Alliances

by B. T. Robertson

  Aerinas stared up in awe at the structure before him, which looked like it had been crafted over centuries of time. The Lion's Mouth was an entryway to the deepest and darkest place any of them had ever seen, what little of it they could see through the hollow hole. The mountain closed in ahead of them, twin slabs of immense stone pressing together narrowly; at its base was the menacing image of one of the most awesome creatures to roam the plains southwest of the Creshtun Mountains: a lion.

  The entryway displayed the full head of the beast, carved out of stone, its mouth wide open and complete with perfectly shaped rock teeth. The eyes were precisely chiseled—the work of true craftsmanship. The only way to enter was to pass between the massive stone maw and into the darkness beyond. Howling winds, jammed between the mountain spurs and vying for exit room, whistled and moaned when they sped out of the Lion's Mouth.

  It was several minutes before anyone offered comment.

  "Is this a holy place?” Ithyllna asked. She had sheathed her blades, a testament to her respect for a shrine of this sort.

  "Some would say so,” Aeligon offered. “Its purpose is unmistakable: to keep others away. No one would dare explore further if they came upon such stonework."

  Aerinas challenged the dare and stepped closer to the mouth, brushing his hand against the flowing mane. “How could it be in such good condition? Even a decade of rain and sleet from this country would erode it to a pile of rubble."

  "Maybe the wind an’ rain don't hit on this side o’ the mountain,” Farrin ventured, looking skyward to the spur peaks high above. “I mean, this is really outta the way an’ backed against these twin devils here."

  Aerinas pondered for a moment. “An entity or unusual power must be providing the upkeep on this shrine."

  "Aerinas, please,” Tristandor rebutted sarcastically. “No one except Farrin and his giants would dare to live in these mountains, much less survive here. I think Farrin's right."

  Farrin crossed his arms and puffed out his chest proudly, smirking.

  Aerinas ran his hands carefully over the section of mane on the right side of the lion's head. “Then why are there fresh markings here?” He knelt and scooped up some dust and debris in his hand, and held them out for the others to see. “Why are there dust and pieces lying here in the dirt?"

  Aeligon smiled. It was all he could do. Aerinas was figuring it out without anyone's help. The evidence was overwhelmingly in his favor that someone was, indeed, keeping the Lion's Mouth in order. How or why, he did not know, but he knew answers would be soon forthcoming.

  "I believe your son has cracked it,” Aeligon said, winking at Tristandor.

  Tristandor scowled, but held his tongue in a rare display of restraint. They had come too far for a fight. Their fate was before them.

  Aerinas slapped his hands together to repel the dirt and dust, then resumed his position next to Ithyllna. “So what do we do now? We have to go in there, I presume."

  Aeligon narrowed his eyes and peered into the darkness. “I sense magic at work here. It's not very strong, but I sense it ahead. We must be extra careful.” He turned to the group. “Pux and I will take the lead, with Aerinas at my side. Farrin will take up our rear. We stay together. It is imperative we don't separate."

  The healer withdrew a rope from the leather satchel draped around his waist.

  "See, I knew it,” Pux yelped. “When the rope comes out, Pux gets tied up and thrown in the closet."

  "Hush up, Pux,” Aeligon snorted. “We're going to use it to stay together. No warning will prepare us for what lies ahead. This is just an extra precaution. Now, everyone grab a hold of this, and don't let go. Once everyone has a firm grip, I will cast a spell down the length of this line. If anyone lets go, even me, everyone else will feel it. Pay attention to your senses."

  "What about me?” Farrin whined. “I'm not magical, never have been. I won't feel a thing."

  Aeligon chuckled. “Farrin, you're being simple. If anyone lets go, you should be able to tell first since you're at the back of the line!"

  Farrin started to reply, but realized his error. He blushed, let out a deprecatory laugh, and grabbed his section of rope. The others were snickering.

  "Into the Lion's Mouth,” Aeligon ordered. “These mountains are thin, so it shouldn't take us long to either come out on the other side, or find what it is we were meant to find here. Everyone be on your guard."

