by Dave Dickie
As they approached, the doors glided open in front of them on silent hinges. Or perhaps not hinges, because Daesal could see nothing that looked like one. The door merged into the wall, and where it touched it looked like the substance of the door bent to make them swing open. Like everything in this dead city, it seemed macabre, like the city was waiting patiently for its masters to return centuries after they were gone and dead. There was no dust, no clutter, no weeds, no weather damage. The little golem creatures that were repairing the rest of the city clearly worked overtime here.
They passed under the eighteen foot tall archway. Inside was a large room, or large by human standards. There were double arches leading further into the temple with separate doors made from the same dark material as the other ones. The white fluted frame bordering it was decorated with symbols Daesal did not know. “Doorway of the gods,” said Stegar in a low voice. Daesal nodded. It felt that way, the oversized entrances and rooms giving it an empyrean grandeur that the temples in Bythe lacked by comparison.
The room was empty of furniture, but to both sides of the two doors leading into the temple were low protuberances along the floor with holes in the top. Some of them contained polearms ending in fanciful, elaborate blades. The polearms were twenty feet long and looked much too heavy for a human to use effectively. They approached the weapons cautiously. “Ceremonial?” asked Stegar. “Those blades are not meant for combat. They are too fanciful. If you hit armor, they would break.” He squinted. “I do not think they are even sharp, although we would have to pull one down to be sure.”
Daesal touched one of the poles, felt a faint remembrance of purpose. “Charged weapons,” she said. “The mana leached out long ago, but these are magicked artifacts. I cannot tell what spell they were intended to cast, but it feels … belligerent, hostile.”
“Battle sorcery,” said Stegar. He looked back and forth between the two doors, looked at the ground. He pointed down. “The floor is more worn to the sides of the doors. This is a room where guards stood, protecting what is inside.”
“No longer,” said Daesal. She moved to the right door and touched it, and it opened as strangely and silently as the outer door. She walked inside and gasped. This room was large even by troll standards. If felt as large as a city block in Bythe. Daesal doubted that was true, but the room, so large it would take a decent bowman to be able reach the other side with an arrow, made it seem so. The ceiling was a hundred feet or more high. She felt like an ant crawling on a dinner plate. A troll-sized dinner plate.
This room, like the one outside, did not have furniture. It had giant mosaics built into the walls made from hundreds of thousands of tiny colored tiles, and a polished marble floor that gleamed faintly, but what drew her eye was the center of the room. There, six pillars rose twenty feet into the air, black as night, although they glinted, little sparks of blue light appearing and disappearing haphazardly. There was some kind of stone structure in front of it, rising ten feet off the ground, a rectangular, polished block whose details she could not make out at that distance.
“I do not like this,” said Nyjha, although he did not say why and followed when Daesal and Stegar advanced.
As they approached, the stone structure became clearer, and Daesal suddenly realized it was reminiscent of the panel in the old troll outpost. The black pillars grew larger, but no clearer. They were darker than obsidian, blacker than tar. They drank the light around them, cast shadows where no shadow could be. The blue glints, closer in, turned into small polychromatic flames that ran up the side of the pillars, flickering as they danced up and down the length of the shaft.
Daesal walked over to the panel. It was tall enough that she had to stretch to reach the bottom of it, and she could not touch the top. She reached out, moved her hand to the smooth, glass surface. Even before she touched it, she knew it was still powered, some kind of static electricity making her skin feel prickly. She stopped before she actually made contact. She glanced at Stegar. “Five hundred years, or thereabouts, and still charged with mana. Nothing human could have lasted this long. The mana would have dissipated over this length of time.”
Stegar nodded, then winced. The blow from the falling stone in the old troll outpost was still causing him pain. “What is it?”
Daesal looked at the six obsidian pillars, each forming a point in a hexagon that covered an area of perhaps a thousand square feet. “I assume it is a way to control those,” she said, waving at the pillars. “For what purpose, I know not.”
Nyjha looked uncomfortable. “It … there are rumors among the Ibisi that when one of us is offered to the elves to become salsenahain, they are taken to something like this.”
Daesal looked at him, then back to the pillars. “Perhaps the great trolls had something equivalent to the salsenahain?”
Nyjha shook his head. “Salsenahain came after the fall. When the cities of Tawhiem became charnel pits, when to go to them was death, there was a time when the people were perishing. Food was scarce, and the darkness from the cities was spreading to the countryside. In our time of need, the elves came. They offered food and medicine, protection from the dark. In return, we offer them our children to become salsenahain, not all, but some. And so it has been for hundreds of years. But this was all after the trolls had withdrawn.”
Daesal nodded. That matched the history she had been taught, although the details of what had happened in Tawhiem, or anywhere during the fall and the interregnum following it, were sketchy.
Nyjha turned away from the pillars and pointed at a section of the floor. “Something happened here, something bad.” Daesal looked and saw that the floor had been scored with a number of long, straight lines, a couple of inches deep. It took her a second, and then she gasped. “Yes,” said Nyjha, “Claw marks, carved deep into the stone.” He looked at the ground and weaved back and forth over the marble floor, stopping to touch specific spots, although they looked no different to Daesal. He went down on one knee, then looked along an invisible track that led to the pillars. “Something came out of that. They were not expecting it.”
