Heir to a Lost Sun: A Caverns of Stelemia Novel

by Riley Morrison

  Maybe the Great Dark was not all bad though. Aemon had never heard of Sunholm or the Covenant of the Lost Sun. Perhaps some small glimmer of civilization existed out there in the endless night.

  His stomach felt as if it were twisting itself into knots. Glancing at Kara, he admired her moist lips and flowing white hair. He could not let fear take control. He had made an oath to her and no matter where it took him, he had to be brave. His heart ached to put his arms around her and hold her tight, but Wrynric would notice and confront him.

  Minard returned and gave them the all clear. Aemon swallowed the bubbling fear at the back of his throat. It was time to leave Stelemia.

  Would he return one day or die in the Great Dark, far from home and the sacred lights?

  They left the city and a few minutes later emerged from under the shelter of the great mushroom caps. Roryur’s Tears rained down on them from the roiling cloud of acrid smoke that slowly smothered the entire chamber.

  Nearby, a stone fort sat on a rise overlooking the city. Wrynric led them toward it. When they neared the fort, they found the gates open and weapons haphazardly dumped on the ground around it, as if the soldiers stationed there had thrown down their arms and ran. There were no signs the enemy had been there, nor any indication they had fired their projectiles at it.

  The closest ranks of the metal beasts were about half a mile away, so the four companions kept low to the ground as they made their way up the rise. From the top, they got a good view of the chaos spreading throughout the cavern. Much of the mushroom forest harboring the enemy was a smoldering waste, painting their bodies bright orange as their armor reflected the flames.

  A great banner out in the lake between the city and the burning forest drew Aemon’s attention. The banner bore the silver shield sigil of Lydan. Beneath it marched Lord Laython, leading his host of armed soldiers through the knee-deep water toward the enemy. The metal beasts did not react to his approach but continued to fire their projectiles at the city from the edge of the flames.

  Laython looked like a hero of old, leading his oath-sworn warriors to glory in the face of great adversity. The odds were against him, but he was the chosen Shield of Lydan and right hand of the Priest King. His bravery would live forever in the great tales of Stelemia, alongside those of Jorgen the Sunderer of the Abyss, Radashan the Holy Founder and Lucitiel—Igniter of the First Flame.

  “That vain fool,” Wrynric spat. “He throws his life away as I knew he would. He should have fallen back—”

  The old man’s words caught in his throat as a dozen human-shaped figures shoved their way to the front of the gleaming mass of enemies. They looked like enormously fat men with small, stumpy legs and arms, but still managed to stand about twice the height of a human. They were too far away for Aemon to make out their features, but it appeared as if they were dressed head to toe in plate-metal armor, with large cylinders attached to their backs.

  A volley of crossbow bolts shot forth from the Stelemian host, but the iron-tipped projectiles bounced harmlessly off the enemy. Aemon’s heart sank. If crossbows could not pierce their armor, what chance would spears, pikes or swords have?

  Lord Laython, the Silver Champion, let out a great, bellowing war cry that drifted up to Aemon from the battlefield. “For Lydan, for the Priest King and the Golden City!”

  The enemy was not intimidated and instead raised their arms and pointed long metal rods toward the approaching lines of soldiers. Liquid fire erupted from the tips of the rods and engulfed Lord Laython and the front ranks of his host in flame. His banner caught alight and the silver shield it bore withered to ash.

  The ensuing screams coming from below were things of nightmares. Aemon spun around and retched. What good were swords and shields against that?

  Kara covered her ears and wailed. Minard dropped his staff and bags and fell to his knees, raised his arms in the air and cried out to Ibilirith. Wrynric gazed on the carnage with a solemn, knowing expression.

  Aemon felt rage like none he had ever known before. The old warrior knew. He knew it would happen. Why did he not do something to try to stop it?

