by Eli Steele
Rowan Vos
Deep Under Ashmor
Kingdom of Beyorn
She sat perched on the massive bleached-white skull and stared back at him. Surprise marred her otherwise unwrinkled face. Crossing her legs, she balanced herself against the still-glowing staff.
Sparse, and rocky, and flat, it was the badlands of his mind’s eye. Through the blue-gray fog, plateaus broke the horizon. A white sun that could be gazed at unblinkingly hung low in the sky. Somewhere far away, a murder of crows plotted and cawed.
The air was sickly sweet, so much so that it soured his stomach. Rowan’s throat watered as a cold sweat rolled over him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He started to speak, but his open mouth gagged instead. His insides knotting, he turned away from her and retched.
“That’s filthy,” she remarked. “Kick some dirt over that shit before I catch a whiff of your bile.”
And just who the hell are you...
“Careful, your thoughts aren’t often your own here... But to answer your question, I’m the warwitch that bested this tyrant.” Rapping the skull with her knuckles, a hollow echo resounded. She smiled.
Not sure of what to say, he took in a deep breath to ease his queasy stomach and remained silent.
“You look just like him, by the way. I never knew him at your age, but seeing you now, he couldn’t deny you even if he’d wanted to.”
“Who?”
“What do you mean, ‘who?’ You’re not quite as smart as he was, it would seem...”
“You knew my father?”
“Oh, I knew him. And I knew him, too.” She winked.
Furrowing his brow, he asked, “You’re not my...”
“Oh, no,” she shook her head, “I’m not the matronly type...”
He eyed her curiously, before taking a long panoramic gaze of the barren environment. Sighing, he exclaimed, “I’m confused... Who are you, what am I doing here with you, and where even is here?”
She snorted. “You found me.” Tapping the skull, she added, “Have a seat. Try the socket, it’s rather comfortable.”
Rowan climbed up on the skull. She was right. Settling into the gaping hole, he felt a bit better.
“Here is here,” she offered. “It has a name, but such things would only waste our time, which is short, or perhaps not. That is a decision which is yours, and you will have to make it soon enough. But until then, you may call me Iseult.”
Still confused, he mustered a polite smile.
She was calming, if but a little erratic in her cadence. Her hair was brown, fading to black at the tips, which struck him as the opposite of what he expected. Blue-mottled silver eyes with pupils slit like a cat’s gazed at him with an emotion he couldn’t quite place.
“You're stronger than him,” she said finally. “The son, greater than the father? It seems an odd assertion, and yet... They say it can skip a dozen generations, and sometimes more, but, eventually, it returns.”
Ignoring her musings, Rowan replied, “Tell me about him.”
She smiled, recalling memories long packed away. Moments ticked away as she sat in silence, before replying, “That I would, but his time has passed and yours has not, not yet. Rather, we should speak of you... Offering the sword to the Seven was selfless, but they failed you; and you, them. And now the world is unbalanced without them. It is a far more dangerous place than it was even a moon ago.”
“Are there dark mages like the Seven?”
She nodded. “Indeed, though the Seven were more of a weathered gray than a white, if we’re comparing the light and the dark.”
Rowan’s chest tightened. His pulse faded a bit. His mouth soured and watered again.
Iseult watched him struggle. “Now it seems you must decide.” Smiling, she rapped the skull with her knuckles again. “You may stay with me should you like. There are many devils here that need undoing, and I require an apprentice. The slaying of the beasts is a noble profession, and one that I cannot do forever... So, would you, if only for a while?”
“I... I don’t even know you, and I have friends that need me... Their lives are in danger because of me.”
Pushing off the bone, her feet landed on the rocky ground. Dust kicked up around her. Rolling her hand over the head of her staff, it dimmed. Disappointed, she kicked at the dirt, before clicking her tongue and adding, “Then go, but before you do, hear these few things:
The sword is a terrible burden and a tiring responsibility, but it is your responsibility now. Consider it Orick’s blessed curse. Still, it has its benefits. If someone would have you give it to them, you should just as soon run them through.
