It is an open threat among the Vulzdagg people to kill or harm a basilisk mount before its rider. Gorroth had done just that, and though the demon was exceptionally strong and had a strange ability to heal itself while in combat, Dril’ead had honor enough in himself to trust his own strength to hold out the next time they encountered one another.
Such open disrespects had to be met with open combat if not apologies.
He stood there, looking into the vast expanse of the corridor he had awakened into, and the infrared spectrum revealed smooth clean-cut walls and no entrance through which he might have come in through. How, then, had he come to be in the empty cavern? Looking up he saw the ceiling smoothly cut like the walls, formed as if by the rush of water, and there he saw a hole cut large enough for a person his size to pass through. There, it appeared, was his answer.
Where, then, has the water gone? He asked himself, looking to and fro in search for a crevice or hole. Suddenly his eyes fell upon a perfectly cut rectangle in the wall to his side, shaped in the resemblance of a narrow doorway.
A light seemed to emanate from beyond the shadows of the corridor beyond, soft and quiet like the light of a low burning candle, though it did not flicker. Turning round he saw another doorway cut in the exact same likeness as the other, but through its shadow came no light. Instead he felt an empty feeling in his heart, one that seemed to freeze him in place where he stood, and simply stare into its enclosing blackness as the emptiness filled him.
“Why do you stand there, looking into the room as if in want to enter, when your passage into the corridor is clear for your feet to pass?”
The voice seemed to have come from the shadows in the corridor itself, speaking to him in a familiar voice, though he could not put a name on it. It was a warm voice, strong and willful, and seemed to speak to him as if from his own mind. Dril’ead, though, did not react to the voice from the doorway at first, seeming to not hear beyond his own wandering thoughts.
“What is beyond?” Dril’ead asked through his dry throat.
“What is it that you seek?” the voice replied.
“I do not know,” Dril answered dreamily.
“Why, then, do you wonder on what is beyond if you do not know what you are searching for?”
Dril cocked his head in confusion, his tired mind struggling to comprehend any meaning of what was happening. “It is all darkness beyond and . . . and empty.”
“Are you empty, then?”
Dril did not answer, instead pondering the feelings of his mentality. Am I empty? It has been so hard to speak of my own feelings to my understanding, and to comprehend that which I have come now to become. It seems as if the shadows of this world have consumed my soul as well as my body, leaving a corpse in a hollow ditch where it may be chewed on by the various creatures of this world. Am I empty, then? What am I searching for? What must I do?
Find them.
The words came back to him as if from out of a dream long ago in his past, reawakening a sense of belonging in a place where he did not feel he belonged. He had to find them, whether or not they were Vaknorbond, Neth’tek or Gefiny. He had to find them before it was too late, whenever that deadline was.
“I must,” Dril began but stopped, struggling as the awful taste of blood filled his mouth, and he spat to the side a warm mixture of saliva and blood. “I must find them?”
“Who are they?” the voice asked immediately, as if hearing the question before it was spoken.
“I do not know.”
“Why do you say you must find them if you don’t even know who they are?”
“I don’t know,” Dril said again, “I only know that I must, or else this emptiness will consume me.”
“Why do you stand there, then, when you know you must find them?”
“Because I do not know which path I must take.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the glowing cavern, the light of blue and green and white reflecting off the smooth walls. “Can you not tell me what is beyond these doors?”
“What is it that you seek?”
Dril closed his eyes to calm the frustration building up inside of him, and he thought of a different question that the answering questions might actually answer. He exhaled deeply, his efforts feeling exhausted to no outcome.
“The one is light, filled with a soft glow of bioluminescent as if some force of life existed beyond, and yet I cannot say or know. The other is dark, filled with an empty feeling that creeps into my body, and yet a voice speaks from within. Who are you, and of what passage would you choose to go?”
“Is there a choice for those who have already chosen when the passage passes only in one direction, or for the dead after they have already died? And who can name a voice, save he who once called me father?”
