by RG Long
Gorplin and Galp followed Ealrin, and Jurrin followed them, with Blume and Olma right behind him. The smell that assaulted him must have hit everyone harder because they all slowed their steps as soon as they walked into the cave. Jurrin kept going, but he raised a hand to his nose to waft away the odor.
It was overpowering.
The entire cave was filled with a haze that had both color and seemed transparent all at once. Jurrin could barely make out the top of the cavern, but only just. Some stalactites poked down through the fog, while stalagmites reached up to meet them.
Everyone seemed to either grow accustomed to the smell or resigned themselves to it, as they moved forward down the path and towards the light that issued from within. The walls of the cave were lined almost entirely with shelves. Both natural shelves that had been formed out of hollows in the cave wall and human made, or rather carved, shelves that didn’t seem to follow any particular order.
They were just everywhere and held everything.
Jurrin couldn’t take it all in fast enough as they walked past it all. Books, bottles, skulls, feathers, jars, scrolls, parchments, rocks of every color imaginable and much more beyond that.
“Don’t touch a thing!” came the voice again, this time Szabo joined it.
“Oh give it a rest, Cecil. They need help.”
“And you need to pay me!” Cecil’s voice replied.
Jurrin felt the crunch of the cave floor more distinctly with just his bare feet touching the ground. It was smooth and worn, but also a little damp. It was undoubtedly leading downwards, however. After a few more steps, it became clear that they weren’t walking towards one light, but several.
The back and forth between Szabo and Cecil grew louder as the group finally came to what must be the primary study or, Jurrin thought for a moment to find the right word, workshop, of the man.
A table carved from stone lay in the middle of the largest room of the cave. On top of that were several deep pots. Some of them had fires underneath them, while others sat right on the cold stone. Jurrin was trying to see what some of the cauldrons that had steam pouring out of the top of them held within them when Szabo and Cecil came into view.
They were still arguing.
“I paid you half that last time!” Szabo said, looking up at the older man.
“Well, times have changed, and I can’t get the Manu roots like I used to. So it’ll be double.”
“What if I have the roots for you?”
“You can’t have gotten the roots!” Cecil argued. “They are way too far south for you to get them and then bring them up to me here in time!”
Szabo reached down into his pockets and pulled out a bundle of dirty, stubby roots.
“Picked two weeks ago by the half moon,” he said, a look of pride on his face. “Just like you like them.”
Cecil’s face grimaced and simultaneously smirked.
The old man was indeed eccentric. He wore no shirt, and his body had scars all over it. Jurrin could only assume it from boiling pots overflowing or the mark of a flame gone haywire. His face was full of stubble, but his hair was wrapped up in a bun and matted down with mud and dirt. Jurrin supposed the man could have had dark hair, but it was hard to tell.
He had mismatched eyes. One was larger and almost green in tint. The other was a stark blue. That one was on the right. Neither eye seemed to be looking forward or any direction that would be helpful to him as he gathered supplies from around the shelves and table.
Even though he rubbed his hands on the root that Szabo had given him, his eyes were looking over the group that has come into his cave.
“I remember telling you expressly that my prices had changed,“ he said, putting the roots down on the table and throwing the halfling a scowl.
Szabo just chuckled.
“I don’t think you’ll remember the last three conversations we have had!” he said checking the contents of the pouch. He looked up with what Jurrin thought was mock horror. “You shorted me by at least half.“
Cecil scowled.
“Ungrateful,” he muttered under his breath, moving to another series of shelves and rifling through the objects there. “Sit down if you must, but don’t touch anything! Especially you, missy.”
Tratta pulled her hand away from a book she had almost touched. She turned and looked down at Jurrin with wide eyes. He smiled cautiously.
“I think he saw you, Miss Tratta,” he said, looking back at the man who definitely was not looking in their direction.
Jurrin looked around and saw that there was not a single chair in the entire cave. Not any that he could see at least. Finding nothing better, he sat himself down on the cavern floor between a barrel full of something that smelled rotten and a shelf of things floating in jars.
He stopped trying to see what it was inside the dirty jars when he caught sight of something floating that also appeared to be looking back at him. Others in the room had put themselves down on different areas on the cave floor or else leaned against the wall, resting as best as they could.
Everyone sat except Olma, who seemed to be fascinated with a cauldron that was bubbling under a hot flame. Jurrin thought he might scoot himself closer to it. The cave was cold everywhere that there wasn’t a fire glowing.
Cecil’s words cut him off short from moving, however.
“So, you’ve brought me someone to fix, eh?”
Szabo looked at Olma and then back at Cecil, shrugging his shoulders.
“I figured if there was anyone who could help us out it would be you.”
Another scoff escaped Cecil’s mouth before he turned back towards the group and looked in Olma’s direction. At least, Jurrin was reasonably sure that's where he was looking.
The girl didn’t look up from the mixture that boiled in front of her. Instead, she continued to be transfixed on the substance that was inside it.
“She’s much more resilient than any I’ve ever seen so afflicted and apparently in full control of herself. Well, until it started to smell my Dark Bane potion. Always good to keep some on hand.”