  One by one, each member of the party was swallowed up by the darkness of the entryway.

  The first hundred yards were slow going through the constricted path between the spurs. The floor of the cavern was covered in a thin coating of ice, since the sun rarely touched the ground long enough to melt it. The group suffered many cuts and scrapes, Farrin more than any other. The poor giant had to walk most of the passage sideways to fit. At one juncture, he had to shimmy up between the cavern walls and over a jutted section of rock completely blocking his way. Though they couldn't tell, the day waned away past midday before they reached a wider section of path.

  Overhead, the sky was little more than a gray slit. The wind continued to howl when it passed through the crevice, but it kept the majority of the precipitation away. Snowflakes, though few and far between, pelted them hard when the wind carried them through the crag.

  "It's very tight in here,” Foran complained. Then, noticing the annoyed look on Farrin's face, he held his peace, though he felt like belting out with laughter.

  "It's widening,” Aeligon said, pointing.

  They stopped to have their afternoon meal, but ate quickly and in silence. All of them wanted to be out of there, not knowing whether what lay ahead was worse. In their emotional stew, anxiety rose to the surface as the common one.

  And there was something else prevalent—fatigue. The party had regular rest and plenty of food, but an empty weariness drained their hearts. So much work was being put into searching for what they were only just beginning to understand. They could sense their path leading them deeper into an area of negative energy. The closer they got to the source, the quieter Aeligon became. The wizard was sorting through his sense of the magical energy, without indicating he knew anything more about it than when he first felt its presence back at the Lion's Mouth entrance.

  Only the One who can sense may light the path. Aerinas had lit the path for them; he was a natural leader. Aerinas’ confidence in leading the group into the Mouth was so subtle that no one caught on, not even Aeligon, who had fallen into deep contemplation.

  What are we going to find? How bad is it going to be? I know it's something dark and sinister because I can feel it. But how do I tell the group to be prepared without alarming them? Aeligon had so many questions, more than he ever remembered asking himself in prior situations—well, maybe with the exception of one other. He smiled when he thought of the last fight between Hydrais and the wizards at El-Caras. His last stand. But then Aeligon reconsidered. No, not his last stand; he was only banished to another Plane. He has found a way to come back, to influence even in absence.

  Suddenly, Aeligon noticed he was standing still, at the apparent exit of the Lion's Throat, the new name Aeligon gave to the narrow passage. The others were staring at him. Pux was making faces trying to get Aeligon to react or say something. “The Lion's Belly,” was all the wizard muttered before stepping out into the clearing.

  Hidden eyes watched intently as the group of strangely dressed invaders meandered cautiously into the clearing. A ring of large trees wrapped around the entire circumference of the flat piece of land nestled within the bowels of the mountains. The center of the clearing was nothing more than a carpet of ankle-high grass so soft it tickled their feet when they walked. Everything was green, lush, and smelled of wild nature.

  "This is huge!” Lynais exclaimed, spinning in slow circles, gazing in awe at the surrounding trees and mountain spurs, crooked teeth nipping at the sky.

  "And oddly situated,” Tristandor added. “Aeligon, why would a place like this be here
? More importantly, how could a place like this be here?"

  Aeligon shook his head. “I don't know, but the magic is strongest here. I suspect that we're standing within the vortex of some kind of magical energy. But there might be more Black Art at work here than we may care to know, so stay close until we make it through here."

  "Maybe we weren't meant ta’ make it through here, Healer,” Farrin grimaced, his battleaxe in hand. “This book o’ yers, Aerinas...do ya’ think it mighta led us here on a suicide mission?"

  Aerinas already had the book out and was studying. He paid the giant's negativity no mind.

  "Put that away,” Aeligon barked, waving his hand at Aerinas. “It will do you no good. We need your eyes and wits about you right now. The book may have led us here, but I don't believe it means to just hand us the answers."

