by Kal Spriggs
He saw hate there too. Grel knew that even if none of the mercenaries left the safety of their camp, he would have another sleepless night. If he closed his eyes for even a few minutes, one of them would slip a blade in his back.
“So if they're at the fortress, do we attack right away?” Grel asked.
“No, I'll need to work with the Norics and Armen shamans and warlocks to weaken the defenses first,” Xavien said. “Plan to attack several hours after sunset, at the earliest.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Grel said. “And... who leads the first wave in?”
Xavien gave a laugh, “Oh, the Norics will go first... to take the brunt of the casualties. They're easily replaceable. The Armen and your men will follow.”
Grel noted carefully to himself that Xavien had not mentioned what would happen after that. And he didn't say I wasn't easily replaceable either, he thought grimly.
***
Aerion Swordbreaker
Aerion stepped past the group assigned to inventory and empty the armory, and then to the heavy stone doors to the treasure vault. Katarina and Bulmor stood in the recently opened doorway. Katarina looked up, “Where have you been?”
Aerion shrugged, he found it hard to tell the time in the tunnels, but he guessed that must be close to midnight. “I had to check something out,” he said.
She frowned, but then her attention returned to the small chamber, the narrow stone shelves and the three chests. “It seems rather small.”
Bulmor lifted the lid of the nearest chest. The treasury room flared with light as the stones that Katarina and Aerion held lit up the glittering coins within. Bulmor reached a hand down and drew up a handful of the large golden coins. “These are gold, milady. The High Kingdom's Ducats, unless I'm mistaken. You could buy trained warhorse with two Ducats. This chest alone will fund this campaign.”
As the two continued to talk, Aerion looked at the back wall of the room. Something bothered him about it. It seemed too solid, too forbidding. Something about that wall made him want to avoid it, to turn around and...
He found himself back down the hallway, in a small room off the hallway, across from the armory. Aerion's head throbbed, and he had to lean it against the cool stone of the wall for a moment.
“Are you well, Aerion?” his mother asked.
He looked up, “There's... something about this place. Now and again, I notice things, rooms and hallways that other people don't seem to see. I think... I think the spirit of this place protects those areas, places it doesn't want us to venture.”
“You are correct,” Cederic said from behind him.
Aerion turned, surprised, “But why? It said it would help us!”
“Yes... but it held some things back, things of which it didn't find us worthy,” Cederic said. “Though from what you said, I think you might have impressed it somehow. What things have you seen that others didn't?”
Aerion unwrapped the cloth package he held. He pulled out a metal horn almost two feet in length. A fine-linked brass chain ran from the bell back to the mouthpiece, so that it could be slung over a shoulder or tied off to a belt. Gold and platinum inlay covered its surface, shaped into odd symbols that caught the eye and seemed almost to writhe as Aerion rotated it in his hands. “When the others removed the bodies, they took the weapons and equipment... but they left this, right out in the middle of the floor, it was as if...” he shook his head, “It was like only I could see it.”
Cederic reached out one hand, then hesitated, “May I?”
Aerion passed the horn over. Cederic held it up and he shook his head, “I heard the voice of Southwatch and it told me we would only see those things we needed. This is a great treasure it gifted you, Aerion.”
“You recognize it?” Aerion asked. “Is it magic?”
“Yes... a priceless treasure, one that I had never thought to find here,” Cederic said. “I believe...” He looked up, “Hello Arren.”
Aerion turned to find Arren emerge from a shadowed alcove. “No need for disguises here, I think we all know who I am.”
“Very well, Herald,” Cederic said. “And now that you have us here, do you wish to explain where things went wrong?”
Aramer gave a shrug as he set aside his staff and removed his floppy hat. “I'm not certain. I thought that the spirit would accept Lady Katarina...”
“It has, though,” Aerion said. “It allowed her access to the armory and it has allowed her to take money from the treasury–”
“But nothing else from there, right Aerion?” Aramer said, his voice low and intent. “She is not allowed to touch the other items that rest there, is she?”
