Elden nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.” He then held his hand out. In his grip was a black scabbard made of hardened leather straps, held in place by gleaming metal studs. “A gift from me. I believe it will fit your sword, and you’ll find it easier to carry on your hip than shoved into your pack.”
Lyra stared at the scabbard as she lowered the pack. She pulled the sword free and unwound the cloak that was wrapped about the weapon. Accepting the scabbard from Elden, she slid the sword inside and found the motion smooth as silk until she reached the hilt, the last bit fitting snug.
“Thank you, Elden. This is perfect.” Lyra undid her belt, looped it through the scabbard, and slid it to her hip, opposite from the leg where she kept her dagger.
“Good luck, Tali. I don’t know what it is you must do, but allow your conscience to guide you, and I’m sure you’ll find your destiny. Your very nature should place you on the right path. At least, I hope so, because thousands of lives depend on it.”
Lyra nodded, but felt helpless. Some unknown fate awaited her in Wayport…a fate that affected the entire world. What if I arrive in Wayport too late? How will I know what I am supposed to do? What if I make the wrong choice? So many questions, so much doubt.
She lifted her pack back to her shoulder, took a breath to steel herself, and, with a heavy heart, stepped through the doorway.
39
Lyra looked back, gazing across the vast field of grass, trying to find the narrow canyon from which her journey began. The ridges and foothills that surrounded the southern and eastern edges of the upper plateau shone bright oranges and reds in the light of the setting sun. Dark shadows marked numerous openings, making it difficult for Lyra to decide which canyon led to Mondomi.
She sighed and resumed her journey, cresting a rise that connected the hill on her right to the one on her left. Unlike the fertile fields behind her, the hills were dotted by green scrub amidst dirt-covered ground. Weaving among spiked shrubs and tufts of dry grass, Lyra descended into the shallow valley, searching for a place to stay the night.
When she reached the bottom, she turned westward and followed the valley floor toward a copse of trees she had spotted on the way down. Shadows overtook her as the sun dropped below the tall mountains to the west. Almost an hour passed by the time she reached the trees, the purple sky above providing just enough light to see the pond that the trees encircled. Without any better ideas, she found a flat spot beneath a tree, took her cloak from her pack, wrapped it about her, and laid down while using the pack as a pillow. Sleep was slow in coming.
Waking with the sun, Lyra gobbled down a hard roll and a strip of dried meat before resuming her journey southward. The day passed slowly, the foothills all seeming the same, monotonous and never ending. Up and down, she went, hill after hill, as the sun made its own journey across the sky above her. It was well past its midpoint when she reached a steeper hillside and was forced to shift east or west before she could advance.
Without any form of guidance, she opted to head west, thinking that route appeared easier than the other. Lyra followed a wash up the steep hillside, climbing over boulders and rock piles in her path – the result of the hill breaking loose from erosion.
When she reached the top, she found herself panting, thirsty, and tired from the effort. Sweat ran down her forehead, stinging her eyes and forcing her to rub them with her knuckles. She stumbled along the ridge, noticing a canyon to the east, bounded by two steep ridgelines.
The ground gave and her foot suddenly slid downward. She tried to grab the nearest rock, only to find that it, too, fell with her. Scrambling, she urgently tried to grab ahold of something, anything, as she slid downward until the earth swallowed her.
Lyra woke to darkness. Her head hurt. Her hand hurt, scraped from the fall. She moved the other hand, shaking loose pebbles from it before she brought it to the back of her head. Pain shot through her brain when she touched the lump, but she felt nothing when she pulled her fingers away and rubbed them together.
“Dry. At least there’s no blood,” she mumbled.
Looking up and blinking, her eyes found their focus on white specs far above – a narrow view to the night sky visible through a long chimney of stone. She forced herself into a sitting position. A groan escaped her lips from the pain, her body bruised and battered from her fall. Debris fell off her body and she wobbled, gripping a nearby wall to steady herself.
A blue blob tilted and twisted before her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision and she realized that a dull blue light illuminated the cave walls before her. She pulled her feet beneath herself and stood, wincing when her head struck the ceiling. Bent at the waist, she shuffled forward with her gaze focused on the blue light.
After a few steps, the cave floor angled downward, soon allowing her to stand upright. She rounded a bend and found a rock formation blocking the path but for a narrow gap between it and the ceiling. The blue light poured through that gap, giving her hope that it was a way out.
Finding secure handholds, she scaled a wall of rock that stood twice her height. When she reached the top, she took her pack off and held it in one hand as she shimmied through the opening, having to make adjustments when her sword became wedged against the top of the gap.
