“I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t,” Warren said.
“A long time? How long have you been down here?” Paladin led silently.
Warren exhaled. Why am I even bothering?
“I assume that, by now, you’ve learned this place is not entirely of the Ajoiner Realm,” Paladin said. “Nearly two centuries ago, when magic had a greater influence on this world, two neighboring kingdoms, far in the west, fought for strength. For decades, blood was spilt in the name of an artifact so powerful that the user had unlimited power. However, it was unusable because of a seal placed on it.
“The kingdom possessing the artifact began to lose the war, and with the enemy at the gates, the king had but one choice. He gave the artifact to his young son and commanded him and the best of the king’s guard to take it far away.
“After months at sea, the son and his guards arrived on this continent. They thought they were safe, but a nearby tribe pursued them to the mountains. Trapped in the alcove above, the prince and the soldiers fought against their pursuers. The prince took a blow to the chest. The blood of royalty unsealed the artifact, and magic exploded throughout the cave.
“Only one guard survived the blast. When the light and dust cleared, a vile cave was formed; however, both the artifact and the prince’s body were gone.
“Desperate to save his prince, the remaining soldier dove into the dark, searching for the boy, but found only darkness. Over time, the artifact awakened magical beasts to protect it. The tome you seek created this place.”
“You talk as though you were there,” Warren said.
Paladin closed his eyes.
He had been there. Warren saw the guilt of not being enough scrolled across his face. He saw the memory of every way Paladin could have changed the outcome—the thought if only I’d done more haunting him.
“That war occurred two hundred years ago. How are you still here?”
Paladin opened his eyes. “I do not fully understand all that the tome did, nor can I begin to fathom its capabilities. I suspect my magical ability may have saved my life. And the artifact’s power must be prolonging it, allowing me to use a new kind of magic that I’m doubtful has ever been seen by the race of man. Not that it does me any good. I have no kingdom. No king. This is where my lord fell. I will not leave him here alone.”
“How can you stand it?” Warren asked.
“What?”
“Being the last survivor. How can you handle the loss?”
No sooner had Warren finished speaking than someone knocked him down. Bewildered, he drew his daggers and searched for his assailant, only to find that Paladin had tackled him.
“Shh,” Paladin hushed.
Warren held as still as possible. A quiet hum filled the cave, and he saw a light appear in the distance. The light drifted closer to them, and the humming grew louder. As it disappeared, the humming dissipated. For several moments, Paladin refused to move.
“It’s safe now,” Paladin said as he stood up.
“What was that?” Warren asked.
“A beliusn, like a forest spirit, only made of animated stone.”
Warren stuck close behind Paladin for hours. Several times, they ducked behind a rock or dove into a ditch to avoid creatures roaming the tunnels.
Warren often wondered how the others were doing. By now, Cassidy should be halfway to the spiders’ nest, and Vallerie should be close to the halfway mark as well. He imagined Emron was making good progress toward the labyrinth. He hated the distance between his team. Before, when they had defended the cities, he at least knew they were alive and had a protocol for any situation. Now, too many variables existed to cover everything.
Paladin led him to a ledge. Warren searched for the bottom of the abyss. There was none. On the other side of the ravine lay the mouth to another passage.
Paladin extended his hand over the chasm and muttered a spell. Dust flew from around the cave and collected in the opening, making a loosely formed bridge. As Paladin stepped out, Warren held his breath, waiting for him to fall, but Paladin walked across the dust as though it were stone.
“Do I have to order you to do every little thing, boy?” Paladin said over his shoulder.
Warren glared at the man but bit his tongue and stepped out onto the dust. It gathered under his feet and supported his weight. Still skeptical, his muscles tensed as he crossed the bridge.
At the other end, Warren scanned the cave.
A long passage of jutting rocks lay before them on one side. On the other a dark tunnel lay in the shadows. Both passageways stood with tall, gaping mouths.
“Follow my every move exactly. Anything you see, hear, and feel beyond my voice is that book. Do not trust it.” This would take a while.
