by Riley Keene
“Huh.” Ermolt hefted his hammer, looking over at the door. “I wasn’t actually serious, but, are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I got a rubbing and while I’m usually all for keeping things as un-smashed as possible for posterity and study, this place has really tried my patience so far.”
Elise couldn’t find a flaw in that logic. Her feet hurt, her back was sore, and while the air was cool and damp now, the previously scorching tunnels had given her a bad case of the grumps. “Let us get to a safe distance, Ermolt, and you can do what you do best.”
After checking for any lurking rats down the hall, Elise and Athala took shelter where the room funneled into the hallway. Ermolt sized up the door a bit dramatically, tapping his hammer on it in a few different places. From back where they stood, the sounds were barely able to be heard, but it was obvious that he was listening to try and find a weak point.
After another few taps he tensed and took a hard swing at the left side of the door close to where it met with the wall. The strike landed with a heavy boom that resounding in the room and shook the rocks in their pile. The door held, but bits of the rock broke free beneath the hammer, a spiderweb of small cracks forming around the point of impact. He spun and struck again, this time on the right side, similarly just inside of where the door met the wall. Elise could see the impact left a similar spiderweb of cracks across that side of the door.
Ermolt surveyed the damage for a moment and nodded. “Alright. You ladies might want to duck a little.” Elise and Athala complied and Ermolt backed up, at first just a few steps, and then continuing until he stood just in front of them. He bent at the knees, setting his feet as though preparing for a foot race.
With a grunt he pushed off, breaking into a run towards the door. He threw his weight into a huge overhand swing bellowing loudly as he forced his momentum into the strike. The head of his hammer landed on the doors, striking where they met in the middle.
A great boom erupted from the impact of blow, and the doors gave way beneath the force of the strike. The right door cracked along the fault he had weakened before, and the left was ripped from whatever hinges held it into place.
The two pieces of the right door began to swing out along the normal path of the door, but tore free themselves, tumbling into the room beyond. The left door clapped down onto the stone floor with another resounding boom, accompanied by a shower of sparkling motes, some magical effect failing and collapsing into sparks that sputtered and bounced along the floor away from the fallen door. Chips and fragments of both doors peppered the ground in the aftermath of the loud collapse.
Athala winced and looked to Elise. “That was likely a very nasty spell we just avoided.” They crossed the room to the door and Athala bent to observe the continuing sparkles dancing across the ground. “You see, the stronger the spell, the longer the motes last. A spell deadly enough to kill will last just a breath.” She watched as the final few motes began to flicker out. “That was at least three.”
“Good work, Ermolt,” Elise said and she clapped him on the back as she continued past him into the room. She stopped for a moment, breathless. “I may not be the resident expert, but this looks like it might be the place we’re looking for.”
Chapter Eight
Beyond the shattered door was a room entirely unlike the tunnels they had traversed.
Ermolt let out a low whistle.
Where the worn stone hallways had shown signs of age, dirt, and the passage of time, the massive room seemed untouched by all. Its walls were made of smooth white stone. The ceiling arched above them, easily ten times Ermolt’s height. There seemed to be a pure white glow filling the room with no visible source. It was low, but the white stone caught the light and threw it around the room, leaving no corner marred by shadow.
Along the far wall there was an eye-catching tapestry that appeared to be woven from golden thread. It ran the height of the wall from floor to ceiling, and a bit of cloth gathered along a raised section of floor. The tapestry was flanked by two smooth white statues that looked like elderly women, their arms crossed over their chests. Ermolt interpreted their carved expressions as they looked out over the room as a form of grandmotherly pride and love.
In the center of the room was a great dais, bracketed by white stone pillars wrapped in glittering golden ribbons. The dais itself rose out of the floor with perfectly carved, unworn stone steps leading up to the surface, where an altar sat.
In a corner against the near wall, there was a small study area with a few shelves of ancient books, and a few tables with chairs. While nothing had decayed into piles of rot, they were not as untouched by time as the rest of the room seemed to be. Even from the entrance, Ermolt could see the cracks clearly on the wooden surfaces, and the shelves that bowed with age. The leather covers of the books were visibly cracked and flaking.
Athala immediately headed towards the shelves. As if Ermolt really should have expected anything else. The wizard set about examining the spines of the books with her hands behind her back to stop herself from touching them. It even looked like she was holding her breath, as some of the leather-bound tomes looked old enough to be reduced to dust by a sharp gust of air.
Elise seemed more enraptured by the altar on the dais, and she approached carefully. She dropped to one knee as if to worship at the steps, but instead of bowing her head in prayer she poked and prodded at the smooth edges. Looking for traps, perhaps. She was always paranoid of such things, and as Ermolt looked down at the blackened stone of the door, perhaps there was reason to be. Elise finally worked her way up the stairs and began examining the dais itself.
Ermolt, meanwhile, simply tried to stay out of the way.
He didn’t know anything about architecture or stonework to help Elise examine the dais, and he knew he would just destroy something ‘priceless’ if he even approached the bookshelves Athala was looking at.