Suddenly Dril’ead recognized the familiarity of the voice, and knew who it was he was speaking to.
“Father,” Dril said breathlessly, staring into the dark doorway in search for the speaker. “Father, if it is you, show yourself to me.”
A tall figure stepped from the doorway, a Follower appearing much like Dril’ead himself in stature and expression, the purple spider-silk cloak wrapped about his shoulders to come down across his back. There were no scimitars strapped to his belt, and Vaknorbond Vulzdagg came forward to stand in the frame of the doorway. He did not smile, or frown, or show any emotion at all. Instead, the previous lord of Vulzdagg kept a solemn visage as he looked upon his son and heir. The child he had left behind to fight his battles, to win his victories, and to conquer his enemies if he could. The prince he had abandoned his troubles to, and left to die with the rest of his people.
There was Dril’ead, bloodied and beaten with fatigue and battle.
“You have fought well, my son,” Vak said to him. “I am almost ashamed to be in your company.”
Dril’ead stepped toward his father, but stopped as Vak lifted a hand to halt him, saying, “Do not touch me yet, for I am but a spirit sent back into this world and before your being under one condition. These are perilous times, the wickedness of Maaha Zurdagg has not passed out of the land with her, nor do I suspect the workings of the witch to be rid of in this land at all. She set out to destroy the Branches of the Urden’Dagg Tree through lies and deceits, and she has come to fulfill that pledge through the weaknesses of others who might think themselves strong.”
Dril’ead furrowed his brow in confusion, curiously looking his father up and down. “Then the Urden’Dagg is all great and powerful after all,” he said, looking upon the purple cloak of the Urden’Dagg that Vaknorbond wore.
“Because of my dying act I have been given the cloak of the Urden’Dagg, to remind me of why I have come to pass into the halls of our forefathers,” Vaknorbond told him, but quickly he changed the subject as he pressed his previous matters forward. “But you, Dril’ead – you must fight for a separate cause than mine. You must fight for the salvation of our people, and do away with the awful works of darkness that these people have for so long dealt with. Be the warrior you have been for these long years, Dril’ead Vulzdagg, and do not give our people up unto the hands of Maaha Zurdagg. Although she is gone, the happenings of your days are caused by her actions, and her actions will destroy the world if you do not stop those whom she has corrupted.
Fight, Dril’ead! Fight with strength and courage! Deliver our people unto the hands of the ancient glories above!” Vak paused for a moment, looking Dril straight in the eye and saying, “Allow a weary soul to rest in peace after all this is through, when the fight has ended. Come and rest in peace when it is all over.”
Dril straightened; renewed strength and determination coming upon him by the words of his father. However, one thing pressed his conscience at that moment. “Father,” he said, “Where is Neth’tek? Is he safe? I fear my soul will not come to rest until I am assured of his safety and security.”
At that Vak’s expression became grim, and he looked upon Dril’ead as one who looks upon one whose doom has been s
pelled before his eyes. “Neth’tek, your brother, has passed under the service of the Urden’Dagg upon the surface of this world. A war of vengeance has been kindled by he who calls himself the Urden’Dagg. Pray, Dril’ead, that your teachings to him were full of great wisdom.”
“My teachings,” said Dril, tears coming to his eyes as he recalled what he taught Neth’tek, and all he failed to teach him. “I fear that nothing I have taught him will deliver him from evil. I failed him, father . . . I failed both of you.”
“Do not say you have failed,” Vak commanded his son in a steady tone. “As long as you still walk upon this world, speak among those who live among the living, you will never have failed. Your chances have been extended, and what you might have done to fail me has been put aside. It does not matter hereafter. Look to your people, their strengths and their weaknesses, and build them up as you would have someone build you up. And Dril’ead, you must seek them out of the darkest corners of this world under shadow. Unite The Followers under a single banner, be it of the Urden’Dagg or not. It is the only chance for their salvation.”
