King Froamb took her hand with a smile.
“It's a great pleasure,” he said. “Straiah told me of your captivity by the Windbearer, Malfur. And just where might that good fellow be?”
Cora glanced to Sheabor with a smile. Straiah had mentioned King Froamb's overzealous attachment to him.
“He's in the alliance city.”
“Avoiding me, is he?”
“Not exactly,” Sheabor said.
But King Froamb laughed and slapped Sheabor on the back.
“I see you've all been busy,” Sheabor commented.
“Yes, well. We've finally gotten the breath of fresh air we've needed to construct a proper inner keep.”
Sheabor nodded. Then they took their places in the palace hall. Sheabor glanced around the room. Many were assembled, including the general of the armies of Forthura. A cooked pig was brought out and set on the table, with various other dishes. As the meal commenced, all eyes fell upon Sheabor.
“We've received information that makes us believe Eulsiphion is once more in danger from Corcoran,” Sheabor declared.
“From your earlier reports, it seemed as though his attentions were fixed upon Kester,” Froamb replied.
“For the time being, he is. But that will change in a moment. There's something hidden here that Corcoran greatly wants. We aren't exactly sure what it is yet, but it's hidden somewhere in the city.”
The people assembled glanced around at one another, voicing their thoughts in hushed conversations. But the general of Forthura's armies seemed visibly skeptical.
“What is it exactly you're asking us to do?”
“Nothing for the moment. We'll have more information once we discover what it is we're looking for.”
“Sit back then while our enemies continue to gather their strength?” the general replied.
Sheabor looked to King Froamb, not entirely understanding the general's obvious disapproval.
“The general and many of my advisers believe we've already waited too long while the barbarians recover from their failed invasion. If we hit them hard, we could drive them from their strongholds, burning them to the ground and forever crippling their ability to make war against us.”
“But there's already one war waging. To start another is folly, especially since the real war may soon be at your doorstep.”
“The war against the Horctura has been longstanding,” the general replied. “It didn't end simply because they ran away to lick their wounds. Their two main tribes are all but destroyed. Many of the smaller tribes have risen up to take power and have only weakened the whole. There will never be a better time to strike than now. If we waste this opportunity, our children and their children's children will curse us.”
In some ways, the general's advice was sound. If Forthura could establish a presence in their territory, they could not only keep the barbarians in check but also reestablish trade routes with Kester that the Horctura cut off long ago.
But Sheabor didn't like it. If King Froamb's forces were off at war in the north, what if Corcoran attacked suddenly, with none to defend? He wanted to ask the obvious question, why not make peace? But he knew that years of bloodshed were not easily forgotten.
“I noticed, when I first rode in, the walls of the city had changed. What was once a streak of blood red has changed to gold and blue. The city is no longer crying out for vengeance, nor are your people. Perhaps they're tired of war.”
“We are tired of war,” King Froamb replied. “But we're also tired of the threat of war. If the general succeeds in his campaign, it will ensure peace.”
“Peace at the edge of a sword isn't real peace.”
“It's more than we've ever known.”
Sheabor only nodded slowly. If they were set in their cause, there was little he could say to dissuade them. It only gave greater urgency to his own quest.
“Then I wish you luck and good fortune. The alliance is very thankful for all the support you've given. We'll do our best to help defend Eulsiphion if Corcoran strikes in your absence.”
“Thank you,” replied the king.
“We'd like to get started on our search,” Sheabor said. “Are there any old maps or drawings of the city we could look through?”
“Anything you seek will be in the hall of records.”
“Then, by your leave, we'll depart.”
King Froamb nodded and the group turned to depart. Outside in the cool evening air, Cora voiced her concern.
“If they make themselves vulnerable, Corcoran will surely take advantage of it.”
“I know,” Sheabor said. “But what else could I have said? We can only hope our warning will make the general think twice about bringing his forces too far from home.”
They set off for the hall of records, the street lamps just beginning to cast a mellow glow over the little grassy parks that filled the city. Eulsiphion really was a beautiful place, perhaps the most beautiful of all the cities of the world. Strange to think that the fate of the world might be decided here.
Climbing the small steps of the hall of records, the door was opened by an old man, none too surprised by the large group standing there, waiting to gain entrance. It was the same ill-tempered man who had been less than pleased to give them access before.
“You again?” he said.
“I'm afraid so,” Sheabor replied. “And I've brought some friends.”
“All of you? Now wait just a minute!”
“No time. We have orders to search every inch of this place. Now please step aside.”
He had no choice but to assent, stepping backward and tripping over the many books and scrolls scattered all about.
“You can't have this many people in here!” he exclaimed. “You'll ruin everything!”
“Not if you help us.”
“Just what are you looking for?”
“Maps and drawings of the old city. Anything from just after the Forthurian people claimed it, but before they made their own additions.”
“I'll help you! I will. But please have some of your men wait outside.”
Sheabor turned with a smile and nodded as everyone except for himself, Cora, Durian and Aravas departed.