Cecil walked up to Olma and then began to circle her. He reached into a pouch that hung around his neck and shoulder by a thin string. Jurrin got up off the floor and stood so that he could see what Cecil was doing. The older man threw something into the pot that turned the smoke first blue, then red, then green.
Olma breathed it in deeply. It appeared to Jurrin that she was in some type of trance, though her eyes were fully open and staring.
“Now. Now. Now,” Cecil said, throwing one more handful of something that looked like dirt into the pot. “Let’s get some answers before we proceed.”
The fires around the room began to dim. Jurrin saw Ealrin stand next to Blume, whose face was full of worry. Ealrin put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t look much relieved by the act. Holve was standing just behind them, arms crossed, a sour expression on his face.
Cecil stood right in front of Olma and, again, reached his hands into his pouch. This time, he pulled out a mushroom type plant and held it in his hand out in front of him. He was standing much closer to Olma than he was while he was circling her.
“Why don’t you tell me who you are?” Cecil asked, still holding up the mushroom.
“Olma of Fray,” the girl said quietly, though she still kept her eyes focused forward.
“Try again, missy,” Cecil said. With a quick movement, he slapped one hand on top of the other, and the mushroom disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Jurrin closed his eyes as a bright flash of light filled the cave for a moment. He threw his hands up to his ears as he heard a terrible screech. Looking through the haze and the smoke, he saw the outline of a great beast. It was gone before he could blink twice.
The whole company was up in arms. Gorplin and Galp were standing looking around wildly. Tratta had her bow drawn, and Holve was holding out a sword.
Cecil, however, was over by a shelf, pulling off various packets and plants
and handfuls of everything.
“Ah!” he said with a voice that sounded triumphant. “We’ve got a feisty one!”
Another puff of smoke cleared the room of the green colored fog. A distinctly burning smell filled Jurrin’s nose. He gagged only a bit before he found he could control his stomach.
Olma still stood in the same spot, but the black markings that now covered her body were lined with purple light. Her arms were moving up and down quickly as if she were trying to shake off an annoying insect.
Cecil came close once again.
“Now that we’ve gotten a look at you, might as well do a little talking you great beasty.”
A snarl escaped Olma’s mouth as a noise that sounded otherworldly echoed through the cave.
“Leave me be,” the voice said. “I’ve work to accomplish, and this vessel will do nicely.”
“You’ve other vessels more usable than this, I know from all that your kind have been up to lately. Taking villages. Killing all who dare walk around you. I’m surprised you haven’t eaten up this whole group.”
Olma began to lunge forward, but Cecil threw something in the pot that exploded with an orange flame. Jurrin covered his eyes as he saw Olma recoil.
“Not so fast there, demon,” he roared. “I’ve got more questions for you before you terrorize this girl more.”
Jurrin thought he had heard wrong, but he could have sworn he heard Cecil say demon. Did he really think there was a demon afflicting the poor girl? And what word did he keep using? Vessel?
Jurrin had more questions than he had time to ask.
“Why haven’t you devoured the vessel and her companions?” Cecil yelled in a demanding voice. “What is your purpose?”
“Death,” the shrill voice said again. “Pain. Blood. All of these things my master desires. But more so, he wants this one who has stood in his way before and is doing so again. He wants death. But he wants to do it on his own. The pleasure of the act fills him.”
“Who?” Cecil asked. “Who is your master?”
Another scream, followed by two short blasts of orange from the cauldron.
“The one who has traveled the darkness beyond. The one who filled the light with dark. The one who they sealed away. The one who has come to destroy the refugees and fugitives. Darkness and fear in form unknowable.”
The purple lines that glowed along her black markings grew brighter and brighter. Olma seemed like she was in pain. Jurrin couldn’t help but call out.
“Miss Olma! Hang in there, Miss Olma! Don’t give in!”
She turned to face him and screamed long and loud. Jurrin covered his ears. The sheer volume of it broke several of the glass jars beside him. Their contents spilled onto the cavern floor, and Jurrin nearly did throw up this time.
A violent blast shook the cave.
Jurrin found himself thrown to the floor of the cave, his hands over his head. It felt like a powerful tremor traveled through the cave, making the books and jars rattle on their shelves.
The halfling hoped it would be over shortly. More dust and debris fell on his head, and he remembered the giant stalactites. Too afraid to see if there any above his head, he interlocked his fingers and waited for the shaking to stop.
An uneasy calm filled the cave.
Jurrin heard coughing and movement as some of their party returned to their feet. He peeked out from between his fingers to see Holve still on one knee, looking at Cecil and a little girl.
Olma lay still on the floor in front of him. Cecil moved over to her quickly, and Jurrin saw him pour something down her mouth. Tilting her head back, Cecil looked at her intently until she swallowed it. When she opened her mouth again to take a breath, he moved away and sighed heavily.
“She’s a feisty one.”
26: The Plan of The Exiled
The uneasiness of the men outside the tent was palpable. Demons were walking along the edges of the camp. Even though they were ensured that they would not attack the armies of Juttis, there was still a feeling of dread that surrounded the whole area.