15
E mron breathed in the cool mountain air as he stood on the rim of the caldera. A faint taste of salt drifted from the ocean behind him. Miles upon miles of enclosed passageways slithered over each other like a mass of snakes. He expected the tangle to look more like a maze with walls guiding him to death traps and pits of lava, but it didn’t look that way at all. The maze was an impossible construct of passageways, almost like someone had dug it from the ground but left the tunnels intact. At the center of the wad lay a large black dome. Emron huffed, if the book was in that dome, the people that built the labyrinth were dumber than he thought. Not only had they built a sacred place where it could be easily destroyed, they had the arrogance to draw attention to the main sanctum.
In the distance, Emron could see the ruins of Abbitros. Apathy swelled within him. He knew he should mourn the loss of so many innocent lives, but he couldn’t, not after what the city had done to him. He turned away from the ruins, dwelling on the past would do nothing for him now. Instead, he searched the cliff for a pathway.
Vegetation cascaded down the sheer edges of the volcano, ignorant of the dangers of erruption. How was there beauty in a place of such destruction?
A few feet to his right, a string of thick vines stretched down the cliff. With any luck, they’d hold his weight. He crouched down and picked one up. Tugging it a bit, he gauged its strength. It seemed sturdy enough, but he still didn’t like the idea of trusting a plant to hold his bulk.
This is stupid, Emron thought, stepping onto the steep edge. His feet slid slightly on the vegetation, and he held tighter to the vine. Once he was stable, Emron began shifting his feet along the cliff.
His boots didn’t have the best grip for trampling squishy leaves that oozed slippery chlorophyll. In minutes, he was skidding down the caldera. Sweat trickled down his back as he struggled for balance. He held the vine so tightly that it bled a syrupy sap onto his gloves, making his fingers stick together. Emron grunted as he fought for control. He shifted back, so he was practically lying against the cliff. He slipped more in this position, but could control his movements a little better.
Just as Emron thought he’d figured out how to move, his vine ended. He was so focused on not slipping that he hadn’t realized he’d lost his guide until it was too late. As he flailed to grab hold of anything solid, he lost his footing and slid out of control.
Sky and earth blurred his view and he glided toward the labyrinth, then hit a large rock that flipped him through the air. Emron’s heart pounded in his chest. Vegetation crunched against his armor. It was all he could do to keep his arms and legs close to his body, trying to preserve his internal organs and prevent his limbs from being shattered as he rolled down the rock face. Finally, he slammed into something that broke his descent.
Emron’s vision spun. He’d barely pulled off his helmet before retching. He lay where he stopped for several moments. His body throbbed from crashing down the caldera, but nothing felt broken. Emron eased his limbs away from his body. A squelching sound accompanied the movement. That will take forever to clean.
Once his vision quit spinning, he stood. He’d made it to the labyrinth, at least. Up close, Emron realized the passageways were made of brick and mortar and
were barely taller than him. He was hoping for as much. He didn’t bother to look for the entrance, because he had a better idea.
Reaching up, he hauled his body on top of the tunnel. An unnatural silence settled around him. The sliding of his armor plating filled the air as though he were the only living creature. He didn’t trust the stone under his feet, regardless of its sturdy appearance. Every step he took felt too easy. Emron supposed it might be a trick of his mind; after all, the maze wasn’t built to be trodden on from above. Any sort of snares in the cave would be stored under him; still, doubt lingered in his mind.
Growing up alone meant always knowing when something in the air wasn’t right. And here, the air increased in wickedness every minute. Time inched by as he forced his way along the top of the tunnel. Emron looked back. He no longer saw the passage where he started. Even from his vantage point above the maze, he felt lost.
Emron halted before an overlapping tunnel blocked his path. The three-foot space under the passageway provided enough room for him to crawl through to the other side, but Emron hesitated. He remained frozen, hearing nothing but his own breathing. He couldn’t see what lay beyond the wall. He couldn’t reach the top of the pass. Reluctantly, he dropped and crawled, releasing a held breath as he reached the other side.
