by Chris Ward
‘This would hold a great multitude,’ Reigin said. ‘It is surely a temple of some sort, a place of worship perhaps...’ He did not get further for suddenly the sound of footsteps came clearly to them, and shadows flickered as the glow of approaching torches reached into the hall from the far doorway.
‘Stand firm my friends,’ Sylvion said, a hand upon her blade. ‘We come in peace...’
‘You come in peace!’ a voice repeated and it seemed to echo endlessly off the stone walls and roof far above. Suddenly they saw before them a man of great height and royal bearing. He wore a long and flowing robe embroidered in a manner which could not easily be discerned. He was bald and old and quite ugly, and yet he smiled with a warmth that was at first quite welcoming. Ten creatures then entered the hall, each carrying a torch and stood behind the regal one. They were men clear enough, of a type, but changed in some fashion to resemble something lesser. Strong and powerful with mighty shoulders and huge thighs they showed no emotion and seemed to know exactly what the tall man wished, for no words passed between them.
‘We come in peace,’ Sylvion repeated boldly in a voice which also showed no fear, and Rema marvelled at her courage, but quickly recalled that she had fought great enemies and single handedly defeated them all. ‘My name is Sylvion Greyfeld and I and my companions wish you no harm. We come to seek news of one who has passed by here. I greet you in peace Sira.’
The tall man bowed in exaggerated humility. ‘Indeed you can do nought else my dear. But I see you are armed so perhaps I should fear you just a little!’ he laughed loudly and all knew that the tone had changed. ‘Please do not bandy words with me,’ he continued, ‘for I am apprised of your intent.’ He paused and walked toward them without the slightest concern. ‘I am grateful to the Lord Ungarit. He has sent you surely, knowing that my sacred supply is low,’ he laughed evilly again and Rema felt his skin crawl in fear. ‘My name is Shevryn. Lord Shevryn. Lord High Priest of the Great Temple of Ungarit in Ravalin. You are, unhappily for you, and joy to me, my sacred ones.’ He bowed again and they all were completely confused by his meaning.
‘Lord Shevryn...’ Sylvion began but got no further for suddenly the tall man, the ugly Priest in the flowing robe stood right before them as if transported the final steps in an instant, where he raised his hands and gestured in a most effeminate but symbolic manner, and suddenly the air around him wavered and rippled and flowed out and encompassed those he stood before.
I cannot move thought Reigin in a panic, what sorcery is this? The others too found that they were as statues and could not in the least manner even scratch their noses.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed the Lord High Priest Shevryn in glee, ‘I get so little opportunity these days.’ He walked around the frozen group. ‘And yet I have not lost my skill. There you are my sacred ones. All mine and without a drop of blood split.’ He rubbed his hands together in an endless writhing motion, and smiled and laughed and continued in a manner which chilled them all despite their inability to move... ‘At least not yet,’ he concluded, and laughed once more. All the time the ten creatures behind him stood without stirring and looked on in silent awe at what their Lord had brought about.
‘Come Treacher,’ the Priest ordered in a newer and harsher tone, and one of the ten half-men came instantly to him. ‘Disarm them and give report on what you find.’ Immediately the creature did so. He first took Reigin’s sword.
‘A good blade my Lord,’ he said in a voice which was as ugly as he. ‘But too long to wield well.’ He placed it upon the platform, and then went to Rema, relieving him of his bow and quiver. He gave an ugly laugh. ‘A child’s bow, and arrows without feathers. Quite useless My Lord.’ These too were placed upon the platform with Reigin’s sword. He then went to Gravyn and soon his bow and quiver was with the other weapons with just a grunt and a dismissive comment. ‘Only a long bow.’ And then he went to Sylvion who stood in quiet fury, unable to move at all, and cursing herself for her politeness when clearly she needed to have used her Shadow Blade before calamity struck.
The half-man took the Shadow Blade with a snigger. ‘It is a dagger my Lord. No more. I have seen children play with more dangerous toys.’ This too was quickly placed with the others and then the creature called Treacher stood back. ‘That is all My Lord.’ The High Priest of the Temple of Ungarit smiled and nodded, but gave no thanks to Treacher for his quick work.
