by C S Vass
“Lower that back down,” Yaura whispered. Faela obeyed. “Any clans will have had more than ample opportunity to mark our arrival. There’s no need to unnecessarily introduce ourselves to something else.”
Cold air threatened them from all sides. The rushing sound of water grew ever louder until Faela found a small stream glowing silver in the light of the fire. “I suppose we should follow it,” she said.
They did just that. The stream grew wider as they travelled, guiding them into the depths of the mountain. The longer they moved, the more unnerved Faela became at their lack of contact with any clans. Either the cavern was empty, and they were wasting their time, or it wasn’t and whoever was down here had decided to remain hidden. She couldn’t foresee a scenario where a clan would be so incompetent that they wouldn’t monitor the entrance to their dwelling place.
“Son of a fuck!” Tzuri-kai growled.
Whipping her hair, Faela turned quickly to see the cause of the commotion.
“What is it?” Yaura asked with urgency.
“Stubbed my blasted toe on something,” Tzuri-kai replied. He kicked at what appeared to be a stalagmite, cursing all the while.
“What the…” Faela approached the structure slowly. It wasn’t an ordinary rock structure, but had been carved into the likeness of a growling wolf.
Yaura loosened her blade. “This place has undoubtedly been visited by something sentient. Something that knows how to carve.”
Faela meant to respond, but found herself speechless as she saw what was behind the wolf’s head. Slowly walking behind the stalagmite, her fires illuminated the most astonishing thing she had ever seen.
“Great bearded mother,” Tzuri-kai whispered, halting his slew of nonsensical dwarven swears.
Yaura said nothing, but in wonder simply drew her blade.
Flickering in the light of the fires, carved into the wall of the cave with some sort of silver material, was a spread of hieroglyphics that formed intertwined geometric patterns that glowed like stars in the night sky. The patterns were not stationary, they shivered and moved as if they were floating in a vast ocean.
Yaura approached the images slowly. “I’ve never…I don’t even know what to say.”
“These symbols are not natural,” Tzuri-kai muttered.
“They’re beautiful,” Faela said. “What kind of magic could have produced something like this?”
“Old magic,” Yaura said. “Without the slightest doubt, this was created by very, very old magic.”
“But to what end?” Tzuri-kai asked, his voice quavering.
Faela walked up and down the length of the cavern. The strange hieroglyphics flowed up and down the walls, onto the ground, and around the stalagmites that punched into the air.
“I don’t like this,” Yaura said. “There’s something unsettling about these images.”
“What, you want to run away?” Faela asked. “We’ve just found something incredible.”
“Aye, we did,” Tzuri-kai agreed. “It’s too bad we’re part of a diplomatic venture to find some allies in these mountains and not part of a bloody archeological expedition.”
“Yes, pretty as they might be I fail to see how these glyphs and images are of any practical use to us.”
Taking control Faela turned to her companions and said, “If you’d like to make your way back in the dark, you’re more than welcome to. I’m not done here yet.”
Yaura and Tzuri-kai glanced at each other, but kept their silence. They watched uncertainly as Faela continued to move throughout the cave, staring with wonder at the spread of images unfolding before their eyes.
“Look!” Faela called excitedly. Without much choice, Yaura and Tzuri-kai moved forward. Faela had found a raised platform. There were ceramic urns at its base. But nobody was looking at the urns. They were looking at the mummified corpse that was laid across the stone slab. Its skin was grey and splotchy, and in place of its eyes were twin coins the make of which Faela had never seen before.
“For fuck’s sake, lass,” Tzuri-kai breathed. “Don’t have us desecrate a burial site, lass. It’s time to go.”
“Nobody’s desecrating anything,” Faela said, annoyed. “I’m simply trying to figure out what the hell is going on with this place. You can’t tell me that you’re not curious.”
“You need to be told?” Tzuri-kai asked in disbelief. “The wolf’s head. The strange glyphs. This is a place of the gods. A place of ice and shadow. A place of death. We’ll find no clans here. We should go back to the surface. The storm might have blown itself out by now.”