Aerion almost asked what other items... but he felt a shock as he realized that he knew other treasures lay in the vault and, in particular, something that Southwatch would not let fall into hands it judged unworthy.
“You did meld with it then,” Aramer said. “Which tells me that it found you worthy of some of its secrets, at least. Though I wished for far more.”
Aerion frowned, “The Herald, the one who died here... he was your ancestor, wasn't he?” Aramer nodded and Aerion continued the line of questions, “The mission... his mission, he passed that on, that's what this is all about for you, isn't it? Whatever mission the Herald came here on, you're here to continue it... only Southwatch won't help you for some reason?”
“Southwatch thinks of itself as the guardian of several items of great value and it will not give those up, not to me,” Aramer said bitterly. “And apparently not even to one of Noth's Disciples, either. I think that it will never give up its secrets.”
“What about this?” Cederic said and raised up the horn.
Aramer frowned, he stared at it, “Where did you find that?”
“Aerion found it,” Cederic said. “Lying on the floor of the council chamber.”
“You were about to tell me what it is,” Aerion said.
“It is the Horn of the Viani, what they or their kin would call Medis Sakveri,” Aramer said, his voice soft. “From when their ancient king ruled all of Eoriel. Forged by their King himself, it is very powerful... and very dangerous.”
“What's it doing here?” Aerion asked
“I have no idea,” Aramer said. “But after the Sundering, many items became lost, and others the remaining King's Guard took to the High Kingdom or fortresses such as this for safekeeping. Maybe this was one such item.”
Cederic passed the horn to Aramer, who held it almost reverently, “It's over five thousand cycles old, yet it hasn't a blemish or scratch.”
“You men are too full of yourselves,” Aerion's mother said. “It's just a horn, it won't win a war and it certainly wasn't why we came here. We need to return to why we are here... and just what you came here in search of, Aramer.”
“This is an irreplaceable piece of history Eleanor!” Aramer said, his voice heated.
“It's a phallic symbol,” she replied, her voice dry. “Which makes all you men go all weak in the knees. Let's get back to the important issues, shall we?”
Aramer's mouth snapped shut, and he lowered the horn. “Very well. I had hoped that Lady Katarina's oath would allow the guardian spirit of this place to release the more powerful items, such as this...” he waved the horn in the air, “uh, phallic symbol, as you called it. But as you can see, other than your son picking it up like a trinket at a fair, we've had no luck.”
“And you've yet to mention what might be here for the taking,” she responded.
“I don't know all of them...” Aramer said testily. He looked over at Cederic, “And I'd prefer not to mention some of them. I do know that the Ducal Blade of Boir is said to–”
“Long and thin sword?” Aerion asked. “Large gemstone in the hilt?”
Arren frowned, “Yes...”
“It's in the armory,” Aerion said. “Like the horn, no one seems to see it.”
Aramer rubbed his face in frustration, “Are you serious?”
“Yes, it's right there in
the corner,” Aerion said. “I can go get it.”
He looked around, and couldn't figure out why the others stared at him. “What is it... you don't want me to get it?”
“Aerion, dear... just what else do you know of that the rest of us haven't noticed?” his mother asked. She had a slightly amused expression on her face.
“Well...” Aerion frowned. “That's mostly it... but there's something about the treasury that bothers me.”
“It's too small,” Cederic said. “I've noticed it as well. The back wall is some kind of projection, one powerful enough that it affects me. The Southwatch warned me that it is trapped and that we are not allowed to go there.”
“But we have to,” Aramer almost shouted. “That must be where it is.”
“Where what is?” Aerion asked.
Aramer opened his mouth to answer, but then the floor began to tremble.
An unearthly scream seemed to emanate from the very walls and the light stone in Aerion's hand dimmed as darkness seemed to contract around them. The scream cut off suddenly, and Aerion heard shouts in the hallway.
Cederic had gone pale, “Something has attacked Southwatch, something very powerful... the defenses are down.”