  Aerinas obeyed, gave Aeligon a snide look when he turned his back, and drew his sword. He did miss drawing his sword, he realized. The runes looked inviting; their etching was elegant and exact, a true sign of elfin precision. His father's, in truth, but elfin all the same. He squeezed the pommel tightly.

  Unexpectedly, Foran called out. “Aeligon, look!” He was pointing to the far end of the clearing, near another entrance to another dark and narrow ravine. A figure was walking toward them, but slowly and unaggressively, holding no weapon or artifact.

  "He's naked,” Ithyllna noted, drawing her second twin blade. “It's the harmless-looking ones like this you have to watch out for. Everyone keep your eyes on the trees."

  Tristandor agreed. “Take it from a former Vrunyn Guard member. It is an ancient trick to lure an enemy with promises of peace and friendship, only to knife them from their blind spots."

  "I'd hardly call a naked tribesman a promise o’ peace, but whateva ya’ say,” Farrin quipped.

  Eyes turned to the trees—even Menishka'dun's—but Aeligon, Pux, and Tristandor remained fixated on the figure drawing nearer.

  "He is naked,” Pux conceded, initially doubting the elf maiden's sharp eyesight. “I need a pair of those wicked eyes."

  "Zip your lip,” Aeligon scolded, right on queue.

  "But there's something else about him that I can see from this distance."

  "How he is covered in something black?” Tristandor asked sarcastically.

  "Why, yes, Elf-Lord, I had forgotten you were standing next to me and have elfly eyes as well. I only saw it just now. What is it, if you please?"

  "Some sort of markings, like vines or ivy. Looks like they were deliberately placed."

  "Like a tatuointi, you mean?” Aeligon questioned, eyes widening. “But such a practice hasn't taken place since...” His voice trailed off, his eyes locked onto the individual, who had lowered and opened his arms in a sign of disarmament and peace."

  "See, he is making the first sign of death,” Ithyllna remarked, glancing more than suspiciously at their new guest.

  The gap closed between the party and the figure. They were directly in the center of the huge ring, and now they could see him face to face. There was a long silence, and everyone held their breath for what might happen next.

  "He is a tribal member of some kind, but none I've ever seen or heard about before,” Aeligon informed the others. “Most likely he doesn't speak a language known to us."

  From their vantage point, not more than thirty feet from the figure, they could see that he had black markings nearly the entire length of his body. Each line was outlined with the tribesman's crimson blood, and he was shaking.

  "Whatever did this to him, did it recently. His body shakes with fever from the pain and open wounds.” Aeligon reached slowly into his leather satchel and drew out a small vial of salve. He took a few steps further, held out the vial, and tossed it at the man's feet. He spoke slowly and articulately. “If you can understand me, this is medicine. It will heal your wounds.” The wizard pointed to his own skin and made grimacing facial expressions to indicate what he meant.

  "He not move; Menishka'dun go help.” The small creature started waddling toward the figure.

  Farrin quickly reached out and pulled the Lyymhorn back. “No, Menishka'dun, do not go help bloody man,” the giant whispered. “Bloody man strange and in lots of pain."

  Menishka'dun didn't understand, but couldn't really do anything at all against the mighty man's grip, so he gave up.

  Unexpectedly, the figure stumbled forward, scooped up the vial, smashed it into the palm of his hand, and began rubbing it violently over his skin, smearing blood and black substance all over himself. Aeligon, who already had a small blanket ready, rushed to him and threw the blanket over his tattered body.

  "Don't fight me,” the Healer protested when the other swatted to keep him away. “The blanket has a substance on it that will numb the pain...never mind. You probably don't understand me anyway."

  "But I do,” the other said suddenly. “You come from distant land to Lion's Mouth, seeking the stone of my people."

  Aeligon and Tristandor exchanged excited glances. Could this be true?

  "We have come because we were led here by another. We do not know about the stone you speak of, but please tell us."

  "Bad people come to take our stone,” the other said, bloody tears streaming down his cheeks.