  Wrynric looked at him, as if reading his thoughts. “There was nothing we could have done,” he said over the screams. “I have lived long enough with those who can see the future to know that some things are inevitable. Our paths are set on foundations as hard as the stone beneath our feet.” He tapped his boot on the ground. “The path can be broken, but the strength required is great. Alas, at the moment, we lacked the strength to stop this. But one day, when we return, we will be mighty and be able to bring an end to the horror.”

  Aemon wiped vomit from his mouth. “We could have warned him.”

  The old man bared his teeth. “Do you think he’d have listened, boy? Laython had glory and maidens hearts to win.” Wrynric took a deep breath. “Besides, Arden was not completely clear on what city would fall nor when, so it’s not like I knew this was coming before we got here.” He watched the distant slaughter. “Mark my words, all of you—many will die in the coming days. Arden foresaw it. He also foresaw a way we can win—and we have her here with us now.”

  Kara fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably. “How do you expect me to stop them? If Lord Laython and all the soldiers of Deep Cave and Celestial Rest couldn’t so much as hurt them, how do you expect me to be able to fight them?”

  Wrynric raised his head and let Roryur’s Tears fall onto his weathered face. “I believe in Arden’s vision. You and the Metal Man will find a way to stop this.”

  Stop this! Aemon raged inside. No one can stop this. The horrible screams fell silent. No one...

  After a moment of silence, the old warrior dragged Kara to her feet and led them off the rise and toward the entrance to the Great Dark. They followed him numbly along a worn path that ran between small homesteads lit by sacred lights. Through his tears, Aemon could see row upon row of healing herbs and flowers growing in the fertile dirt around them. The crops would have one day been harvested for the healers of Celestial Rest or for merchants to sell in markets of distant cities.

  Now they would all burn or be trampled under the forged metal boots of the enemy.

  When they got to the edge of the cultivated land, they made their way toward a dark crevice in the cavern wall. The very edge of Stelemia.

  A few minutes later, they arrived and stopped beside an abandoned guard tower. They stared back at Celestial Rest. A great inferno had turned one of the colossal mushrooms into a living torch. Smoke blanketed much of the city and parts of the surrounding lake and would soon drown the whole chamber in toxic fumes, killing anyone who remained alive.

  Smoldering mounds of blackened bodies lay out in the lake, where Lord Laython had unsuccessfully tried to assault the metal beasts. How would the Priest King react when he learned of Laython’s fate? What of the families of those who had died? Who would help them now that their loved ones were gone?

  All this death and destruction conducted in the span of hours. An ancient city in ruins, its people scattered to distant chambers, its defenders dead or fleeing in terror. The beauty and wonder it contained lost to darkness and flame.

  Kara stared at the city unblinking, her wet bangs glued to her forehead. She looked small, overwhelmed and defeated.

  Wrynric was wrong. No one could stop the enemy—not Kara, not the Priest King, nor ten thousand soldiers.

  Stelemia was doomed.

  Finally, they turned away and entered the crevice, the sounds of the dying city echoing around them as Roryur wept.

  Chapter 19

  KARA

  Darkness engulfed Kara as she entered the crevice. Wrynric lit a torch and the four companions used the dim light to pick their way through a steep, narrow, winding path between wagon-sized boulders. It was tiring work, and she started to feel lightheaded.

  The darkness, the raging battle behind them, the weight of her destiny and knowledge of where they were heading triggered Kara to withdraw deep inside hersel
f. How could she stop the metal beasts when whole armies burned to ash before them?

  Wrynric and Arden were wrong. The task was beyond her. She would die out here in the Great Dark.

  Part of her wanted to die, to end the pain, to end the suffering, and hoped it would happen soon. I am no savior. I am nothing!

  She struggled to stay focused on where she put her feet, for the ground was treacherous and it would be easy to stumble and break an ankle. If she could focus on that long enough, she might forget about everything for a time. And she needed that.

  The pain from her wound, the pain in her soul and the ceaseless tingling in her brain had been grinding her down, bit by bit. My life withers away like old, uneaten mushroom bread. How can I go on like this?