Dril saluted his father, slapped his right hand, clenched into a fist, against his right shoulder. He felt empowered as if he stood in the halls of his home, speaking to his father as he had many times then.
“I will not fail you,” Dril’ead told his father steadfastly, “Nor shall I forsake our people.”
Vak smiled. “I know,” he said.
“But, father,” Dril began, stopping Vaknorbond as he was about to disappear back into the corridor he had come from, a sudden thought coming to his mind, “is it true what you did to Hestage Swildagg? Did you kill the lord of Swildagg?”
“Like the necessary action you took against Deotuer Zurdagg in security of my life, so have I done to Hestage Swildagg for Neth’tek’s life,” Vaknorbond replied evenly, bringing back to Dril distant memories of the past, “Fare thee well, my son, until we meet again.”
Dril did not say any more, watching silently as the figure of his father disappeared into the distant spectrum. The shadows consumed Vaknorbond Vulzdagg, and Dril’ead Vulzdagg did not see his father again in the world of the living. However, he felt a sudden and strange peace come over his conscious, as if the knowledge and understanding of Vaknorbond’s fate took a burden from off his tender shoulders. Indeed, such a thing did for Dril’ead.
Dril thought to enter the dark cavern in which his father had passed, but thought otherwise as he wished to remain such boundaries beyond that place unknown for the present moment. The matters of his people, the happenings of their approaching danger, stole Dril’ead from any thoughts that might have come into his mind then, and he turned from the smoothly cut corridor to the glow of the room behind him and beyond.
As he came to the doorway into the luminescent cavern, Dril heard the gentle rush of rippling water passing along the cavern floor, and saw the swirling reflection of the glowing liquid above it against the walls and ceiling. It was a beautiful sight to behold for the battered warrior, and he bent down to the smooth stone bank at its edge to dip his hands in and drink. He took in one handful at a time, swallowing the cool liquid down to relieve his thirst stricken throat, and breathed out in relief.
He sat back against the cavern wall beside the doorway, and shut his eyes to rest a short while the moment was peaceful. The pain in his shoulders seemed to subside as the water took affect on his beaten body, and slowly the wounds began to heal beneath the bloodied scabs through the torn armor.
Several minutes seemed to pass by as Dril’ead sat quietly beside the flow of the water at his feet, and he was near drifting into sleep when a sudden and anonymous noise erupted up the stream to his left. It sounded like a scream, tremendous and awful as it shook the earth beneath its high pitch, and he winced alert as it resounded in his keen ears. He sat forward and stared down the passage from which the sound had echoed, following the glow of the bioluminescent water up to where it bent round a curve in the carved tunnel.
“What devilry is this?” he asked himself, pulling his legs in to stand. He steadied himself against the wall with one hand, and with the other he gripped his remaining blade for security.
The lord of Vulzdagg limped up the passage beside the stream until it became narrow, the walls of the tunnel drawing in against either side of the stream, and he splashed into the water with carefully placed feet. He steadied himself against the current of the waters flow, and moved up to where the tunnel curved round a bend in the waterway. There Dril’ead stopped and slowly looked round its edge, peering into the luminescent cavern beyond. However, just as he thought he glimpsed something in the passage ahead, an explosion of light took the entire tunnel in an ensuing brightness that caused him to stumble back.
He fell with a splash as the eruption resounded off the walls of the passage, and the loud tumult faded slowly into the distant silence of the caverns to awaken what none can guess. Dril’ead, however, picked himself up from the water, his armor and torn cloak dripping now, and unsheathed his sword as he came round the bend to see what happened.
Hardly discernable among the shadows cast over many large crevices by the glowing water was a pathway cut into the left-hand wall, and Dril could see two persons lying motionless bellow its arch. He went swiftly forward, unsure whether or not they were alive, and came after many splashing strides to the passage and halted.