Instead, he took a moment to survey the destroyed doors. A puff of pride overcame him at the sight of his handiwork, but there wasn’t much to look at. The only thing really interesting were some scorch marks on the left door, where the motes of magical energy had burst from. Without any magical affinity or training, he didn’t know enough about what he was looking at for it to hold his attention for more than a few moments.
Ermolt crossed his arms over his chest and watched the women work. Elise had made it all the way up the dais and was running her fingers over the sides of the altar, once again either checking for traps or hidden compartments or whatever ancient architects did with places that would eventually become ruins. Athala looked to be attempting to remove a book from one of the shelves, carefully sliding it rhen by laborious rhen as slow as she possibly could.
With a bored sigh, Ermolt decided that if he was going to be a help to one of them, it would likely be Elise. Approaching Athala might make her jump and result in the destruction of whatever she was trying to look at. And then she’d scold him. And while Elise was the more likely of the two to reprimand, Athala’s chiding always made Ermolt feel like a monster, especially when it was something he could have avoided by just not touching or interrupting.
Ermolt headed up the dais steps to the altar. As he approached, Elise looked up and glared at him.
“Ydia’s Grace, Ermolt. I thought we might have brought the whole place down on us before I realized it was only your inhumanly massive feet.” She scowled before shaking her head and laughing. She returned to looking at the altar.
“Sorry,” Ermolt said with a shrug. There wasn’t much he could do about his massive booted feet. He wasn’t a former thief who could skulk about in near perfect silence, or a wizard who weighed less than Ermolt’s own hammer, but it wasn’t like Elise expected him to be quiet either. “Do you need any help with this?”
“What sort of help would I need?” she asked, a twinge of amusement in her voice.
“I don’t know. Maybe this moves and there’s something under it?” He set his hammer down on the
floor and placed his hands on the sides of the altar, pushing on it slightly. There was no movement, not a single rhen of shift or tip.
“I’m not sure that’ll work.” Elise tapped on the bottom of the altar next to his hands. “I’m pretty sure it’s all carved from one stone. There is a small gap there, and there’s not enough light for me to see in clearly, but it looks like it was cut for appearance rather than because they’re separate pieces.”
“Well, I could check for you. A good heave might get somewhere. At the very least we’d know for sure, if that’s important.” He shrugged. “I just know I’m going to do something actively unhelpful if I don’t find something helpful to do.”
“Well, alright. Sure.” She went back to examining the side of it carefully. “I doubt it will work, but it’ll at least be amusing to watch you try.”
Ermolt shrugged, setting his feet as well as he could against the smooth stone floor. He put his hands on the altar, and lowered down until he could set his shoulder against the short side, aiming to push it lengthwise.
With a grunt, he began to push, at first feeling no movement. He pushed harder, tensing as he felt one of his feet begin to slide along the smooth floor. He stepped his foot forward, ahead of the other, maintaining his continuous push.
After a moment with no progress, he redoubled his efforts, leaning in harder.
When nothing happened still, he tensed his arms, adding their strength to the attempt. He groaned with effort, but the stone refused to budge. A moment more of strain, as beads of sweat began to form on his brow, and he finally relented, pushing back up to stand upright. He frowned down at the altar.
“I told you,” Elise said with a smile as she patted his arm. “I’m almost positive it’s just one giant stone.”
“Perhaps you’re right. I guess I’m not going to be much help here.” He shrugged, turning to pick up his hammer. He looked down at the stone where his hammer had rested, and tilted his head curiously. It looked, well, odd. Different? He wasn’t sure. “Hey, can you take a look at something?”
“What?” Elise straightened up and grinned widely at him. “Did you break something?”
“Maybe?” He knelt down and brushed his hand over the slightly darker-looking spot on the stone. Before his eyes, it seemed to spread slightly where his fingers touched. It was almost as if the stone were changing color, but there was no indication of why. “I’m not sure what I’m looking at here.”
She crossed over to where he was standing and frowned down at the strange spot on the stone. Her brow furrowed as she looked between his face and his hand. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. I think. This is just where my hammer was while I was shoving the altar.” He rubbed his hand across it again, and once more it spread a little ways along the path left by his fingers.
Elise looked back at the altar, where Ermolt had been pushing it. She poked at the spot, swirling her finger in a bit of the dust that rested there. “Is there something on your hammer? Something that might be triggering a reaction?”
“Like what? Steel? Some impurity in the metal?” He held his hammer up, looking at the metal of the head. It was a pretty standard weapon, and he couldn’t see how the heavy thing would cause the floor to change color.
“No, not something in it, more like something on it. Like blood or something.”
“Not that I’ve put on it on purpose. Maybe some rat blood from earlier? But I cleaned most of that off when we stopped to rest.” He looked closer at the hammer’s head. “All that’s on it is bone dust from those skeletons. Maybe a bit of powdered stone from the smashed doors.”
“It might actually be a combination of the two.” She grabbed Ermolt’s elbow, steering him towards the altar. “Rub the hammer on the stone right here.” She pointed to a spot on the side of the altar as she drew her mace from her belt.