A shrill shriek penetrated the silence, and a strange figure knocked him over. Emron bolted to his feet, then scrambled back to the center of the passage, knuckles white around the grip of his war hammer.
Fifty feet away, a dark figure stood on a cloud of mist, suspended in the air. The wedge-headed creature swayed its gaunt, womanly shape from side to side as it stared at Emron with beady eyes. Emron gritted his teeth, irqinix were rare beasts, with an affinity for anomalies in the realm. He should have guessed one would make its roost here. The irqinix wailed, diving toward Emron, its tattered clothing flapping behind. It moved too fast for him to dodge, and it crashed into him. Together they broke through the passage behind him. Emron caught hold of its head and spun it around. The creature went limp on top of him.
He shoved the corpse aside with a grunt. Before he could climb out of the tunnel, the shattered bricks reformed, flying back into place. Emron thrust his hammer into the ceiling, but it held firm. Frustrated and exhausted, he stopped and looked left...then right. He didn’t know which way led to his destination, but he guessed the right.
He stumbled along the passage, following it anywhere it turned. Emron’s hand drifted to his pocket, and his steps hesitated. A sad smile edged to the corner of his lips as his vision clouded with a memory. The note remained safe.
The smile soon faded back into a scowl. Whatever it took, he would succeed.
Emron stopped. The path branched in three separate directions, each one identical to the others. After an indifferent sigh, Emron took a step forward.
Snap!
Emron’s ankle caught on a wire, and he dove forward. Inches above him, a giant cleaver swung down from the ceiling. Safely on the other side, he dusted himself off casually. He had spent much of his youth with Cassidy. He’d be out before the day was done if this was the worst the labyrinth could conjure.
Down into the misty dark he delved, his steps wary and his movements swift as he dodged lethal traps. After several hours of twists and turns, he found himself at a three-way crossroad again. Scowling, Emron lifted his foot to move forward, but set it back down. A broken wire crossed the path. But how? He couldn’t be back…Emron’s brow knit as he crouched to inspect the wire. It had to be the same one he’d tripped.
He rose to his feet. This time he’d try right. Again, he trudged into the dark. The mist seemed thicker. Glaring through the dark, he tried to see what lay beyond. A faint but familiar voice called out. Emron stopped cold. That was her voice. This can’t be real. Then he heard the grizzled voice of Instructor Iason from the orphanage.
“Do you have a name, boy?”
It was just like the day that old farmer dropped him off at the orphanage. Emron said nothing that day. He didn’t say anything for several days. He had no reason to. And after so many years of fending for himself with no one to talk to, he wasn’t sure how to talk at all.
What kind of sorcery is this? Emron stepped back.
“I never asked for your help,” Warren’s voice said from behind him.
Emron turned around. Before him, the ghost of a nine-year-old Warren dusted himself off. Emron had saved Warren from an ambush of prigs that day. Warren would have been overwhelmed if he hadn’t. Warren tried to get him to join his rebellion weeks before, but Emron had no intention of pledging himself to anyone. At least, he wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t come to Warren’s aid.
Emron staggered back and fell to the ground. This is impossible. The visions appeared faster and faster.
Emron slid against the wall, trying to find something to hold onto, but the apparitions of the past bombarded him. He threw his helmet against the opposite wall and clamped his hands over his ears.
“Who thinks I should read it?” Cassidy called.
Emron’s hands pulled away from his ears and clenched into fists.
A young Cassidy stood atop a crate, waving a parchment through the air. Scores of boys crowded around him, all jeering for Cassidy to continue. Even now, Emron felt helpless as Cassidy snapped open his letter.
Cassidy looked cruelly at Emron and said, “Sorry, the crowd beckons.”
Fear and rage devoured Emron as he threw his hammer through the shade.