Faela made no move to leave. She was staring transfixed at the bizarre corpse before her.
“Should have brought a damn tree branch to fashion into a torch,” Tzuri-kai grumbled.
The corpse shot up like a child awakening from a nightmare.
All three screamed, leapt backwards, and bared their weapons. The dead body, sitting upright before them, made no move to leave its platform. It looked at them, if it could see at all, with the strange copper coins embedded deep into the sockets of its eyes.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Yaura managed, sounding very alarmed herself. “It’s simple necromancy. We’re not alone. Someone is animating the corpse.”
Tzuri-kai’s blade shook in his hands, and Faela knew he was one shock away from lopping the body’s head off.
The corpse’s rotting mouth opened, and in a rasping voice it spoke.
“No necromancy. No one else. All alone. Gods of ice. Gods of shadow. The stars begin to vanish, falling from the sky like comets. The time of Prophecy is upon us. The dead will carry the message until our cries echo throughout the land like thundering trumpets. The living will not hear. Wait for the King to wash the feet of peasants. Wait for the time of confusion and chaos, when enemies are lovers, and lovers enemies. Wait for the stars to vanish. The Prophecy is upon us.”
The corpse groaned and fell back to its unanimated state.
Faela trembled, unsure of what had just happened. Tzuri-kai was muttering, but whatever words he spoke were too quiet for her to hear. Only Yaura was audible. She ran from one side of the cavern to the other, screaming for the necromancer to come out and reveal themselves. She shouted until her voice was hoarse.
Faela knew there would be no answer.
Chapter 12
Warm bubbles licked at Brett’s sore muscles. He had removed all bandages, letting the hot water soak into the constellation of semi-healed cuts that danced across his body. For just one hour, he would let his troubles dissolve.
“Captain, you really mustn’t worry us like this,” Emilia cooed in his ear.
“Yes, you kept us waiting like we were simple household wives,” Jasmin agreed, her soft fingers kneading his swollen muscles like warm dough.
“You wouldn’t want us to become jealous, would you, Captain Brett?” Sapphire mocked. Brett gently grabbed the third concubines hand, easing it away from his manhood.
“You ladies speak as though you might never see me again,” he said.
“Ladies he calls us,” Jasmin whined. “I cannot stand to hear such things. We are no noble ladies. We are savage women, and we are very upset with you.”
“Forgive me,” Brett oohed as Jasmin’s fingers twisted into the purple bruise on his neck. “If it was anything other than urgent, I wouldn’t have left.”
“Oh the lies!” Emilia sighed, sinking farther into the water with him. The bathhouse lights reflected dangerously in her crimson eyes. “We all know your one and only concern is your dear Prince, who remained safe in the castle the whole time you were gone.”
Brett kept his eyes shut, sinking into near-total euphoria against her soft body. “Sometimes we have to travel to protect the things we love close to home.”
“Would that we had a brave knight to protect us,” Sapphire said. “The captain goes off on his heroic quest, and who is left to care for three lonely girls in the basement of Iryllium?”
“Come now,” Bre
tt said. “Am I to believe that you kept this water hot for me the whole time I was gone, praying I would walk through the door at any moment?”
“We kept the water hot for ourselves,” Emilia chided. “Not that the brutish captain cares how we languished with nobody to give our affections to. We’ve been love-starved for weeks, and when our hero finally returns, it’s obvious that he’s been galavanting around the world without a care for his health or safety.”
“Perhaps he met some pretty young thing who can tend to his desires as we cannot,” Jasmin said, pushing Emilia aside and nibbling just too-hard on Brett’s neck. “I think the captain went off looking for someone who isn’t afraid to rough him up a bit.”
Sapphire giggled and joined Jasmin, her long brunette hair flowing across the water like the silk strands of a spiderweb. “I can be rough if that’s what our brave knight desires.”
“I assure you it’s not,” Brett said. “I met nobody on the road that I would care to see again. Certainly not in such an intimate setting.”
“But you didn’t tell me to stop,” Jasmin laughed, whispering into his ear.
“No. I didn’t.”