He rubbed the side of the hammer head against the stone, and the same dark spot began to form. Elise wiped her hand along the head of her mace, collecting any residual bone dust, and rubbing it onto the altar next to Ermolt’s darkened spot. There was no effect.
“Hold on.” She darted around the altar, back down the dais, and to the shattered door. Elise grabbed a fist-sized chunk of rock. She returned just as quickly as she left and rubbed the stone on the other side of the altar. The broken edge ground against the smooth white stone to leave traces of rock on the spot. There was no effect, but when she moved back over, grinding the stone on the spot where she had left the hand print of bone dust, a dark spot began to form. “Who needs a wizard, eh?” She grinned up at him. “It’s definitely a combination of the two. Bone dust and rock, either from the door, or just from anywhere. Although that was a pretty odd type of stone on the door. So perhaps that one is special? It’s hard to say without more testing. I’m not sure if it’s mimicking a more intentional mixture, or if they really intended it to be crushed rock and bone dust.” She leaned back on her haunches, inspecting the bit of stone in her hand. “I guess it doesn’t matter as long as it works, huh?”
“I guess. But, go ahead and set the stone down. I’ll get us halfway towards figuring out what’s going on with it.” Ermolt hefted his hammer across his shoulder. Elise dropped the stone into the middle of the altar and backed away, moving down the dais to where she could take cover behind one of the pillars if needed.
Ermolt hesitated for a moment. What if they broke something? Athala seemed so distracted with the books and so it was easy to assume that perhaps the spell was there. Or she was just being her typical bookworm self. Hard to tell with her.
Elise looked up at Ermolt expectantly, so he shrugged and brought his hammer around once to test his swing, lightly tapping the top of the rock on the altar before raising it again and bringing it down hard. As soon as he knew he was on target, he closed his eyes and turned his head, guarding against any debris that might fly out of the strike.
The bit of rock shattered between the steel of Ermolt’s hammer and the harder stone of the altar. Bits of shattered rock bounced off his hide armor, and a larger piece struck the pillar to his left. For the most part the altar and dais was showered with small bits of powdered rock and gravel.
The cracking sound quickly faded from the room rather than echoing, despite its size.
But the sound was soon followed by similar cracking noises.
Ermolt turned to look at the source of the sound to find that the statues at the far end of the room had formed cracks down the front of them. The once grandmotherly expressions of the status now looked ominous as the cracks distorted the features to make them scowl.
“Well, that’s probably normal,” Ermolt said with a twinge of sarcasm as he readied his hammer. “What’s the plan, Elise?”
“Well, I’m going to try and spread this stone dust out a bit better,” Elise said from behind him as she climbed back up the dais to the altar. “You can feel free to go investigate. Let me know if you need a hand with your thing before we hike back to get some bone dust.”
Ermolt took two steps forward. The cracks in the statues began to widen as time passed, bits of the smooth white stone falling free and bouncing away in chunks, revealing a darkened space set into the wall behind them. He got another handful of steps before there was a muffled booming noise and the cracked stone scattered away from the opening on the left.
A skeleton emerged from the opening, draped in ancient purple rags. On the other side there was a sharper sound, more like a raging gale than a thunderous rumble. The stone flew free, flung across the room revealing a second skeleton similarly clad, this one wearing whitish tones. The two creatures looked more alert than the others they had seen before, and Ermolt mused that perhaps a few ages of being so close to the magic of the spell had preserved them better. Neither held a weapon, however, and the rags they wore would provide little protection against the metal of his hammer.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Elise. Looks like I’ve got it all under control.” Ermolt climbed down th
e steps of the dais, giving his hammer a flourish to try and shake off the faint tingle in his fingers from the impact with the stone of the altar. “We’ve got a couple of skeleton friends right here.”
“Do you need any help dealing with them?” Elise’s voice sounded closer, and Ermolt assumed she had taken a few steps toward him to investigate.
Ermolt looked at the two creatures as they stepped out of their respective tombs. With a shake of his head, he grinned over his shoulder to the concerned looking Conscript. “Don’t worry about me. Go ahead and spread that stone around. I’ll have that bone dust ready in a moment. They don’t even have weapons!”
Chapter Nine
Ermolt’s anticipation of an easy fight faded somewhat when the skeletons didn’t charge him as he approached. They definitely noted his approach, but they seemed to be waiting for him, denoting that some degree of intelligence remained in their skulls.
He almost hesitated when the one of the left raised its hands in front of itself, a slight twitch of the wrists reminding him of when Athala prepared to cast a spell. For Athala, it was the shake of her arms to free them from the sleeves of her robe or dress.
It was an action that revealed the skeleton must at least hold memories of life, whether or not it retained the abilities.
Spell-casting skeletons were not unheard of. They were rare, and were usually not accidents, from what he could remember. Skeletons animated by generic magic or nonspecific curses were almost universally just dumb bones, capable only of hatred for the living and blind aggression. But it was possible for a spell caster, properly interred and prepared, to awaken as a skeleton that retained the talents they had in life.