  A rock gave way under her feet and she fell to her knees, bruising them on the hard ground. Minard lifted her and held her until he was sure she had her footing. His brown eyes searched hers, but she only stared back at him. There was nothing she could say or do to make all the pain go away.

  He gently touched her face with his calloused fingers. “Do you need me to carry you, Scion?”

  “There’s no point,” Wyrnric said. “We’re at the end of the crevice.”

  Minard turned away. “So where to now then, Old Man?”

  “See that over there?” Wrynric pointed at a rope hanging down the crevice wall. “We need to climb it.”

  Kara used her dark-vision to follow the rope upward but couldn’t see where it ended.

  “How far up do we have to go?” Minard asked.

  Wrynric tugged the rope. “About sixty feet.”

  A sudden bout of headspins made Kara stagger against the wall. How could she make it up the rope like this? “I don’t think I can climb,” she said. “I’m weak and feel lightheaded.”

  “I can carry you up on my back,” Minard said.

  I don’t want to go up. I don’t want to go on anymore. I want this to be over.

  Those words were there in the back of her mind, but she could not bring herself to say them out loud, for to do so would make them real. But I want them to be real. I want to leap off a great height and dash my broken body on the jagged rocks.

  Then she remembered Aemon’s touch. The love in his eyes, the feel of his arms around her.

  She saw double of Aemon through the headspins. He hung back, his gaze fixed on the rope. He’d surprised her back in Celestial Rest. She’d thought he’d never want to touch her again after what happened at the Bellhole Tavern. Yet he had held her in the chaotic streets of Celestial Rest and thrown himself on top of her to protect her from falling debris. The relief she’d felt at his touch...

  You lost everything because of me, Aemon. If I give in, it will have all been for nothing. Berda, Nyla, Mihiri, Mensig and all the others who died at the Golden Keg, their deaths will have been for nothing too. A little strength returned to Kara. My loyal friend, you’re my light in the smothering darkness, the only reason I will press on and not give in.

  “Aemon,” she said, her focus slowly coming back. “Can you make it up the rope?”

  He blinked. “Yes,” he said, a little too quickly.

  Minard chuckled, “Don’t fall, little lord.”

  “Shut your mouth, monk,” Wrynric snapped. “We’ve a lot of climbing ahead of us, so conserve your strength for that.” He handed the torch to Aemon, then walked to a mound of rocks and started shoving them aside. “My people have hidden equipment here that will help us.”

  They watched as he dragged a sack out from under the rocks. He upended it and an assortment of items spilled out. Metal loops and hooks, corded harnesses, belts, leather gloves and two strange vests with holders sewn onto their backs. “These items will supplement the equipment we took from the temple. It should be enough to get us to Safehold.”

  The old man picked up a rounded, metallic object. “And this is a timekeeping device.” He held it up to the torch and turned a dial on the side, then nodded in satisfaction.

  Minard gaped at the device. “Where did you get that? We have one at the temple and believed it to be the only one left in existence.”

  Wrynric shrugged. “We had dozens of them at Sunholm. There are no sacred lights out here to tell the time from, so these little things are the only way we can keep track of the hours.”

  “Well, if we survive this, perhaps my order can trade you for some.” Minard gestured at the supplies. “What are those vests for?”

  Wrynric donned one of the strange vests and turned his back to Aemon. “Place the torch in the holder.”

  Aemon did as instructed and stepped away. The torch burned four feet over Wrynric’s head, bathing him and the rock around him in orange light. “It’s impossible to climb while holding a torch, so my covenant made these. As you can probably tell, they’re not the safest things to use, but without them, we’d have to climb blind.”

  “Well, in that case, the quill pusher is going to have to use the other vest,” Minard said. “I’m carrying the Scion.”

  “Do not call me that,” Aemon snarled, then went and picked up the other vest and slipped it on. Wrynric lit a second torch and placed it in Aemon’s holder. “Alright, let’s get ready to move out,” the old man said.