Dram could feel it too.
He stood at his tent flap and thought about how he was going to proceed from here. The suns had set, and the three moons of Gilia had been rising all night long. He took a deep breath and felt his chest stretch against his wrappings. He held his dagger tightly, even though there was no threat present to him at the time.
Holding it made him feel at peace. He felt like he was in charge.
Set into the hilt of his trusted dagger was a rimstone piece. It glowed slightly at his touch, and he felt the warmth coming through his hands. Another deep breath steadied him. He was a prince. He would soon be asking if all went according to plan.
He had nothing to fear.
A glowing orb of purple came close to his tent. Dram looked at it as it approached. He didn’t know what it was, but he had a feeling he knew where it had come from.
“Dram,” a voice said from within the glowing orb. “You are required at the tent of Farnus.”
Dram nodded and began to walk in the direction of the prince’s tent. The orb led the way, though Dram felt it was unnecessary. Possibly, if he had turned away or refused, the globe would have persuaded him more forcefully.
He wasn’t ready to test his suspicions.
The tents of the army had been set in neat rows, as Dram had made sure his generals had prepared his men. Dram was a man of order and desired that his army appear royal, organized, and able to attack at will.
The only thing that made the camp seem off were the glowing purple lights that surrounded it. Each of them was a demon of terrifying size. He knew they were on the same side. But the way they patrolled the perimeter made him feel as if they were ensuring the men stayed inside as guards would, rather than traveling with them as brothers-in-arms.
Dram continued to walk towards the tents in the middle of the camp. His own had been placed at the front at his request. He never enjoyed being surrounded, even by his own forces. There was a part of him that wanted to be free to roam if need. In Juttis, such luxuries had been offered to him.
He was a dark prince, but he was no prisoner in his own kingdom.
The ball of purple flame moved ahead of him as he entered into a circle of tents in the very middle of the camp. It hovered outside one of the larger structures, then closed in on itself and went out.
Dram knew this must be the one he was supposed to enter. Steeling himself, he stepped purposefully inside. The tent was massive and had one large area in the middle, with four smaller sections off to the side.
Farnus was already standing in the large section, covered in the huge metal plates that had appeared when he first revealed himself to Dram and looking down at a table with several maps and parchments.
There was no need to announce his entrance.
“Come in, Dram,” Farnus said, keeping his eyes on the map at his table. Dram did as he was bidden, though he thought it seemed unnecessary. Taking three steps over the rug that had been placed on the ground, Dram stopped short of the table when someone came out from one of the flaps.
Really, Dram thought. It was more like a something than a someone.
The demon who had appeared at the same time as Farnus came into the meeting area. Dram would have ventured to call it female, though he wasn’t sure such things mattered to these creatures. It seemed to have a feminine body. But its face and chest were the least of his concerns.
She had wicked claws on her hands, and her hoofed feet were covered in metal similar to Farnus’ plate armor.
“What is the mortal doing here?” she asked as she placed a pointed claw on the map.
“The mortal is key in this, and it will be not be discussed, Graxxin,” Farnus replied, finally looking up from the parchment at the demon named Graxxin.
Dram looked from the man he believed to be his brother, or at least mostly his brother, to the demon with horns and wicked claws. The two stared at one another for a time, before Graxxin shrugg
ed her shoulders and crossed her arms.
“Makes little difference to me.”
“Good,” Farnus said. “I trust the warriors you’ve assembled will meet us at Prommus?”
“What ones survive will,” Graxxin answered. “There are surprisingly few who have been able to live past the first few days.”
Farnus shook his head.
“You do not ease them into your service,” he said.
Graxxin licked her lips.
“And you would never desire me to, Rayg.”
That name again. Dram had heard that name. The demon had spoken it when he had shown himself for the first time. What did that name have to do with Farnus?
“We have a small window of opportunity to work with,” the man Dram knew as Farnus said, pointing at the table. Dram saw that it was a map and that careful drawings had been made around Prommus. “Isol is on the run, from what our sources have told us. Prommus is pursuing them, leaving their castle in a weakened state we can take advantage of. Once we’ve established ourselves there, it’ll be easy to make our claim on the first continent of Gilia.”
Dram had been looking down at the map where Farnus was pointing, but now his eyes shot back up to meet his brother’s. They had a shine of purple to them that began to glow brighter with each passing moment.
“The first continent?” Dram asked, unsure of what Farnus meant. “Surely you don’t mean...”
A wicked smile crossed the man’s face. It was then that Dram knew he had not misheard him. His intentions were clear.
“I told you this would be a day to be remembered,” Farnus said, spreading his hands wide over the table. “This is the day we begin our conquest of not just Ladis, but all of Gilia.”
Dram looked down to get a better look at the papers laid out on the table. Taking the last few steps, he could see that it was not only Ladis drawn on the map but Irradan, Ruyn, Redact and even Galin.
Every continent on Gilia, with crosses, circles, and arrows drawn over them. An elaborate plan was unfolding before him. Dram could see that many markings had been removed from Ruyn and then redrawn.