Lyra pulled herself forward on her belly, her head turned to the side until the space opened to a wider room. She rose to her hands and knees and stared at her surroundings in wide-eyed wonder. Blue light illuminated the cavern, emitting a glow from veins that swirled within the dark walls and ceiling. The cave was thirty strides across and nearly as wide. Long stalactites jutted down from the roof as stalagmites on the floor stretched up in an attempt to meet them. A shallow pool was nestled at the center of the cavern, occasional drips from above echoing in the chamber.
Placing her hand on a large rock to support herself as she stood, Lyra felt it move. She yanked her hand back from the boulder as it wobbled, hanging still for a moment before it tipped toward her. With a yip, she dove forward just in time to avoid the boulder as it tumbled from its resting spot to land right where she had been standing. Her heart raced as images of her crushed body flashed before her eyes.
“Oh, no.”
She scrambled to her feet and found that the boulder completely blocked the opening she had crawled through, making it impossible to escape by that route.
Turning about, she crossed the room toward the pool. She knelt beside it and dipped a hand in the cool water, lifting it to her nose. Her face scrunched at the smell of sulfur, making her thankful that she still had one full water skin. Thinking of water reminded her of her thirst and she took a drink from the water skin, briefly considering eating something as well before deciding against it. She might need her food to last longer than expected.
When she stood, she noticed another cave opening and moved toward it to investigate. Similar to the cavern, the tunnel walls had veins of blue, glowing to light the way. Further inspection revealed two other strips beside the blue. One strip appeared a bright gold, shimmering when she moved her head. The other strip also contained metal flakes, but of a far darker shade. Similar to the metallic stripes in the walls, chunks of gold stone and the darker metal lined the cave floor, broken off from the walls at some point in the past.
She followed the tunnel, its floor making a slow decent, while a rivulet of water flowed down it from the pool. Illuminated by the blue glow of the veins in the walls, she continued down the tunnel for fifty paces before the glow faded, leaving the path dark before her.
Backing a few steps, Lyra dug into her pack and removed the jar of honey. She popped it open and used her dagger to dig out a scoop, leaving the jar nearly empty. The honey tasted sweet, with a gummy texture. Another scoop and only thin trails of honey remained, little enough that Lyra didn’t mind wasting it.
She held the jar beside the cave wall and used her dagger to scrape some of the blue rock away, watching glowing powder settle into the bottom of the jar. Not satisfied, she scraped mor
e of the soft stone away, until the bottom quarter of the jar was filled with glowing dust.
Sheathing her dagger, Lyra pressed the cork back into the jar to seal it. She then shouldered her pack and resumed her journey down the dark tunnel, holding the glowing jar up as a means of light.
Not long after she left the veins of light behind, the floor leveled. Lyra stopped and stared at the pile of debris blocking her path. The well of hope within her drained out, the vacuum it created filling with despair.
Exhausted and defeated, Lyra slid down the wall until she was sitting upright, staring blankly at the glowing jar on her lap. She slid her pack off her back and laid her head on it before drifting to sleep.
A dull pain woke Lyra. She sat up and rubbed at her side, discovering that a rock had been jutting into it while she slept. Picking it up, she looked at it and frowned. It was made of that dark metal she had seen earlier. Shifting her gaze toward the jar of glowing powder, she found its glow barely visible, although it rested beside her. Yet, there was light.
Turning toward the debris that blocked the tunnel, Lyra saw slices of bright light slipping through the narrow gaps. Daylight.
She scrambled to her feet and put her hands on the rocks, searching for a gap that she might exploit. The smallest rocks blocking her path were the size of her head. Most were far larger, too big for Lyra to move. Frustration began to bubble inside as she stared at the light, realizing that escape was so near, yet unreachable.
Her frustration boiled over, seeking release. She turned and wound up, throwing the rock in her hand as hard as possible. It hit another rock and a spark flashed in the darkness, flaring to a green flame and creating an explosion that reverberated in the narrow chamber. Lyra landed hard on her rear, wincing as bits of debris fell from the ceiling, pelting her head and shoulders.
Her ears rang and her head hurt again, but Lyra didn’t care. Hope had returned.
Rising gingerly, she collected her bag and the jar of powder and began retracing her path up the tunnel. Her gaze landed on the jar, and she realized that the glow was brighter. Curious, she shook it, and the glow flared to life, once again shedding pale blue light on her surroundings.
“Neat.”
She grinned and lifted the jar to light the way until she reached the point where the walls glowed. After setting her pack down, she began collecting rocks of various sizes. She set the golden ones beside her pack and treated the darker ones with care. With an armful of dark metallic rocks, she returned to the debris that blocked the tunnel, and carefully stacked them into a pile. She then returned up the tunnel to collect more rocks.