‘Well perhaps you did come in peace. For surely you would do little damage with what you carry to protect yourselves,’ he said indicating the pile of weapons, and once more his laugh echoed around the mighty hall.
High up in the gallery to one side Orcxyl watched, motionless and with a deadly focus; he had not followed the others down into the great hall. He had silently left them at the first platform, where the stairs on either side rose up into the dark. His absence had gone unnoticed for he mostly walked behind and by now they were used to his coming after, but he felt the sorcery of the place more deeply than the rest and his hunter’s instinct spoke to him of a need for great caution.
You can walk into a trap he had thought, but not Orcxyl the Great Hunter. The aldelope approaches the waterhole of the sabrecat without haste. I will see what comes to pass from a safe distance. I do not trust this place.
Orcxyl had felt the air change as the High priest cast his binding spell. Even high up in the gallery he was not untouched and for a moment he could not move, his actions slowed and his body briefly frozen as a cold hand passed over his heart; but then it passed and he watched in fear as the others had their weapons taken, standing immobile like four stone statues, unable to do anything beyond listen to the rantings of the evil Priest. Orcxyl felt a great temptation then to put a poison arrow into him, but he knew that it would not work. Such a thing which might kill an animal in a moment would have no effect against sorcery. When Treacher got to Sylvion and removed her Shadow Blade and sheath he marvelled for he learnt something which till then he had not understood.
‘The Shadow Blade hides itself,’ he muttered. ‘It is smaller, no more than a dagger, but I have seen it wielded, it was a full sword...’ And he smiled for he knew that all was not lost, and so he sat and watched what came to pass and his hunter’s brain thought clearly of what next he might do.
‘Bind them Treacher,’ the High Priest ordered abruptly, and instantly the half-man directed three others of the torch bearers to assist. In no time Sylvion, Reigin, Rema and Gravyn were securely bound with strong rope , their hands secured expertly behind their backs. With a wave of his hand the priest removed the spell which held them and Orcxyl watched as they were marched away through the door and deeper into the rock of the headland. He waited for a span, watching and sitting motionless in the deep shadow high up above the temple floor. When he felt that it was safe he returned by the way he had come and then down the stairs into the great hall. He kept to the shadows by the columns, moving behind them, as soundless as a ghost. Then with his bow and a single poison arrow ready, he darted out into the hall and collected all the weapons which had been left behind. Once more he returned to the gallery above and found a place where they would not be stumbled upon, and hid them there, but the Shadow Blade he belted around his waist; and then as he was about to return to the hall to try and locate his captured friends, two of the half-men returned, their torches casting an ever moving dance of grotesque shadows on the walls and columns, and high above upon the ceiling. Orcxyl had no choice but to sit and listen to their crude conversation.
‘Da weapons are gone. Dey were here.’
‘Dey can’t be just disappeared.’
‘Dey are not here fool. You see dem?’
‘Don’t call me fool you oaf, haps one of da others come back and took dem.’
‘We only been gone short while, who would have taken dem.’
‘Treacher disappear quick enough, he loves take things, he might done it.’
‘No he went with Lord Shevryn.’
‘Den who?’
‘How wou
ld I know?’
‘What we do?’
‘Well if we return and say dey are gone, we will be blamed, dey will tink we took dem.’
‘If we say we got rid of dem like we was ordered, den no one will know.’
‘Unless dey turn up and den we will surely join sacred ones.’
‘Let’s say nothing.’
The two dim witted half-men looked at each other then and looked around the platform as if to confirm the weapons were really no longer there.
‘We say nothing,’ the other one said at last in agreement, and they left, their torch light fading quickly down the tunnel from whence they had come. Orcxyl found his heart was pounding and so he sat and thought upon the foolishness of the creatures. They are greatly fearful of any punishment and no one seems to trust anyone here, so it has played well into my hands he thought, and smiled, but his hunter instinct then told him to wait and let time pass before once more trying to find the others. He sat still and listened to the darkness and as he did so a strange thing happened. He fell into a troubled sleep as the magic of the temple worked some unknown sorcery upon him.
