoed through the room as something heavy slammed against the front doors, rocking the bench that had been pushed in front of it. Scrambling to his feet, Braig grabbed his sword and shield and stood next to Faine and Renna, ready to fight whatever was about to break into the room.

  Crouching in the corner near the doors, Skara pushed himself against the wall and gripped his daggers, ready to lash out at the creature from behind as it burst through. Looking over, he watched as Faine and Braig moved in front of Renna, providing cover while she readied her bow and stacked her arrows against the wall. Keeping his daggers tightly in his hands, he leaned against the wall and covered his head as another hard thump knocked several boards loose and sent them falling just feet away.

  “It’s going to bring the building down if we don’t do something!” Faine said, looking over at Renna.

  “Then I say we let it inside,” Braig said, growling and hitting his sword against his shield.

  Faine turned his eyes towards Braig and gave him a confused look. “Are you crazy?”

  “We have to do something. It’s either die getting crushed or die fighting,” Braig said as the banging on the door stopped.

  “Wait,” Renna said, looking out of the windows. “It’s moving.”

  Stepping up to the side window, they looked out into the darkness and strained their eyes as they looked for any movement. Through the breaks in the clouds, the light of the two moons shined
brightly down from the star-flecked black sky, illuminating the wet field and trees around them. Seeing a flash of white darting behind the trees a short distance away, Skara leaned his head out the window and listened.

  “There it is,” Skara said, pointing. “It’s going for the horses.”

  “By the stone, what is it?”

  Skara looked up at Braig. “It’s a myrrow.”

  A loud whinny broke out as the horses stamped and pulled at the ropes that held them in place. A hard thud shook the building as the bloody carcass of a horse was thrown against the wooden planks. Swallowing hard, Faine pushed his head out of the window and looked at the crumpled body just outside. The horse's legs were broken and twisted, and large gashes tore through its neck and side, spilling its innards into a steaming pile on the ground next to it.

  Pulling his head back inside, Faine leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “What are we gonna do?”

  Skara looked around the room and up at the hole in the ceiling. “We can get on the roof. Me and Renna. Then you two could circle around outside and draw its attention. When it turns to follow you, I can cut it from behind, and she can hit it with arrows.”

  “Attack it from both sides. That might just keep us all alive,” Braig said, looking up at Faine. “And it’s better than waiting for that thing to bring the building down around us.”

  “It could work,” Renna said as she looked up at the hole. “Quickly, help me move a bench.”

  Faine and Braig grabbed the ends of one of the long benches and propped it against the wall under the hole, setting the podium next to the upturned pew.

  “You be careful,” Faine said, clenching his jaw.

  Smiling slightly, Renna climbed up onto the podium, pulling herself onto the bench and into the rafters above. Nodding to Faine and Brain, Skara quickly scampered up behind her, following her out of the hole onto the roof.