  Each of them put on a pair of gloves and one of the belts. Next, they fastened the metal rings to the belts and Wrynric fed the end of the rope through them. Aemon helped the old warrior put Kara into a harness and tie her to Minard’s back. She wrapped her legs around the monk’s waist and rested her chin on top of his bald head.

  Minard flexed his shoulders and twisted back and forth at the hip. “As much as I love carrying beautiful women around on my back, it’s a little hard to breathe. Can’t the Scion just hold onto me while I climb?”

  Wrynric shook his head. “Do you want her to fall? Some of these ropes will take hours to ascend. No one can hold on that long.”

  Aemon stared upward and sucked in his lower lip. He appeared to be having second thoughts.

  “You can do this, Aemon,” Kara whispered to him.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I will try.”

  The climb wasn’t as bad as Kara feared. At first it had been terrifying, and she’d clutched onto Minard so tight he’d quickly asked her to ease off before she crushed his ribs. Reluctantly, she had, and placed her trust in him and the harness she was strapped in.

  Minard carried her up the rope almost effortlessly, it seemed. Wrynric and Aemon, bogged down with the group’s food supplies and equipment, had little trouble either.

  From the top of the ledge the lights of Celestial Rest were no longer visible, but the clamor of battle still echoed along the crevice. Some of the booms were so loud they dislodged bits of grit from the ceiling, and it rained down on top of them.

  Wrynric cut the rope. “If Kahan is behind us, he’s going to have to find his own way up.” He took a long drink of water. “There’ll be another rope at the next climb but after that, we’ll need to make do with the ones we took from the temple.”

  Aemon moaned. “How many more cliffs are there?”

  “Too many,” Wrynric replied. “No one carved roads or built bridges out here, so don’t expect an easy journey. The best you can hope for is that someone has traveled the same path as you and left ropes or markers behind so you know where you’re going.”

  “How well do you know this area?”

  Wrynric shrugged. “Well enough. These caves are tame compared to what we’ll traverse on our journey to the Dead City, so make the most of them while you can. That said—keep your wits about you; there’s plenty of danger here and one misstep could cost you your life.”

  The next rope was longer than the first by a good fifteen feet and the rock was wet and slippery. Wrynric, Kara and Minard made it to the top unscathed and waited for Aemon. The rope creaked as he made his way up, moving from side to side.

  Then it went still.

  Kara waited thirty seconds and it still hadn’t moved. Aemon... H
er heart leapt into her throat as she started crawling over to the edge to look down and see what was wrong.

  Wrynric dragged her back. “Stay here, girl. One slip and you’re done for.”

  “But something might’ve happened to him. What if—”

  The rope started moving again. Her heart pounded as she waited for the light from Aemon’s torch to appear. Then it did and she felt such relief she almost burst into tears.

  When his face appeared at the edge, she struggled not to crawl over and kiss him on the lips. I have nothing left to live for without you. Don’t scare me like that again!

  She helped him to his feet. “What happened?”

  Aemon removed the torch from the holder. “What do you mean?”

  “The rope stopped moving. I thought...” She squeezed his hand.

  “My arms got tired and I needed to stop on one of the footholds for a few minutes and rest.” He saw something over her shoulder and snatched his hand away. “I am all right.”

  Why had he pulled away? Kara spun around to find Wrynric glowering at him. The old man glanced at her, then turned and started gathering up the rope. Aemon moved away to drink from one of the water skins.

  So, Wrynric was behind Aemon not wanting to touch her. But why would he care?

  Angry that the old man would do this to Aemon, Kara went to confront him but saw something out of the corner of her eye. A chill ran through her. A huge head stared down at them from a ledge above their heads. She fell back and screamed, “Look out.”

  Minard and Aemon reached for their weapons while Wrynric started waving his arms around. “Don’t panic. There’s no threat.” The old warrior held up his torch so that the light fell on the head.

  Kara blinked. It wasn’t a creature at all. It was large skull, with empty eye sockets and a broken horn on its nose.