Stone of the Denmol

by R C Gray

  “Are you ready?” Braig said, adjusting his shield.

  Faine glanced up at the tattered strips of cloth hanging from the rafters, the words and images of the deities nearly faded away, leaving only blotches and stains where their hallowed words once rested. Shaking off a chill running up his spine, he let his heart harden against the lost words and turned his eyes away from the gently blowing fabric. “I am.”

  Pulling the heavy bench away from the back doors, the two hurried through the small room and into the waiting shadows of the forest. Keeping low and watching their footing to avoid stepping on anything that would make too much noise, the two positioned themselves in the woodline, glancing at the roof to see Skara and Renna crouching on the wooden shingles at the highest point.

  Peering around the trunk of a tree, Braig and Faine could see the hideous creature hunched over the dead horse, its long fingers digging into its torso, ripping off chunks of flesh and pushing them greedily into its mouth. Its spine and ribs pushed out against its grey skin that looked thin and tightly stretched over the protruding bones. The myrrow’s limbs were long and spindly and pulled close to its body as it ate.

  Shifting on his feet to get a better look, Braig stepped on a small twig, snapping it loudly beneath his heavy boot. Stopping dead in his tracks, he looked over at the creature as its head turned sharply in their direction, the small holes on the side of its head listening for any sounds. Its blood-drenched mouth quivered into a snarl as sharp teeth gnashed at the flesh inside its quivering maw.

  The myrrow slowly turned, standing nearly eight feet tall as it stretched out its long limbs and looked towards the forest. Faine could see the fresh blood dripping from its sharp teeth and claws as he shrunk back against a tree, trying to stay out of sight as the bony creature stepped forward. The horse had been almost picked clean and eaten, and the creature’s stomach was distended and bulging, shaking as it moved. Its long limbs bent and twisted as it turned its head from side to side, sniffing the air with two dark holes where a nose should have been.

  Startled by a loud yell beside him, Faine quickly turned his gaze towards Braig as the dwarf darted from the bushes, running wildly with his sword raised and shield held close to his body. Gripping his sword, Faine dashed out behind him, pulling a dagger from his belt.

  The myrrow crouched defensively as it swung a long arm, knocking forcefully into Braig’s shield, sending him flying back to land hard in the mud. Dodging a swing of the myrrow’s clawed hand, Faine slashed with his sword and dagger, drawing a cut down the creature’s arm.

  “Put an arrow its shoulder on the left,” Skara said, running down the slanted roof.

  Nocking an arrow, Renna pulled back on the string and let loose. The cord thrummed as the arrow flew past Skara and struck the myrrow in the shoulder just as he jumped off the edge of the temple roof, his dagger in his right hand. Landing hard against the myrrow’s back, Skara grabbed the protruding arrow shaft and held on as he stabbed his blade into the creature’s side.

  Shrieking in pain, the creature reached its spindly arms over its shoulders and tried to pull the goblin off its back. Skara twisted and moved, dodging its clawed fingers as he clung to the arrow shaft, stabbing and cutting wildly. The myrrow writhed and fell back, slamming its shoulder against the wall, its hard bones digging into Skara as it tried to shake him loose.

  Seeing the small opening of a broken window behind him, Skara let go of the arrow just as the creature crushed against the wall, sending him flying towards the temple floor, knocking the wind from his lungs as he landed on his back.

  Outside, Braig climbed back to his feet and charged at the myrrow, planting his feet and blocking the powerful swings as its claws scraped down his shield, leaving deep scratches across the paint. Moving in to strike, his sword swung down hard against the myrrow’s knee, bouncing off of solid bone just beneath its thin skin. Leaping back as its long arm swung in a wide arc, Braig and Faine circled the creature.

  As the myrrow reached out its hand to try to pull out the shaft in its back, Renna nocked another arrow and pulled the string back as far as she could. Just as its fingers began to grip the shaft, she fired, pinning its bony hand to its left shoulder, the arrow emerging through the front of its torso. Loosing another arrow into its spine, it dropped to its knees and thrashed wildly, dark blood oozing from its wounds.