Secondly, you are too old to be ignorant of your potential. At half your age, your father was an arch mage. He would be rather disappointed in your lack of initiative...”
“But-“
“And most importantly…” she continued, her face turning dire, “Though the Olde One is a grave threat, his raven knight is a far more imminent one. You would do well to end him quickly.”
“What? Who?”
Turning, Iseult departed through the blue-gray haze, her voice trailing behind her. “Who he is, I cannot say, perhaps even he does not know yet...”
“Wait, I don’t understand! And how do I get out of here?”
“Close your eyes, and open them again. When you do, this will be nothing more than a dream... Goodbye, Rowan, son of Rickard, the first of his name...”
Rowan cast his eyes about one last time, before closing them...
* * * * *
…And awoke retching cave water between wet coughs from down deep in his lungs. His chest hurt and his body shivered. Faces aghast, Bela and Kassina crowded over him.
“He’s coming to!”
“I’ve never seen someone wake up after so long...”
Up above, the skittering hiss of the relics could be heard. Beneath him, the cavern floor was cold and unforgiving.
The torchlight carved out the ridges and pockets in the cave, pressing into an alcove before retreating out from a jagged wall. Damp and hinting of rotten eggs, the air offended his nostrils.
Kassina wrapped her arms around him as he sat upright.
“We were so worried. We thought...”
“I don’t die so easily,” he replied weakly. Leaning forward, he tucked his head between his legs and hacked up several more wet coughs.
“Don’t rush it,” Bela urged, patting his back. “Take a moment, you stubborn arse.”
After a silent lull, save for the still distant churning of water and the faint sounds of the relics, Rowan struggled to his feet.
“What do we know of this place?” He asked.
“The waterfall’s that way,” Bela said, pointing off into the dark, “It leads somewhere, perhaps to the sea but not likely to an open cave mouth we can walk out of.”
“And I’d rather we go up than down,” Kassina added.
“It sounds as if we’re in agreement, then,” concluded Rowan. “Up it is.”
The stalactites dripped bitter water onto the slick floor, collecting in crystal-clear pools that pocked the cavern. An ensemble of drips and plops – with pitches that varied by the height of fall – accented their echoing footsteps, adding cadence to an otherwise muted space.
The ceiling, with its endless rows of teeth, gnawed in on them at times so close that they had to crawl through collapsing stone mandibles to enter the next chamber. Ascending farther from the gulf that yawned open to the sewers, the air crisped until it was cool and damp and refreshing.
“All my life,” Rowan whispered, his voice still carrying farther than he preferred, “I’ve lived in this city, but never would I have imagined such a place beneath the streets.”
“And those things,” added Kassina, shivering. “Where did they even come from?”
“Probably from wherever this cave comes from…” Bela remarked.
She’s probably right... I hadn’t considered th
e thought. Perhaps we haven’t escaped the relics; perhaps they’re driving us to their den... Still, what choice do we have?
Up ahead, the tunnel pressed in on itself so that only a narrow slit remained. Shrugging out of his pack, Rowan squeezed through.
Somewhere ahead, chains rustled faintly on stone, paralyzing him and stiffening his hackles.
“Hand me the torch,” he said.
Stepping forward, he waved it at the darkness as the girls struggled through the fissure.
“Wow,” said Kassina.
“It’s beautiful,” added Bela.
The chamber was the largest since the sprawling black expanse with the bridge, with a ceiling as high the church nave’s ceiling, and walls just as wide. Stalactites of all colors and sizes hung overhead. Pale blues and deep grays abounded, mottled and streaked with browns as rich as farmer’s soil, and greens like turquoise from the Kal’Deas. Columns, narrow in the center and wide at the base, dotted the space. A dozen strides ahead, hyacinth-blue water, clear to its bottom, stretched from wall to wall.
Again the chains grated against the rocks. “Is someone there?” A voice called out, the voice of a frightened boy.
Kassina gasped. “How could a child be down here?”