Daesal thought about licking the floor to see what she could pick up, but five hundred years would have eliminated any residue that could have told her something. Then she wondered if it could have been more recent. The city had been abandoned that long, but perhaps not the temple. “How long ago?” Daesal asked.
Nyjha shrugged. “Long ago. Centuries. There are scratches on the floor, from the thing’s claws, from people in armor falling in battle. Everything else has faded.”
Daesal nodded. It had happened around the time of the fall, or shortly thereafter, consistent with the general state of the city. She turned back to the panel. Gyeong’s experience in the old troll outpost came back to her, but there was no water here, nothing that would be undone accidentally. She sighed and touched the panel. Long strings of glowing orange text appeared in a language she did not know. Stegar grunted a question mark. Daesal said, "Great troll, if I am not mistaken. They had a written language, but they did not share it, preferring to learn and use human and elvish script instead.”
“Then I would say it’s not particularly helpful,” said Stegar.
“Perhaps,” Daesal answered. “I find it interesting. The panel in the old outpost had things that cause actions, things to touch. That this one does not implies that either those commands are turned off, or perhaps that you need some additional information to allow you to access them.”
Nyjha said, “If something they did not expect attacked them from within the device, perhaps it became unsafe to use it. Perhaps they disabled the,” and he waved vaguely toward the pillars.
Daesal nodded. “I cannot make sense of this writing, but it feels urgent, like a warning. I think you have the right of it, Nyjha.”
Stegar pointed up to the mosaics on the walls. Now that Daesal looked, she could see they depicted scenes from what could only be the temple in which they stood. “Look,” he said, “the first scene s
hows dozens of trolls waiting before the pillars. The second is the pillars wreathed in fire with the trolls inside the pentagram. The third is a single troll exiting the pillars.”
“A single great troll,” Daesal said. “The ones in the first picture are wearing rough clothing. The one exiting the gate is in golden armor, like the statues in the city.”
Stegar frowned. “The birthplace of transcendence.” His eyes widened and he gasped. “The great trolls… I don’t think they are natural. They are made in this device, made from large numbers of regular trolls.”
Daesal nodded thoughtfully. “Or only a small number that participate in this process become great trolls. I remember reading about the great trolls before the fall. There was a ceremony they attended yearly, a time when you could not meet with them, where they all were elsewhere.” She nodded toward the pillars. “This could be why. It could be why no one ever encountered female great trolls, and why they were so few in number.”
Stegar nodded. “It seems possible. But it doesn’t explain why they disappeared. There are still plenty of regular trolls. The artifact is still active.”
“But if there is something wrong with it ...” said Nyjha, sentence trailing off.
Daesal and Stegar looked at one another. “Then the great trolls would have been doomed,” said Daesal. “I do not know how long they lived, but the records certainly indicate they aged, and I would guess about as fast as a human.”
Stegar shook his head. “No. The city did not slowly decay as the great trolls aged and died. They abandoned it, but they created the keepers to keep it ready for occupation. They must mean to return someday.”
Daesal nodded in agreement. “They went somewhere. But where? To survive, they would need regular trolls, in numbers. And they would need another device.”
Stegar frowned. “I do not know. I do not know that it matters. We need to find passage back to Kethem. I am not sure this,” and he waved at the pillars, “will help.”
Daesal looked Stegar up and down. He was clearly still in pain, still recovering from the collapsing ceiling. And yet he stood straighter, took more interest in his surroundings than he had during the trip out from Bythe. Where his gaze had previously been dull unless he was discussing readiness of the camp, now it was sharp and focused. “You have no curiosity about what happened to the great trolls at all?” she asked him.
Stegar looked at her hesitantly, then nodded. “I do. But I feel the priority should be our return to human lands. I know this city is uninhabited, but the war with the trolls is just a year behind us. I, for one, do not want to be found by them on their lands.”
Daesal thought about that. The human invasion of troll lands had been repulsed after two years of fighting. Unlike the bitter fighting during the fall centuries earlier, this war had not been a particularly bloody war, and where it had been, it had been the human invasion troops that had suffered more than the trolls. There were still troll slaves in Kethem, but not many, and the slaves generally seemed happy with their lot. Still, Stegar had a point. “I would rather avoid that as well. And yes, we need to find a path. We do not know where this city is in comparison to Tawheim or the coast, but I am sure we are in Kom somewhere, and that means there is a sea to cross. And, if we make for the coast, we will not have a boat to take us. The trolls do not use them, and humans do not venture to Kom any more.”
“There are boats in the harbor here,” pointed out Stegar. “They must have used them back in the days of the great trolls. Some trolls may have boats today.”
Daesal shook her head. “The great trolls did use ships, but things were different before the fall. There is no record in past fifty years of a troll using a sailing vessel. And, even if some of the lessor trolls had maintained the practice, would you want to ask a troll for a ride to Kethem?”
Stegar laughed. “I suppose not. But how is this going to lead to another way home?”