They were Followers of the Branch of Grundagg, their orange and red tunics gave that away, and they were unconscious but breathing. One of them breathed with a rasp, Dril’ead noted, and wore a thick pair of mesh armor beneath a purple cloak like his, and in his hand the Grundagg gripped a dagger. The edges of the blade appeared to glow with a pale hue, just barely discernable in the shadow that they lay in, and Dril’ead couldn’t guess why.
The other was a female. She wore the same outfit as the other, save for a duel scabbard strapped across her back, the scimitars lying on the wet stones beside them. There was no blood, just water wetting the stones underfoot, and Dril’ead frowned as he pondered this observation.
The female awoke suddenly with a fit of coughs, and began spitting out water as she turned onto her stomach. She did not notice Dril’ead standing at the edge of the banks, watching the two of them with a curious expression as to what might have happened. The other, though, did not move to get up. It appeared he struggled to maintain his laborious breath, wheezing in and out with each rise and fall of his chest.
“What happened here?” Dril asked, turning to the female as she flattened herself against the wet floor in exhaustion. However, as he spoke she turned to him in alarmed surprise, and reached to the side where one of her swords lay.
Dril sheathed his sword and raised both palms to show he meant no harm to either of them, and gestured to her companion as he said, “Your friend needs help, and if you allow me I might be able to lend him some aid. Or, at least, see what exactly he needs for assistance.”
“Who are you?” she demanded suddenly, her voice quivering as she shook. Water dripped from her soaked hair down her face, and she raised the sword between herself and Dril threateningly.
“I am Dril’ead Vulzdagg, lord of the Branch of Vulzdagg of the Urden’Dagg Tree,” Dril replied.
The name seemed to startle her, but she persisted in pointing the sword at his chest menacingly still. “Why are you here, lord Vulzdagg?”
“To help your friend, I guess,” Dril answered calmly, looking back to the one who lay upon the ground, “And perhaps to warn your aristocracy of the treachery of the Branch of Swildagg. They seek to overthrow the reign of all others, and cast down the foundations that the Urden’Dagg itself set up for our security . . .”
She was no longer looking at him, having turned her eyes to the other Follower lying beside her when he mentioned him. She dropped her sword and came to her companion’s side in a hurry, her expression changing from fear and confusion to panic and bewilderment.
“Fustua, you fool,” she said to her companio
n, lifting the weakened fighter into her arms. “I told you to save yourself!”
Juanna, the female fighter holding the unconscious Fustua in her arms, shook him as she tried to rouse him from his exhausted stupor. Dril came down beside them onto one knee, and reaching out he laid a palm over Fustua’s damp forehead and shut his eyes in contemplation.
“He’s unconscious,” Dril’ead said to Juanna, opening his eyes again and meeting hers sternly. “But he is weak . . . very weak. I’m not sure what I can do.”
“Do anything,” Juanna begged him with widening eyes. “Please, you must save him. I cannot lose so good a friend as this. He’d try all he could for me, but I have not the strength to carry him all the way back to Grundagg. He tried to warn me, to bring me back to our homeland before the monster struck us. I ignore him, my pride and ignorance has brought this fate upon Fustua!”
She took the legs of the fighter in her arms as if to carry him, but slipped on the dampness of the floor as she tried to stand, and only succeeded in humiliating herself. She began to weep, holding the breathless warrior in her arms and seeming to forget Dril’ead’s presence.
“I can carry him,” Dril said to her, after watching her struggles with a frown. “I’ll carry him to Grundagg for you. The healers in your city can help him more than I might.” He reached out and took Fustua in his arms, Juanna carefully passing the limp body over into his hands.
“You must save him,” she whispered aloud half to herself and half to Dril’ead.
“How far is it to Grundagg?” Dril asked as he slowly stood up on his feet, being careful not to slip on the wetness of the floor.
“One, maybe one and a half miles,” Juanna replied sullenly. She scowled as she looked into the stream from whence the monster had come upon them, and the walls of the passage across from them.
Passage to Glory: Part Two of the Redemption Cycle Page 10