Silence fell over the tunnel, leaving Emron alone again. His breaths came in ragged gasps. Though Warren had stopped Cassidy all those years ago, the trauma of that moment still rocked Emron to his core. With trembling fingers, he pulled the parchment from his pocket and stared at it. He reached out to touch it with his other hand, but paused, lingering over the page. Emron let his hand drop into his lap, pressed the page to his bearded lips, and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the wall.
16
C assidy sat below a tree watching over the camp, his bow resting in his lap and an arrow dancing idly between his fingers. The soft breeze stoked dying embers in his fire pit. He had considered mounting Dusty and pressing on with his quest, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the Illithium men in the night.
He yawned and shifted to a new spot under the gnarled pine, hoping the minute movement would satisfy his restlessness. It didn’t. He stood up to walk the perimeter of the camp. His leg groaned; riding all day had left it sore again. Surveying the camp, he found he wasn’t alone in his insomnia. Vidarr’s chest rose and fell in wakeful patterns. Cassidy approached the man.
“Trouble sleeping?”
Vidarr sighed and sat up. “That obvious, huh?”
“I’ve been pickin’ up on the little details a long time,” Cassidy shrugged. “So what’s on your mind?”
“What if we fail?”
Cassidy paused; he’d never considered failing before, mostly because he never planned to. “Well, then we die. That’s all that happens.”
Vidarr looked at Cassidy like he’d just stomped on a bunny, and he realized Vidarr needed a different approach to the problem.
“You have a family?” Cassidy asked, leaning against a tree.
“A wife.”
“What’s her name?”
“Juliet.”
“Any kids?”
“We’re expecting our first.”
“You pick out any names yet?”
“Sage for a girl and Travis for a boy.”
Vidarr smiled.
“What?” Cassidy asked, noticing the change in the man’s visage.
“When we first talked about names she said, ‘Honey, we can name the baby whatever you want, as long as it’s a name I want.’” Vidarr chuckled as the smile on his face grew into a grin.
Cassidy laughed with him. He hoped that one day Vallerie would say the same to him.
“Vidarr, forget failing. We’ll succeed, and you’ll make it home to your wife and child.
Understand?”
“Yes...I understand.”
“Good, now get some rest. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us,” Cassidy said.
Vidarr nodded and lay back down.
By that point, Cassidy’s watch had ended. He sighed and made his way to where Priamos slept. He eyed the sleeping boy. He couldn’t be older than eighteen. How could his uncles drag him into such a mess?
“Hey,” Cassidy said, shaking Priamos’s shoulder. “Your turn.”
Priamos yawned.
Cassidy waited for him to sit up before leaving.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cassidy saw movement. In a flash, he drew an arrow back to his cheek. Priamos scrambled for his sword. By then Cassidy had identified the creature and relaxed.
“What is that thing?” Priamos panicked.
The odd, pale-gray bipedal mammal stood only a foot tall with disproportionately long arms and legs, which contrasted with its potbelly. Two black, almond-shaped eyes stared at Cassidy from its flat face. How those things see past four overgrown ears is beyond me, Cassidy thought. The creature yanked at its ratty loin cloth and snarled at the two men. Crouching, it put its thumbs to its forehead, spreading its long fingers wide.
“Cassidy, what is that?” Priamos asked, still full of fear.
“That,” Cassidy said, “is a gray-skinned dwgoon. Try not to stare at it, but don’t ignore it either. Oh, and if you have any shiny trinkets or food lying around, you may want to stash them elsewhere. Good luck.”
Cassidy walked away, turning from the unsettled child before giving way to a grin. The dwgoon wasn’t a threat, and killing one was considered bad luck. Cassidy didn’t believe in luck, but he saw no reason to kill it.
To his relief, Cassidy slept the whole night through without having to save anyone’s hide.
“From this point forward, the easy days are over. The rough terrain will keep us slow. One slip up and everyone dies, so I want all of you on guard at all times. Understand?” Cassidy said.
The Ajoiner Realm (Defenders of Radiance Book 1) Page 12