  Running forward, Braig spun on his feet, turning to block the myrrow’s left arm with his shield as it swung. Pivoting and stepping in closer, he continued his spin and swung his sword horizontally in a backhand slash and sliced open the beast’s stomach. Coming in behind him, Faine slashed downwards, crossing over Braig’s cut, opening the creature’s belly in a cross pattern.

  The myrrow screamed in pain and clutched at its bulging stomach as the weight of the horse it had eaten pulled its innards through its long fingers, sliding out into a thick pile on the ground. The creature fell forward onto its torso, half-chewed meat and blood spilling around its body as it gasped for breath.

  Leaping from the window behind them, Skara landed on the myrrow’s back, stabbing his daggers into its neck, severing the arteries. Breathing hard, he looked up at Faine and Braig. “You can’t be too sure with these things. Better to be safe.”

  Running his hands through his tangled hair, Faine looked at the myrrow lying on the ground. “I should have known there’d be something here. I saw something about the graves and the woods on an old note, but I couldn’t make out anything else. I guess that’s why no one’s been here in a while.” His face contorted in disgust as thick blood poured across the ground, giving off a smell of rotting flesh. Covering his nose with his arm, he looked down at Skara. “Do you think we have to worry about any more of these things?”

  “No,” Skara said, wiping off his daggers and sheathing them, “They’re territorial, and they’ll kill each other if there’s another one within a few miles.”

  Looking over at Braig, Faine sheathed his weapons. “You alright? You took a pretty good hit there.”

  “Aye, I’m fine. It’ll take more than a bump to take me down. But I don’t know how you didn’t get crushed though,” Braig glanced over at Skara and then at the window. “If it hadn’t been for that window...”

  “Sometimes I get lucky,” Skara said, rubbing his fingers lightly over the upper left side of his chest, tracing something under his shirt with his fingertips.

  Faine took several steps back and looked up at the roof. “Everything good up there, Ren?”

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it out of that one, though.” Renna said, peering down from the broken roof.

  Skara pulled the arrows out the myrrow’s back, rolling one of the shafts between his fingers as he glanced up. “We may not have if you missed your mark with any of those arrows. If you would have missed-”

  “You would have bounced off this thing’s back like a little pebble hitting a stone.” Faine laughed and nudged the creature with his foot. “Gods, this thing stinks. Let’s get back inside.”

  Walking back into the broken temple, they closed the back door and moved into the main room, barring the way with a heavy bench as Renna climbed down onto the rafters and dropped to the floor.

  Taking her arrows from Skara, she placed them back into her quiver. “So, what should we do now?”

  “We should get some rest,” Faine said, sitting down on one of the water-stained benches. “You three get some sleep, and I’ll take the first watch.”

  Shaking his head, Braig stepped up to the fireplace and threw a few more pieces of wood on the glowing coals. “No, I’ll take the watch. I almost slept through this whole mess because of some damned dream, and I’m not ready to sleep again yet. I can always nod off in the wagon if I need to. Can’t be any more than a few hours before sunup anyway.”

  Faine stepped towards his bedroll and pulled out his sword and dagger and laid them down on the floor. “If you insist, I could use some sleep. I’d rather not fall off my hors
e tomorrow.”

  Skara moved his bedroll closer to the fire and pulled the blanket over his head as Renna walked over and sat next to Braig on the bench.

  “What was the dream about?”

  Braig looked down at his hands and pulled at his fingers, cracking his knuckles. “It wasn’t anything. It was just a dream.”

  “I’d really like to hear it if you don’t mind telling me,” Renna said, placing her hand on Braig’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’m ready to sleep yet, either.”

  Braig stiffened briefly as her hand touched his shoulder. He glanced up into her eyes, one light, one dark, and relaxed slightly. “It’s like I was somewhere else. It’s hard to tell sometimes if things are visions or just dreams. Most of the time they’re as unclear as muddy water, but this time was different; I knew what I was saying and doing. I’ve never had that happen before.”