  Suddenly, before the tribesman had a chance to finish, a loud roar went up all around the ring of trees. Men and women, dressed in tattered clothing seemingly unsuitable to protect them from the weather of the season, jumped down from the trees. Each brandished a spear, sword, or a bow with arrows, and ran toward the group, surrounding them.

  "We're in trouble now,” Foran said, drawing an arrow back on his own bowstring.

  Aerinas felt the magic stirring in his soul, and the runes along his blade began to glow with the familiar red hue.

  Just when it seemed the party would be overtaken by the screaming savages, they halted in their tracks, but kept their weapons at the ready. The marked tribal man was holding his hand up to them, and they shrank back away from him.

  "He holds power over them.” Aeligon observed the way the others, though visibly afraid of the bleeding tribesman, had respect in their eyes for him, almost a pitiful remorse for his afflictions.

  The man spoke to the wizard again. “I hold death from you until I find out whether you are from bad place where bad people come from."

  Aeligon shrugged. “We are not from a bad place. I am from the wizard city east of where we are now."

  The man's eyes widened. “You hail from Cloudy City in the Field?"

  "If that is your name for our dwelling due east of here, then yes.” He gestured toward himself, then to Tristandor. “My name is Aeligon, and this is Tristandor, Elf-Lord of Mynandrias of Anwarna."

  "We Klull never venture outside of this sanctuary; we know nothing about your peoples."

  For an ancient civilization completely hidden from all the curious trackers, scouts, merchants, and wandering vigilantes, Aeligon was surprised at how well they spoke the native language.

  "And we know nothing of yours, except that you have very sharp objects pointed in our direction.” Pux's sarcasm was lost on the inexperienced tribesman. Aeligon thumped the staff into the ground, and offered a calming smile. The tribesman shrugged.

  "We want to understand what has happened here,” Aerinas ventured, stepping forward. The Klull all stepped a few paces back when Aerinas moved to the front of the party. The marked man smiled.

  "You possess the magic of the trees. It is strong in you, much like it was with the bad people who stole our stone."

  Aerinas noted the tribesman's despair when he mentioned the stone for the second time, and bowed low, a sign of respect for their loss. “Can you tell me about this stone? Where did it come from?"

  The tribesman looked skyward; the other Klull-folk did, too. “A beautiful woman from the sky brought it to us. She had hair of fire, skin as smooth as river-rock, and eyes of deepest blue."

  Aerinas could hardly contain his excitement. Could it be
Kruna? He had barely thought of her since his last dream. So much time had passed, it seemed, since he felt her presence or heard her voice. Hearing of her again made his heart sing.

  "Did she tell you her name?” the elf asked, leaning in closer.

  The other shook his head. “She just ordered Klull to keep smooth stone piece safe and hidden from all those who may come to seek it."

  "How long ago was this?” Aerinas felt on the verge of making great leaps in their quest, if only the marked man would keep talking.

  "Our people have been keeping it safe for centuries, each generation passing down the sacred rituals and secrets the spirit people gave us long ago. They told us our duty was sent from on high by a great goddess."

  "And until the bad people came, no one has stolen it?"

  The other shook his head again. “We are very skilled at what we have

  learned from the spirit people."

  "But how did these bad people steal it?"

  The other hung his head in shame. “My shame in failing in my task led me to this place of pain and guilt. The bad people defiled our sanctuary while I was watching over the stone, so the blame must fall on me. I was marked like this by my own hand as penance for my sin. Then, I waited for you to come."

  Aerinas blinked. “I'm sorry? You waited for us to come?"

  "We knew it would only be a matter of time before those who seek to reclaim the stone would come here. The goddess who rules this land is doing everything She can to guide the One who would bring restoration to her people."

  Aerinas rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. The grove had gone eerily silent, even with the mass of spear-wielding Klull tribe surrounding them. “Where did the bad people come from?” he asked, feeling that Aeligon would be asking the same question any moment. “Show us how they got here."