One hour turned into two, and two turned to three. With each new candle lit to mark the passage of time, a new pile of silver coins silently piled up on the wooden table across from the bath. Down there in the bowels of Iryllium, Brett felt safer than anywhere else in the world. A foolish position, he knew. More than a few men of importance to castle politics had found themselves poisoned, stabbed, and drowned in the presence of concubines who would swear their love to every constellation in the sky. But they were lesser men. Men who lost track of the arrangement that they paid for. Men who loved women that knew no such emotion.
Several hours later, radiating bliss in the arms of three beautiful women in the hot waters of Iryllium’s lower pools, Brett had to fight not to fall asleep. He had made the mistake before and ended up owing enough gold that he swore off whoring for a month by the end of it. But these three had their ways, and before long he was back.
“Tell us news of the world, Captain hero,” Emilia said. “We know you went to Black Wolf and came back with a fearsome Shigata warrior. Why have you not brought him to us?”
“Am I not enough for you?” Brett asked with a smile. Emilia slapped him lightly in mock-anger.
“What a foul question! The ignoble captain mocks us.”
“We should go and leave him to sleep with the castle dogs,” Jasmine said, rising and covering herself.
“Calm yourselves. I insult myself more than you,” Brett said, guiding Jasmine back into his arms.
The concubine huffed, but all the same nuzzled her face into his neck. “Who is the Shigata you’ve returned with?”
“A man of little consequence. Someone who I think would make a good bodyguard for the royal family.”
“Surely you’re enough of a man to guard them yourself,” Emilia said.
“Surely,” Brett said, slipping up to his neck in the water. “But then how would I have time to come visit my three loves?”
Come the dawn Captain Brett Ashford felt like a new man. Hot water and soft women had done wonders to melt the wounds from his body, clarify his mind, and renew his sense of purpose. “All right Brett, you’ve had your fun,” he muttered to himself back in his own chamber as he donned his regular leather armor.
For a moment he stared half-tempted by a chalice of golden wine on his dresser, glowing in the light of the sun, but shook his head, chided himself, and settled instead for a large tankard of icy water and warm black bread with butter from the kitchen.
He was nearly halfway down the main hall when he turned on his heel. Instinct had driven him towards his Prince’s chambers, but he would have to trust that Benjiko was being well-cared for by Logun. Several days had passed since their meeting in the Tower of the Bull, and while Logun was supposedly keeping up his end of the bargain, Brett had yet to make his way to the Temple of Ice and Shadow and retrieve Paetrick. An endless stream of bureaucratic nonsense had prevented him from doing so, but today there would be no excuse.
Late winter stormed the city like an angry lover. Outside grey skies and harsh winds were a constant. Not for the first time since arriving home, he thought of Faela wandering the mazes of Jagjaw and hoped she had found a friendly clan that would take her and the Shigata Yaura in with respect.
The Temple wasn’t a long way from Iryllium’s castle. As Captain of the Guard, he was allowed immediate entry. After asking for Paetrick, a balding monk with a curled lip led him down a black hallway and to a plain wooden door. The monk departed without a word.
Shrugging, Brett knocked on the door.
Paetrick appeared a few moments later. Brett tried to see how his scars were healing, but Paetrick’s body was fully cloaked with the black robes threaded with silver that the monks wore.
“Captain Brett, to what do I owe the honor?”
Brett had anticipated Paetrick’s formality and immediately worked to disarm it. “Owe the honor,” he laughed, smiling warmly at the lad. He stepped forward and embraced him in a gentle hug, mindful of Paetrick’s injuries. “I came to check on you, Paetrick. I had a morning to myself and thought I should come make sure that you’re staying out of trouble.”
Paetrick frowned. “A captain shouldn’t take a morning off from his duties.”
Brett held his smile, though he was certain annoyance flickered across his face. “Come now, Paetrick, the Temple is the rock upon which our castle stands. I think it can be counted among my duties to make sure that all is well here.”
Paetrick looked at the floor and said nothing.
Brett lowered his voice. “Perhaps it would be better for us to speak inside your chamber? By a fire?”