“Kass, don’t let your guard down,” Bela warned.
Searching the waters with the torch, Rowan waded in. His lungs emptied with a shivering sigh. Piss warmed his thighs for only a moment, before the cold needled him again. Robbed of its heat, his body numbed.
He tried to speak, but a shrill whoop was all he could manage. Kassina followed with Bela close behind, gasping and shivering in turn.
The boy called out again, piercing the silence, save for the whisperings of forded waters. “Are you there? I can’t see you...”
Submerged to the middle of his chest, Rowan glanced back to find Kassina bouncing off the bottom, water lapping her chin as she went down. With chattering teeth, she managed a weak smile.
“Take my hand,” he said, “it could get deeper yet.”
Nodding, she stretched out with shivering fingers and clasped onto him.
“Bela?” he whispered.
Bow overhead, she replied, “I’m good, keep going.”
Shortly, the slick bottom began its climb to the other side. Rising from the depths in a shiver, his clothes clinging to goosed flesh, Rowan waved the flame before him, searching for the boy.
In an alcove near the chamber’s edge, chains clanked and scratched across the cavern floor. A small figure stepped out a short distance. Shackled hands stretched behind his back, he leaned against his restraints.
“Please, sir...” the boy whimpered, gazing up at him. The voice was unnaturally flat and without accent.
Rowan said nothing. Instead, he studied the child from a distance. He noted a depression, faint but there nonetheless, worn into the ground beneath the boy’s feet.
Arms out, Kassina stepped forward to lift him up. Rowan grabbed her by the back of her soggy coat and held her firm.
“Let go!” she snapped.
“Kass,” Rowan replied, “Come on, something’s not right.”
“Ro’s right,” Bela added.
With a huff, she stepped back.
The boy craned his neck and eyed the thief, but said nothing.
There’s something odd about you...
“He looks so familiar...” Bela remarked.
“Don’t just stand there, help me!” the boy demanded. His hair was red, just like Bela’s. And his eyes, sapphire blue. And his face...
“You’re us...” Rowan gasped.
The boy’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that even mean?” Kassina asked.
Stepping forward, Rowan thrust the torch in the child’s face. “Show me your true form.”
Sucking in air between his teeth, the boy seethed, but relented. With a sickening crunch of bones and stretching of flesh, the figure lurched three feet taller. Its face melted from that of the youth to a wrinkled distortion. Matted hair clung to its head. Yellow eyes leered at Rowan, before settling on Kassina. And then, he winked.
Revulsed, she slid her dagger from its sheath and pressed it against the creature’s neck “I should rip your-“
“Easy, Kass,” Rowan interjected, nudging her back.
A slithering rasp replaced the child’s voice. “Yess,” the creature added, “eassy...” Turning back to Rowan, it curled back its lips and hissed, “Losst, are we?”
“We’ll find our way,” he said.
“Perhapss... Perhapss not... The tunnelss are a maze, with many snaress and hidden trapss.”
“Traps like you?”
The creature snorted and sucked at its teeth. “I’m a victim of thiss place, jusst like you...”
Rowan chuckled. “I’m sure you earned your chains.” Looking back at the others, he said, “We should go. Nothing good can come from this.”
“I’d agree with that,” Bela said.
“Perhapss I do desserve these chainss, but who among us is spotlesss? Am I right, son of Rickard?”
Rowan spun. Unforged in hand, he neared the limits of the creature’s reach. “How do you know that name?”
Yellowed saw-teeth grinned back. “Sso, I wass right? I wasn’t certain...”
Forcing its chin up with the blade’s tip, Rowan snarled, “How do you know my father?”
Rolling its eyes, it said, “The old, and the wise, and the sstrong... Tiss a ssmall society. We all know each other, even if only by name and renown.”
“I am Rowan. So, now you know me.”
Nodding, the creature receded into the alcove, its chains rattling behind it, and reclined on a smoothed stone. “Srakch.” The name sounded as if it had rattled the back of its throat.
“The hell kind of name is that?”