“What you're looking for will be in the old wing,” the man said.
Then he departed down one of the narrow corridors between the bookshelves, shuffling through stacks of books and scrolls at the far end and returning at length with a small stack of items.
“Here,” he said. “When the Forthurians first took possession of this city, then king ordered an exhaustive search of the city. The findings are all contained in these documents.”
“Thank you,” said Sheabor, handing out the papers to the four who seated themselves in preparation for long hours of study.
The man returned a few more times, each time with more scrolls and books from the old wing of the hall of records. Sheabor and the others read in silence.
“Look here,” Durian said after an hour, pointing to the pages of his book and scanning along them to paraphrase what was written. “It says that in the first days, the people of Forthura were nomadic, much like the barbarian people. They often passed Eulsiphion in their wandering, but they didn't know it was a castle. Most of it was submerged in the water of the lake. Only the palace hall was out of the water and they thought it was just a house sitting on an island.
Slowly the floodwaters receded and more of the city was exposed. This says it took decades before the water had subsided enough for the people to explore the castle and years before they actually began to settle it.”
Durian scanned the next few pages for anything more but that seemed the extent of the account. It was merely a telling of the finding and taking of Eulsiphion. The group kept reading. Durian loathed the idea of spending weeks more in an archival building looking for one single scrap of information.
After more time passed, Sheabor left the building briefly to dismiss the other men still standing at attention outside. Clearly, S
heabor was expecting this to go late into the evening.
The hours seemed to blend together and the master of the hall began dozing off in a chair in the corner. The oil lamps grew dimmer as the night wore on, and Sheabor came over to the slumbering man, placing his hand on his shoulder, waking him with a start.
“Yes, what is it?” he snapped to attention.
“We could use some more light,” Sheabor said. “And you should go home and take your rest. We might be here through the night.”
“Perish the thought!” he replied. “Foreigners let loose in our records room. I'll see to the lamps.”
“Thank you,” Sheabor said with a chuckle.
The man departed briefly, returning with a jug of oil to replenish the lamp's fuel. Then he began to wander the small confines, keeping watch on the foreigners under his care.
Sheabor couldn't help but smile as he delved into another set of parchments. But this history seemed to contradict the previous one he'd read. This one claimed that Eulsiphion was built slowly by the Forthurians under order of King Rizak. It claimed he discovered the secrets of the Builders and created stone of the First Age, including Orb Stone. What in the world was Orb Stone?
Sheabor glanced to ask the master of the records if he knew anything about it, but found him again slumbering in his chair. Sheabor chuckled, then cast the book aside – clearly nonsense. Then he began another.
Night passed to morning and still they found little. It might have been faster just to search the city blind, hoping something would spark their attention. If they found nothing by morning, Sheabor would have the men keep searching the documents while he and the others set out through the city.
“I think I have something here,” Cora said. “It looks like the maps the record's keeper mentioned.”
The four drew near, bringing a lamp close and each taking one of the documents in Cora's hand. There were several that seemed pertinent. Durian took a map that wasn't even specifically detailing the city, but rather the surrounding region. It contained drawings and notes of specific features roundabout the castle.
The first thing that struck him was an X at the spot he knew to be the tunnel leading from the castle to Siphion Falls that they had taken to rescue Pallin from the Dungeon Core. Durian scanned the parchment and found a side note stating that the tunnel was definitely artificially constructed, but seemed to have been sealed, barring entry.
Durian's eyes wandered until a skull and crossbones symbol caught his attention. It was over the entrance to the Squall Highlands. Reading the side note, it stated that unknown hostile forces inhabited the region and to stay away. It was fascinating but impertinent to their current quest.
“This looks like a map of the catacombs beneath the city,” Cora said. “But this map indicates that most of the catacombs were underwater and couldn't be cataloged.”
“They're not still underwater, are they?” Sheabor asked the master of the records.
“No, but they were explored and detailed at a later date than the documents you're holding.”
“Well where are those parchments?” Sheabor demanded.
“Watch your tone with me, son. I only do as I'm told.”
The man departed and Sheabor shook his head with a smile, glancing about at the others who shared his amused frustration. They had wasted half the night looking through dry histories. Soon the man returned with a new stack of documents.
“This is an accounting of the second cataloging of the city, with reports on the catacombs, previously flooded.”
Sheabor took the main scroll, unrolling it to find a large layout of the tunnels and caverns beneath the city. From the look of it, they were definitely structured and artificial, mostly burial chambers for the original inhabitants of the city. But something caught his attention, a room labeled Orb Stone Vault.
“What is this place?” Sheabor asked.
The man peered down.
“No idea.”
“I saw this phrase in one of the other histories. What is Orb Stone?”
Sheabor looked up at the others gathered, glancing to Aravas whose eyes narrowed at the question.