Daesal shrugged. “You acquire knowledge, then find a way to apply it.”
“And what knowledge do you mean to acquire other than what we have already learned?” asked Stegar doubtfully.
Daesal looked at the glowing text. “We need to decipher this,” she said.
“How? I do not have a spell that pulls meaning from a dead language. Do you?”
Daesal answered, “No. Beldaer, however, might.”
Stegar’s eyebrows rose. “The elf?”
Nyjha suddenly broke in. “No. The elves are not our friends. This… thing, it is something they use against humans. Against all Ibisi. We should not deliver another one into their hands.” The vehemence in his voice was surprising in its intensity.
Daesal turned to look at him. “I thought the Ibisi had agreed to this, this salsenahain bargain.”
Nyjha looked troubled. “Long ago, true. But it is a debt that has been repaid many times over, and yet, they still take sons and daughters from us. There are many that are tired of this bargain. The vocal ones disappear and the elders say it is because the gods are angry that there is talk of breaking our vows. But I believe that it is the elves, and the elders are afraid of the elves and their power.”
Stegar added thoughtfully, “I will say that I have seen the salsenahain at the elvish embassy in Bythe. They do not seem completely human; their personality and volition have been drained from them.” Daesal had heard similar things about the salsenahain from Gur, a friend of hers in Bythe that had dealt with the elves before. Yet, on the whole, Gur seemed to like the elves, although what Daesal smelled from him was more complex, a mix of respect and wariness mixed in with the warmth. As with so many things, it was hard to reconcile everything she had been told.
“What would you suggest, Nyjha?” Daesal asked.
“The amulet we found in the troll cave. Gyeong said he saw the language of the ancients when he put it on. It may give us the ability to read this,” he said, waving at the panel.
Stegar’s eyes widened. “Yes, but we had to tackle him and pull it off his neck when it possessed him. I think we can pass on that option.”
Daesal said thoughtfully, “It is an option if we take precautions, but I think we should use it as a last resort. With a city at our disposal, I think we may be able to find something to help us translate this. It may take weeks, but I don’t think we are going anywhere in a hurry.”
“I would say otherwise,” Nyjha said. The marks from the fight are old, but there are other marks that are more recent. Someone visits here. Frequently.”
Stegar and Daesal glanced at each other. “How do you know?” Stegar asked.
Nyjha said, “There is dust. I think the little helpers remove it, but not all the time. And here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the ground, “see… dirt that fell from someone’s shoe tread. You can see it is still in small clumps. There is still some moisture in the earth. They would have dried out and broken up if they had been here long.” Stegar looked carefully, and could see the small specs of dirt the Ibisi was talking about, but not the dust. He kneeled down and looked at an angle and saw the faintest outline against the marble floor.
“That mark has to be a foot long,” said Stegar. “A troll.”
Nyjha nodded. “And there are other marks, more faint, which means they were from an earlier visit. The little helpers remove dust periodically, so there is little more to examine. But I estimate that a troll has visited here each week since that time at least, and that it is a regular pattern.”
Stegar grunted. “Then it seems the fire is burning. We could try to hide when the trolls are here, but if they come once a week, it must be to check on things.”
Daesal picked up where Stegar left off. “And that means they must have ways of knowing if something was disturbed. Touching the panel and activating it might itself leave a sign. It seems that the only two safe choices are to try to find a way home from here or to run.”
Stegar touched his ribs, partially healed by Hantlin’s spells but far from fully recovered. “Running with two wounded, with no i
dea where we are or where we are running to, in hostile lands. Not my first choice.”
Daesal nodded. “Nor mine. Given Nyjha’s warnings, I believe we should try the amulet first. If that does not work, we try to wake Beldaer and find out what he can tell us.” She was looking at Nyjha when she said it, saw him struggle with himself for a few moments. But he finally nodded. “There is no point delaying,” she continued. “We have no idea when the troll will return. We should join the others, retrieve the amulet, and try to use it to decipher the writing.”
“With precautions,” said Stegar.
“With precautions,” agreed Daesal.
Chapter Sixteen
“Tighter,” said Daesal. Gyeong obediently pulled the ropes around her wrists until they hurt, then tied them off.
“It is done, Magic Woman,” he said.
Stegar looked on, frowning, looking like he was going to say something but biting his tongue. Daesal laughed. “Don’t worry, Stegar. This will be over in a moment. Either it will work, or Grim will pull the amulet off again.” Grim was with them this time as well. Only Hantlin and the elf he was caring for had stayed behind.
Stegar grimaced, but nodded.
Daesal took a deep breath, then closed her eyes. Grim dropped the amulet over her head. She gasped. Letters in a foreign language in the same fiery orange as the ones on the console appeared in front of her. She felt a surge of excitement. This was going to work. She opened her eyes. The text was superimposed over the temple room, Stegar, Grim and Gyeong, and it moved with her glance. She sensed something powerful about the words, something that made her feel invincible. “I see them,” she said. “It is the writing of the great trolls. It… holds great power. Great power.” Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. She wanted her hands free. She wanted to command these people that should be kneeling on the ground worshipping her, should let her free. Then she would…