He did not then wake for a long time and all the while his dreams were of humans sacrificed, and people lying dead and white and bloodless upon the platform in the great hall below. And Freya’s face kept coming before him so that in his slumber he shook and muttered and reached for her. And then she was gone, only to reappear a little later and so his agony repeated itself once more.
They walked some distance in a daze. The evil Priest led the way and all about were the half-men, leering and awkward, but massively powerful and clearly willing to do whatever harm was required of them. The captives did not speak and only then in the dark tunnel did each realise that Orcxyl had escaped their fate, such was the shock of what had suddenly overtaken them.
We are in your hands once more Orcxyl , Sylvion thought sombrely. Surely you are a great gift to us, for you seem to know when to disappear or be there when danger lurks. I have greatly misjudged you. She looked about at her companions in despair, and then whispered to the air as if to send a message.
‘Once more Orcxyl, we need you now most desperately. Find us.’
‘Quiet!’ grunted one of the half-men who heard some of her words but knew not their meaning, thinking only that she was speaking to one of the others who walked with her. He hit her with a fist and was taken by surprise when in an instant, and despite his bonds Reigin turned and with a jumping kick to his head felled him senseless. The other half men stared in mute admiration for it was so quick and clean and over in a moment. The priest did not see this, but heard a thud; he turned and saw the prone man and frowned. Reigin just stood and defied them to respond.
‘You shall not strike the woman,’ he said in voice that thundered mightily in the tunnel such that the half-men stepped back and waited for their master to act.
‘Leave the fool where he lies,’ the High Priest ordered after a time, ‘he will feel my wrath when he wakes.’ He spoke then to Reigin. ‘I see you have some art in acts of violence; well you will soon enough find that my skill far exceeds yours.’ He laughed evilly and the other half men with him, and then once more they were marched on, whilst Sylvion breathed a sigh of relief for she thought Reigin had been in great danger. They turned down a side tunnel to their left, one of many they passed, and then kept on until a large chamber was reached. It was lit with several large torches, mounted on the walls, which by their smell, and the soot above, Rema guessed were fuelled by whale oil. Three large iron doors, all heavily braced and bolted were set into the walls some distance apart. It was clear to them all that this was a dungeon, and one from which escape through solid rock was impossible.
‘Welcome to your new home, sacred ones,’ the High Priest said without any attempt to disguise his sarcasm. ‘You will be warm and dry and well fed. Please enter now without fuss or my faithful ones here will see you in, but somewhat damaged.’ He smiled evilly. ‘We do like to avoid such trouble here, and I want you unblemished. It is best.’ He stood watching as one of the iron doors was unbolted and swung open. ‘I will leave you now,’ he concluded, ‘for I have much to prepare, but you cannot know how joyful I am at your unexpected arrival. The morrow will be so much better for it.’ And with that he took the one called Treacher and left in a hurry. They had no opportunity to oppose the remaining half-men for they all carried swords and clubs and so within a moment they were securely locked away in a large chamber which was indeed quite warm, but dimly lit from an air shaft which rose up from the ceiling to the sky above. Reigin stood beneath it and quickly pronounced it an impossible means by which they might escape. No sooner had he done so than a loud coughing from the shadows in one corner took them all by surprise. They turned together and saw a figure lying on a stone bed covered in old straw. Sylvion gasped.
‘Lars!’ she exclaimed. The figure sat up and looked about in a wildly disconnected manner.
‘Who is there? You know me?’ the man replied, seemingly unable to focus on the one who had spoken, but Sylvion was at his side in an instant.
‘More than that Lars,’ she said gently, ‘You know me.’ A silence followed in which all were puzzled, even Sylvion.
‘I cannot see,’ the man called Lars said finally, in a soft and most pitiful manner. ‘I lost my sight when I was captured. I took a blow to the head.’
At this Sylvion grasped his hand. Lars instinctively pulled away. ‘Who are you?’ he said fearfully. ‘What trickery is this? No one can know who I am. I am far from home and lost in a fell land of treachery.’ And with this he fell to sobbing and shaking so that Sylvion took him in her arms and soothed him over and over.