  Braig went on and told Renna about what he had seen, keeping his voice low as he talked about what had happened with Emin, occasionally glancing over at Faine and Skara lying next to the fire, unsure if they were listening. Wringing his hands together, he looked up at Renna. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, and I don’t know what to make of it. What do you think?”

  Leaning back against the bench, she crossed one of her arms over her chest and tapped on one of her tusks with her finger. “Well, if it was a vision, why were you there? And what did Emin mean when he said you weren’t the one he was waiting for? It’s been thousands of years since he was killed, maybe his spirit has been waiting in Thodun all this time.”

  “Thodun?”

  Renna pursed her lips, thinking about what she had read about the land of the dead. “It’s the place between life and death. If someone dies and they aren’t accepted by their deity, they can be sent there to pay their debt. And sometimes, for whatever reason, souls can get trapped there.”

  “Trapped there, or held there to wait for someone? Is it possible for someone to stay by choice?”

  “I can’t answer that. I’ve read stories about people traveling to Thodun and returning to tell the tale, but I thought those were just stories. But if Emin said he was waiting for someone, there’s a good chance that he could be waiting for another thousand years. Time is different there.”

  Braig’s head was flooded with thoughts about Emin as he looked over at his shield against the wall. But as Renna had said, if time was different there, it could be another thousand years before anything happens. “Then, only time will tell.”

  Renna nodded and stood, stretching her arms as she walked over to her bedroll. “Speaking of which, we don’t have much time left before morning, so I’m going to try to get some rest. Just shout if another myrrow shows up.”

  “Don’t say that,” Faine said, turning over in his blankets, wiping a bit of drool off of his cheek. “No more myrrows.”

  Braig stroked his beard as he watched the doors and waited for the sun to rise. As the hours passed, he thought about what he had seen in his dream and what Renna had said. But why was he there, and why did it feel so real? Was something or someone sending him a warning that Emin was trying to break out of Thodun and pick up where he had left off. Even if there was a way to escape, he had been killed a long time ago, and things were different now. And if he did somehow break free, would there be any way to stop him? Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he watched out the window, trying to keep his mind clear until he could see the sun breaking over the horizon.

  “Time to wake up,” he said, nudging each of the three awake.

  Faine groaned and rolled over off his bedroll, watching Skara as he stretched his arms and rotated his upper body to pop his back.

  “I hate sleeping on wood,” Faine said, face down on the floor. “It’s so hard.”

  Rolling up her blankets, Renna picked up her bedroll and began kicking Faine lightly in the side. “Then get up off the floor. Let’s get packed and get out of here.”

  Pushing himself up, Faine grabbed his blankets and pack and slid the bench away from the door. Heading to the cart outside, he looked down at the half-eaten horse and sighed. “Why did it have to eat my horse? I liked that horse.”

  Hitching two horses to the wagon and saddling up the third, he pulled the cart away from the side of the building and stopped out front. Putting a large stone in front of the wheel, he pulled out several pieces of fruit and bread and set them out on a piece of cloth, eating absently as he stared at the temple and waited for the others.

  After packing their items in the cart and taking the necessary morning breaks before leaving, Faine moved the stone away from the wheel and mounted his horse as Renna, Skara, and Braig climbed onto the wagon. Eating their breakfast as they pulled away from the temple, they were glad to have made it through the night and to be back on the road.

  The White Tower

  Drasa strode down the long stone corridor, his white cloak gently flowing behind him. Rows of windows lined the walls, looking out over the sprawling city below. Straightening his burgundy tunic, he stared at the ornate wooden door at the end of the hall. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he walked to an open window and leaned against the cold stone frame, looking out over the city below.

  Ethilios, the city of light, radiated out in large circles with a tall white structure— Unaeyl, the mage tower of Bright Harbor—standing at its center, with the castle of House Egara on a hill overlooking the port and merchant district of the city just a short distance away.