“There is no fire in my chamber,” Paetrick said solemnly. “The cold hardens my will to serve the gods.”
It was all Brett could do not to curse. “Paetrick, it’s midwinter. You must be freezing. Remember how you desperately wanted that fire when we were traveling to Black Wolf?” He laughed merrily.
“A shameful memory,” Paetrick intoned. “One I am deeply remorseful for. I have much to offer the gods before I can forgive myself.”
“If I recall,” Brett said, the last of the warmth dying in his voice. “It was I whom you offended, not the gods. Rest assured, you are quite forgiven.”
“That is quite kind of you, Captain. Will that be all?”
“Will—wha—” Brett made a series of noises that he could not quite have called words. “No Paetrick, that will not be all. Come on. I’m no longer asking, I’m telling you, let me in the room. I’m lighting a bloody fire.”
Paetrick gave Brett just enough room to squeeze by. Ignoring his rudeness the Captain barged into the room, threw a lit candle into the hearth, and began poking around at the kindling until a blaze lit the room.
“They only give me one candle a month,” Paetrick said. “Now I shall do without light as well as heat.”
“A noble sacrifice I have no doubt,” Brett said gruffly. “But one that won’t be necessary. King Boldfrost’s castle has more than an abundance of candles. I’m sure you’ll find enough light to read your prayer scrolls by.”
Paetrick stared, dumbfounded. “Wha—What are you saying? Do not try to take me from this place, Captain Brett. This Temple is my home.”
“Then think of leaving as a sacrifice. Somehow I think the gods will forgive you. After all, I hardly intend to give you a choice in the matter.”
“You cannot!” Paetrick said stubbornly. “I act only on the monk’s orders. You cannot force me to serve in a secular haven like the King’s court. The monks would never allow it.”
“That’s the funny thing about the monks, my young friend. Your order has a lot of power in the shadows and dark. But when all the king’s horses and all the king’s men come and tell you to saddle up and ride your bony butt where we please, there’s not a lot of arguing to be done about it.”
Paetrick’s pale face flushed red. “I see right through you. My brother put you up to this. I will not go!”
“Calm down, lad. You’re giving me a headache. Do our travels together mean nothing to you? Why do you treat me so poorly? Have I erred against you to deserve this spite?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to anyone but my fellow monks and my gods.”
Brett rolled his eyes. “No, I suppose you don’t. Now pack your…” Brett looked around at the laughably bare room. “Now come on. Daylight’s wasting.”
Paetrick stood there, impudently. Of all the things Brett had expected—the monk had risked their lives idiotically lighting a fire in the chillway after all—refusing to leave a frozen shit hole of a room for a warm castle was not one of them. Still, forcing the boy didn’t feel right. Besides, who knew what kind of problems that might cause down the line?
“Look Paetrick,” he started. “I apologize for being gruff. But come on. If you come with me to the castle, we’ll be able to keep you in the loop about Faela’s mission.”
“You bureaucrats will keep your secrets as you always do.”
“Bureaucrat? I don’t—fine. Forget about Faela. What about your duty to the King?”
“My duty is to the gods, Captain Brett.”
“A near treasonous statement, boy. But one I’ll let go for now.”
“King Boldfrost is welcome to know where my loyalties lie should such information interest him.”
“It doesn’t. Now drop it. All right, you don’t think you can help Faela, and the loyalty card doesn’t hold much weight with you. Fine. What if I could give you something you do care about?”
“What might that be?”
“Access.”
“Access?” Paetrick shook his head. “You think you can buy me away from my gods with the promises of a few worldly comforts. If you came to shame yourself in a sacred place, Captain Brett, you’ve more than done your job.”
“Not access to things, you milk-breathing jackanapes,” Brett snapped, finally losing his temper. “Access to the court. If you want to pray until you’ve got nothing of knees but bloody stubs, then that’s your business. Come to court with me. Why I want you there is my own concern, and I’ll keep those reasons to myself. But all the same, if you come, you will have access to King Boldfrost. To Prince Benjiko. You can natter in their ears about gods and greatness and divine things until our frozen face turns blue.”