***
Chapter Seventeen
Captain Grel, The Duke's Hound
Southwatch, The Ryft Peaks, Duchy of Masov
Twenty-Ninth of Seraph, Cycle 999 Post Sundering
Grel squatted in the dark. He heard the hoarse breathing of the mercenaries around him. A part of him despised them for their fear, the greater part of him hated himself for it even more. He could taste their sweat, it cut the bitter metallic taste of fear in his mouth.
Grel stared at the packed ranks of the Norics ahead of them on the trail. Xavien had ordered them to the very edge of the gates and six hundred of them made up the front of the attack force. Behind him, the Armen waited and Grel wondered again whether Xavien had ordered them to spare him once the mercenaries succeeded in their task. He didn't spare a thought for the mercenaries. Grel felt no qualms about sacrificing them for his own survival.
Far below him, he saw the fires of the Noric shamans. Faintly he could hear scraps of song and the occasional scream from their chosen sacrifices. He could also make out the dark shapes of two larger winged demons which circled the fortress.
“Is it time yet?” one the the mercenaries asked.
“Not yet,” Grel snapped, “And keep quiet.”
He felt a prickle in the middle of his back. He didn't doubt that one or more of the mercenaries would try to kill him in the confusion of battle. Grel felt confident that he could handle that though. He planned to kill any who seemed the slightest threat to his survival.
A crescendo of screams echoed up from below. A moment later, flash of green light exploded upwards from the fires. Grel felt the mountain tremble beneath his feet and heard a distant wail. The Norics ahead of them surged to their feet. They ran for the top with bloodcurdling battle cries, in frenzy that sent many to tumble to their deaths as the crowd forced them over the side of the road.
Grel swore and cursed and the mercenaries followed, their movement in a tight formation, shields raised to protect them from any defenders along the walls. Grel had his gaze up high, to better search for such threats, so he saw the first of the winged demons dive towards the open gate. Its leathery black wings swooped just above the heads of the lead Norics. Just where the gate might have stood, it slammed into some invisible force.
Fire and lightning exploded outwards and dozens of Norics died in an instant, their scorched corpses tossed by the detonation. The second demon tried to turn aside, but it struck the wall of the gatehouse with similar results. Grel ducked as bits of flaming demon rained down on him from above. When he looked up again, he saw glowing sigils appear on the walls.
The battle-crazed Norics continued their rush, though, and whatever had stopped the demons proved to be no barrier to normal men. The Norics howls echoed from inside the fortress as they poured inside.
“Get up there, damn you!” Grel shouted, as he saw the mercenaries hesitate. A single glance behind showed that the Armen had not stopped, and that they would trample the mercenaries, and more importantly, him, if they remained frozen.
He swung his sword. He struck men with the flat of the blade to get them to move, even as he screamed threats of what the Armen would do to them. They ran forward finally, more scared of him and the men that came behind than what unknowns lay ahead. Grel followed after them. He gave one last look up at the night sky before he raced under the gatehouse and into the Southwatch.
***
Aerion Swordbreaker
Aerion gave a shout of warning as he saw a Noric about to attack Cederic from behind. Josef stepped forward though, and his hammer hooked the Noric's raised sword arm, while Aerion ran him through.
Aerion turned just in time to catch an ax swing on his shield. He managed to trap the ax and a thrust from Aramer finished the warrior.
Aerion looked around. The dark corridors boiled with Norics. He saw three more of them rush out of the darkness. A blast of what seemed like pure energy swept down the hall to meet them and all three exploded in gore.
Aerion looked away, his eye dazzled by the flash. He looked over to see his mother draw another arrow to her runic bow, a grim look on her face.
“We need to fight our way to the doors of the keep,” Aramer said. “We can hold them there. Otherwise they'll overwhelm us with numbers.”
Aerion gave a nod. He reached down and picked up the light stone with his shield hand. Just as he did, he saw something move in the shadows behind his mother. “Look out!”