The creature cast a wounded gaze in his direction. “It was my mother’s... wretched Vos...”
“So, what do we do now?” Rowan asked after an awkward lull.
“Perhapss you could releasse me?”
Kassina snorted.
“I think not...” the thief replied.
“There is one other thing... and with it, I would tell you the way out of thiss place... You have my word...”
Whatever that’s worth...
“What would you have, Srakch?” The sound felt malignant on his tongue.
It licked its lips. “Just a bit of mage blood... nothing more.”
“Eww, Ro, no,” Kassina replied.
“Yeah... I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bela added.
Drawing his hand across Unforged, he let the blood pool on its tip. “What choice do we have?” Rowan said. Stepping forward, he thrust it at Srakch.
It slunk out of the alcove, neck craned forward. Eyes on Rowan, it lolled its tongue out and dragged it across the bloody steel. Its eyes glinted. In a flash, Srakch slapped its hands on the flat faces of the sword and tried to wrench it free.
His senses piqued by Unforged, Rowan had anticipated the move. Tipping the hilt up, he allowed the blade to lunge forward into the creature’s gut. A gurgle hissed out of its throat and poisoned the air.
It laughed, steel quivering in its belly. “Well played, sson of Rickard... And yet...” it coughed, “an oath hass been given. Beyond thiss place, the cave is sstraight and narrow. At itss end is a great sshaft...” Srakch wheezed for a breath, before continuing. “Ascend it, and you will find the sewerss once more...”
Rowan removed the sword from the creature’s bowels. Black blood poured out of the wound, pooling on the cavern floor. Thick as boiler’s oil, it stunk of sulfur and gore.
It laid its head back against a pile of rubble and gazed at the thief with glassy eyes. A foul smile slinked across Srakch’s thin lips. It contorted its face, molding it into Rowan’s likeness. Unnerved, the thief stumbled backwards.
A long low gurgle rattled out of Rowan’s doppelgänger. In one motion, its lungs gave up. Air rushed out, sucking its chest in. A single le
g twitched for several moments, and then lay still.
Chapter 24
Griffon Alexander
Braewood Forest
Kingdom of Beyorn
Gray smoke hung in the air, burning their eyes and blackening their nostrils. Ash and embers fell around them in flurries. The inferno pushed back the cold air and kicked up winds of its own, alive and fickle, and prone to change on a whim.
Griffon slipped through the woods beside Kren, sword and shield in hand, spear strapped across his back and the charred taste of the braewoods in his throat. The blaze’s vanguard had swept ahead, but still it consumed all around them. Deadfalls roared and masses of canopies crashed to the ground, sparks and embers and blistering the air as they landed. Half-burnt bark split and slid off trees. And through the burning bedlam, forty Uhnan’akk melted between the shadows, their formation loose and fluid.
“We each fight with the strength of ten lowlanders,” Kren growled, chest out, chin high, and axes dancing beside him, “but for Eleksandr, who fights with but five in his maiden’s gowns.” Looking over, he winked.
Pagan chuckled.
If the wildmen heard his humor, they did not betray it. Soot and sweat streaked their blue war paint black. Many had already shed their fur overcoats from the intense heat.
“Truly, I do not boast,” the titan said to the men of the Brae under his breath. “With this fire and these warriors, I would take them all. But the witch… the witch troubles me...”
“I’ve never heard you uncertain before, Kren,” Griffon remarked.
“His strength has not yet been witnessed. We do not know if he is a greater or a lesser witch. That which we do know is that he is not the master.”
“How do we know that?” Pagan asked.
With a knowing grin, the wildman replied, “For we are all still breathing, friend of Eleksandr.”
Up ahead, fires raged around the trebuchet. The Meronian rear guard shouted and chased back the flames with buckets of water, but it did little to slow the advancing inferno. The timbers sizzled and steamed.
From behind a tree, Pagan whispered, “Look, it’s your old friend, Griff.”
With a bandaged stump, the commander circled the frenzied men, shouting orders and urging them on.