  Below, the city was alive with trade and the production of goods: fisheries built on the water to the east; fertile farmland and lumber mills to the west; and stonemasons to the south, all able to sell locally, or ship their goods far across the land or sea on one of the many established trade routes.

  Merchants, farmers, townsfolk, and performers crowded the streets, selling their wares from shops or wagons, performing for onlookers, or visiting one of the many inns or pubs; all under the protection of the crown as long as they abided by the king’s laws.

  Various temples stood throughout the city, each with shrines to the deities of the Reverent and the Unbroken, allowing free worship of one or several gods. Any worship of the Fallen deities was outlawed and punishable by fine, imprisonment, or in some cases, death. Guildhalls representing healers, fighters, scribes, mages, and many others dotted the city, but none had been able to help their king.

  For hundreds of years, House Egara had ruled over Ethilios, building it and watching it grow; and now, Drasa thought, it could all topple if things were left as they were. Taking a deep breath, he walked to the heavy door, knocking softly before entering the dimly lit room.

  The single large window was open, the sheer drapes blowing in the ocean breeze, letting in fresh air to the slightly stagnant chamber. The room was decorated with crests and flags from the surrounding lands that House Egara kept as allies, and books lined the shelves around a four-poster bed near the back wall. Setting down her book, Drasa’s mother looked towards the door.

  “How is he today?” Drasa said, standing next to the edge of the bed, watching his father’s chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths.

  The king’s face was pale and gaunt, his beard and hair long but neatly trimmed. A thick blanket covered his body from the waist down, and his arms were folded over his stomach. The soft sheets were deep red, making his skin look even paler as he laid nearly motionless on the bed.

  “The same as yesterday. Still no change, I’m afraid,” Samari said, motioning to the chair next to her.

  “Have the healers been here today?”

  “They have. But you know there’s nothing they can do. They’ve all tried.”

  “I know,” Drasa said, looking over at his mother. “But I feel like we’re missing something. I have the acolytes and scribes scouring the library for something that can help, but there’s just not much written about the sleeping death. I don’t understand why no one has been able to find a cure yet.” Drasa gripped his mother’s hand a
nd looked over at his father. “I’ll find something. There’s a way, we’re just not seeing it.”

  “I know you will, dear. It just takes time.”

  “And time is something we’re running out of. Every day it seems like things are getting worse. On the surface, the water is still; but underneath, there’s a strong current dragging down anything in its grasp.”

  Samari looked at her son, her mouth tightening into a thin line. “You know that’s not true. Your father has kept the city safe and prosperous. And you’ll do the same when the time comes. You’re strong and can continue to lead our people down the right path.”

  Drasa reached his hand towards the small table sitting next to the bed and carefully picked up his father’s crown. Running his hand over the silver filigree, he let his finger rest over a small amber stone inlaid into the metal. The crown had been passed down from king to king for generations. Its steel bent and reshaped, its beautiful metal shined and reworked, the worn stones removed and replaced — every stone but one.

  “And what if the path is no longer clear?” he said, letting his mind drift as he rubbed the smooth surface of the stone.

  “Sometimes we have to let our hearts guide us, not just our minds or some council of old fools who think they know what’s best. You’re an Egara, and you’ll do what’s right.”

  A sharp knock on the door pulled Drasa from his thoughts as he laid the crown back on the table. “Enter.”

  The door opened slowly, letting in a cross breeze that blew out a lone candle burning on a nearby desk. Two guards entered the room, partially closing the door behind them. “Begging your pardon, lord. There’s an urgent message for you from Senna. She’s waiting downstairs for you.”

  “Tell her I’m on my way.”

  “Yes, lord,” the guards said, both placing their fists over their heart before leaving, closing the door behind them.

  “Duty calls, mother,” Drasa said, pushing himself up from his chair and kissing his mother on the forehead. “Keep an eye on him, won’t you?”