‘I do know you Lars. And you are with friends now. We too have been captured, but we will not long be held by this place. We will take you with us to safety. These words seemed to calm Lars and after a time he asked again.
‘Who are you kind lady?’
‘I am Sylvion Greyfeld, whom you know as the White Queen of Revelyn. I have come in search of my daughter Rayven, and the brave man who left all to travel with her, and see, I am successful in some manner for I have found you.’ At this Lars trembled and shed more tears and they all saw that he was deeply moved.
‘You are the White Queen?’ he whispered. ‘Surely not.’
‘I am the Queen, Lars. Do you not remember my voice?’ The man nodded.
‘Indeed it is familiar My Lady,’ he whispered, ‘but you must understand this is hard for me. I cannot see.’
‘Then perhaps I can prove it to you,’ Sylvion replied, and turning to her companions, spoke clearly. ‘Gravyn come here.’ The great archer obeyed instantly and knelt by the crude bed, and his Queen.
‘Lars, ask Gravyn here just who he defeated in the last contest you saw in Ramos near four seasons ago.’
‘Gravyn is with you?’ Lars asked in awe. ‘Gravyn, the champion archer of Revelyn?’
‘I am my lad,’ Gravyn replied and at the sound of his deep voice Lars brightened.
‘I know that voice indeed. Tell me Sira, as this kind lady...I mean my Queen... as she requires. Set my heart at rest. Who did you defeat last?’
‘It was Jasyn, the one-eyed. He came from Petros on the coast, but he could not best me,’ Gravyn said with a chuckle and Rema realised that it was the first time he had seen the archer show any humour at all, and yet as always his face revealed nothing. At his words however Lars relaxed and sat back breathing heavily.
‘I saw you Gravyn. In fact I won a tidy sum on your win for you were ill if I remember and many bet against you.’ At this Gravyn nodded.
‘You remember truly lad. I was not well at all that day. I thank you for your confidence in me.’ And with that Gravyn took Lars’ hand and squeezed it hard. ‘Come my boy we will see you to safety now, despite our predicament.’ He stood then and left Sylvion to minster to him. She wiped his tearful face with a gentle hand, and then sat by him on his rough bed.
‘We found your horses
in the city, Lars,’ Sylvion said quietly. ‘Tell me what has come to pass, and what news is there of Rayven?’ She spoke with an anxiety in her voice which was clear to all. Lars took a breath and stared straight ahead, his eyes unseeing.
‘We travelled easily from Ramos,’ he said. ‘We made good progress and found no obstacle to hinder our path. I cannot remember how long ago we left but we had good times together.’ He felt for Sylvion’s hand and took it. ‘I confess My Lady that I loved her, but she saw me only as friend and so we travelled in that manner although I hoped she might see more in me...’ At these words Rema found himself intrigued, for in this Lars seemed not unlike himself in matters of the heart.
‘Rayven was sure we might find an answer to the sinking of the land here in these old ruins. She spoke often of it.’ Lars continued and seemed to warm to his story, as if he had held much within himself for too long. ‘She talked of the ancient Wisden and history and evil in Revelyn. She hated Gryfnor My Lady, and thought him a source of evil which needed to be destroyed, but though I asked her why she could not say. It was an intuition I believe.’ Sylvion squeezed his hand.
‘And she was right to feel as she did Lars. This much I have discovered in recent days.’
‘Rayven said it was reported that the ancient Ravalin had found a way to halt the land sinking, for an age ago it had happened here as it has in Ramos and other places in Revelyn. When we arrived I was amazed to see the city as it was, just as if the people had left it, and yet half sunk into the sea...’ He paused and sat motionless and the others assumed he was collecting his thoughts.
‘We were captured on the second day My Lady. I never saw anyone. I cannot remember it all but there was a fearful blow to my head and then I woke here, in this fell place, and I could not see.’
‘Rayven was alive then?’Sylvion whispered anxiously.
‘Yes My Lady, and she looked to my needs for some time before she left.’
‘She is not here. She is still alive?’