She turned too slow. A squat arm swung and slammed her into a tumble. Aerion saw her fall into the side corridor, even as the demon surged forward. He saw Josef step forward, his hammer held in two hands as he swung at the armored demon. The creature dodged to the side and one of its armored claws swung up to strike Josef in the chest. Aerion gave a scream, even as he saw his friend topple backwards. Josef's blood pumped from the horrible wound. The demon continued on to attack Cederic.
The demon bounced off of a crackling sphere of energy, but its talons locked into the ceiling and it skittered above the wizard. Aerion saw Cederic aim his staff and fire several bolts of energy at the squat monster, but none hit as it dropped to the floor between Aramer and Aerion.
“Get clear,” Cederic shouted, but Aerion had no room to move. Nor did he want to, as he only thought to kill the monster that hurt his friend. He swung his sword down at the demon in a two handed blow with all his weight behind it. His sword struck the demon in the square of its back, hard enough to drive it down to its knees. But the sword exploded as a corona of red energy manifested around the demon. The explosion blasted him backwards down the hallway.
Aerion shook the smoldering splinters of his shield off his arm and slapped at the small fires that burned on his clothing. His hands stung where shards of his sword had cut them and blood made them slick.
He had no time to get to his feet. A hairy foot stomped for his face. Aerion caught it with one hand and shoved back to give himself space to move. He rolled out of the way just in time as a spear thrust for his throat. The spearhead struck sparks off the granite floor.
He rolled until his back hit something solid. He saw three Norics in the doorway, their bearded faces drawn back in grins. Aerion pushed himself to his feet as he backed away. He recognized the treasury and realized why the Norics grinned. The dark room's only light came from a fallen torch in the hall behind them.
He had his back to the rear wall of the small chamber and the three Norics blocked the one entrance. Which was odd... because Aerion didn't feel a wall at his back. He knew it was there. He could sense it, only a half step behind him. Aerion felt it on a level which did not allow his mind to argue. But he could not feel the stone against his back. As the three Norics advanced, Aerion closed his eyes. Cederic had warned of traps. If that was the case, Aerio
n only hoped that he took his attackers with him.
He stepped backwards.
The world seemed to freeze for a moment. A wave of darkness enveloped him.
Why have you come here, you are not worthy...
Aerion looked around the darkness. He wondered how long he had until the Norics killed him, or if they too had become trapped in this dark prison. “Who are you?”
I am the Guardian... I am Southwatch. You were not to come here.
“ I had no choice, the Norics have overrun us,” Aerion said. “Three of them are about to kill me.”
I am weak... dying, but do not think me gone yet. It is still in my power to end you. The darkness seemed to constrict around him. I swore I would guard it, and though we no longer live as men, our oaths still bind us. I will not fail, not even in this death of my spirit.
“You are dying?” Aerion asked, shocked. “I thought that spirits could not be destroyed.”
All things can be destroyed, the alien voice spoke, and spirits may face worse... we may be consumed and our energy used to feed those who defeated us. The enemy tries that now, but I have hidden, in this most secret place. Here I will pass, faithful in my oath at the end, as we did in life.
“Then let me help you,” Aerion said. “You showed me things you didn't show others, you trust me, why not trust me to carry on your duty when you cannot?” The idea seemed so simple, yet he felt a sudden unease. What could be so dangerous, so terrible that the King's Guard had sought to keep it hidden even after their deaths?
The spirit did not answer and Aerion wondered if it would kill him or simply let the Norics do it.
I see your soul, young warrior. You have much potential... for good and for darkness. Yet I feel you will abide by your word. Swear to me, now, that you will protect it, and deliver it only to its rightful owner. Swear, as the heir did, that you will seek to restore the High Kingdom.
Did he even know what price this oath would cost him? Was it worth his life, and perhaps his very soul, to accept the spirit's offer? Yet, the alternative was death, and Aerion looked around, “I swear it. I swear I will protect your treasure, whatever it is, and deliver it to its rightful owner, I swear on my ancestors. I swear every effort I have will go to the restoration of the High Kingdom.”