“If I were to venture a guess,” Aravas began, “I would say that the Forthurian occupants, unfamiliar with the ways of the Builders, did not know what to call the impenetrable form of stone they encountered beneath the city. But given that it was made from the same stone as the orb that rested in the palm of King Euthor's statue, they chose to name the stone after it, calling it Orb Stone instead of Shade Stone.”
“If that's the case and there really is a vault of Shade Stone hidden beneath the city, then that's exactly what we're looking for.”
The Counteroffensive
The plan was set. With the forces of Kester, they would mount an offensive against all three of the strongholds. But Estrien couldn't calm her nerves. Now that the pieces were in motion, she couldn't stop the nagging worry that perhaps they were walking into a trap. But how could that be?
It didn't matter. The time for second-guessing was over. Whatever lay ahead, they would meet it as warriors. Corcoran had had them scrambling for months trying to gain a foothold and resist his advancements. But he had overreached and now he'd pay for it.
Estrien commanded a force only a hundred strong – mostly coalition and resistance forces, though including a handful of Commander Rovak's men, led by his second in command. Though the bulk of the forces of Kester would attack the largest, central stronghold, Commander Rovak wanted to make sure he could keep his eye on things.
The attack would begin at midday, when the sun reached its zenith in the sky. Estrien and her band of warriors waited behind the cover of trees. She could see a wisp of smoke rising up in the distance and could faintly hear the sounds of industry – nails being hammered and the like. If the stronghold had been warned of the attack, they showed no signs of it.
Commander Rovak's second in command fidgeted beside Estrien, pulling on the armor the coalition had supplied to him, newly fashioned by the hands of Blair. The stone breastplates and helms were half as thick as normal armor and much lighter, though their effectiveness was clearly lost on him.
“I might as well have worn a nightgown into battle,” he said.
Estrien leaned forward and looked up into the sky.
“You've time to change, I think,” she said. “It'd be a strategy they'd never expect.”
He smirked and seemed to realize in that moment that Estrien and the rest of her forces weren't nearly as antsy as he. It showed her how little combat the forces of Kester must have seen.
Estrien had been the same way when first she left Melanor, assigned to guard the Windbearer, Pallin, a monumental honor. She'd been so nervous to appear at the palace hall of Eulsiphion that night – a feeling heightened by the stare of Straiah intently fixed on her the whole of the evening. He hadn't even tried to hide it. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. Here she was, calm and collected in the face of battle, when only a few months ago, she'd have been as the man standing beside her.
“They tell me you're a Melanorian, our fabled kin from across the world,” Rovak's second said, breaking her reminiscing.
Estrien nodded.
“They say you possess powers of the First Age...the things we tell our children about in bedtime stories.”
“You're in for some surprises today,” Estrien said with a smile.
“I don't like surprises.”
But Estrien only unsheathed her sword.
“It's time.”
The rest followed as Estrien turned to face them. The tension was thick. The resistance was used to working in the shadows. A frontal assault against a military fort wasn't a welcome prospect. But it was the only real opportunity they'd had.
“Today we push Corcoran back to the sea. Today we take our revenge.”
The soldiers roared and raised their swords in unison. Then they marched from the cover of trees out into an open clearing. Before them was a shallow, grassy hillside, which rose
up and then descended gradually toward a sandy beach. The fort was nestled on the edge of the grasslands before the solid ground gave way to the sands.
Though lumber was abundant in the Westward Wilds, the forces of Corcoran had largely brought their own materials across the divide, converting their empty ships into walls and spikes. It was an effective strategy, allowing them to build forts with remarkable speed.
Estrien only hoped she had done as Straiah would've. They walked at a brisk pace up the small hill until a bright blue ocean came into view. Below in a clearing was the large wooden fort. It didn't take long to spot Estrien and her forces, for a bell rang out across the distance.
“What is our plan of attack?” Rovak's second asked.
“Hit them hard and fast.”
Estrien put the Shade Stone helmet on her head and raised her sword, running down the hill with a battle cry the rest echoed. The doors to the fortress closed with a loud thud, locking scattered Dungeon Core warriors outside the gates. They were less than five hundred paces away.
The walls of the fort rose over twenty five feet from the ground and Estrien's forces had no ladders to ascend. Three hundred paces.
“Arrows!” one called out.
“Keep moving!” Estrien commanded.
Dozens of arrows sailed through the air, black dots against the bright sun. They fell in a flurry about her feet, one glancing from her shoulder, the sudden, loud sound startling her. Scattered cries of pain erupted from a handful of warriors, a few arrows finding their marks in the weak points of their armor. It caused others to draw back, having not the nerve to sprint toward another volley of arrows with such a thin covering.
“Hold the line!” Estrien shouted, hastening her pace.
Another volley of arrows sailed through the sky, this one lower and coming straight at them. Estrien raised her wrists to her face instinctively, one arrow glancing past her and another striking her squarely in the torso. The arrow didn't pierce her, but the force of it made her stumble, nearly knocking the wind from her lungs.
But she steadied herself and burst forward. Less than a hundred paces now. Rovak's second ran beside her.
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