After a half-hour of repeating this process, she had built a sizeable pile at the end of the tunnel, stacked against the dead end. Lyra then collected some chunks of gold and stuffed them into her pack before carrying the pack back to the cavern with the pool. She set the pack down and returned down the tunnel with a single stone gripped in her palm – a stone made of the dark metal.
The blue light faded behind her, leaving only the jar she held to light the way. When the cracks of daylight appeared ahead, she stopped. Her pulse began to pound and anxiety swirled inside, making her stomach queasy. She bit her lip and cocked her arm back. A long slow breath blew through pursed lips as she exhaled. Focused on the pile of rock she had built, Lyra threw the stone, turned, and bolted in the opposite direction.
She made it three steps before light flared behind her. A half step later, the concussion of the blast blew her forward, causing her to stumble face-first into the rivulet of water. The ground shook, and debris rained from the ceiling. Lyra pushed herself up to her hands and knees, surprised to find that she still held the jar in one hand. Her face and vest were wet. She shook her head and used her free hand to clear away the dust that had settled in her hair. With an odd mixture of hope and fear, she slowly turned around.
Daylight seeped into the tunnel, a beacon of salvation invading the former darkness.
Lyra scrambled to her feet and ran back to the cavern to grab her pack. Although it was heavier than before because of the rocks she had collected, she didn’t notice. Her hands and knees were scraped and bloody, but she didn’t notice. Lyra ran down the tunnel, toward daylight, toward freedom.
40
Lyra squinted at the shock of bright light, almost painful after leaving the dark confines of the caves. She stood in the shadow of a sheer cliff, the morning sun yet to breach its defense. The cliff terminated the end of a canyon, enveloped by steep hills to the north and south. Other than the rubble caused by a small landslide, the surrounding area was flat and barren, without a plant, human, or animal in sight. Having no other option, Lyra headed west, toward the mouth of the canyon.
When the ridgeline to her left ended, she turned south. At some point, she would reach a road or the sea. Either way, at least she would have a better idea of where she was.
Needing her food to last until she reached Wayport, she forced herself to walk for a full hour before eating, despite her gnawing hunger. She reached into her pack and grabbed a small leather bundle, wrapped about strips of dried beef. The chewy meat took time and effort to eat, making it seem more satisfying than the sustenance it provided. As Lyra bit into the meat, she crested a rise and the world opened up before her.
The land sloped downward for three or four miles, with the sea waiting beyond trees that divided a road from the shoreline. Lyra smiled, swallowing the last bite of the salty meat before taking a drink from her water skin. She had found the road, and she just needed to follow it until she reached Wayport.
As it had for the entire day, the thick forest in the valley floor hugged the dirt roadway, providing little chance to see anything beyond the next bend. Birds sang to the sun, bidding it farewell as it hovered just above the mountains to the west. The tweeting left Lyra torn between enjoying the peaceful sound and dreaming of eating the little buggers. Her food had run out the previous evening, and she had walked the entire day living off nothing but a handful of berries she picked from a roadside bush. At the time, she didn’t know if the berries were safe to eat, but she threw caution to the wind in favor of eating something…anything.
Thankfully, she had crossed a bridge over a river shortly after the road descended into the valley, giving her the chance to fill both water skins. While she might survive for a while without food, water was something else altogether.
She rounded a bend and the trees suddenly terminated, revealing a field of stumps and grass. Across the field, a half-mile away, stood the wooden palisade surrounding a city, the gate standing open.
Lyra stopped and stared, thinking about the gold she had in her pack – enough gold to buy almost anything, enough gold to kill for.
She backed up a few steps and walked into the forest, counting ten trees from the road, ten from the clearing, and found a young maple, noticeable among the gray trunks surrounding it. She knelt and used her dagger to dig up the forest floor. Opening her pack, she removed all but the two smallest gold chunks and buried them, careful to cover the disturbed earth with dead leaves.
Moments later, she was back on the road and heading toward the city, eager for a hot meal and a soft bed.
When she passed through the open gates, she found herself unchallenged. In fact, there were no guards in sight.
The buildings varied in construction, some stone, most wood, most rundown. The streets were all dirt, busy with foot traffic and carts, their owners selling wares.
The people filling the streets appeared rough and unrefined. Many of the men were dressed like sailors, wearing rough, patchwork clothing that rarely matched. The women were sometimes dressed in breeches and tunics, like the men, while others wore dirty and faded dresses, tight at the waist and cut deep at the neckline. A fair number of people appeared homeless, huddled against a wall or in a corner as they begged for coin. Most ignored those people, acting as if they were invisible. Perhaps to them, they were.
“Hiya, missy.” A man with missing teeth g
ave her a grin. “You be new in Wayport? I got a room for ya. Won’t cost you a thing…well, not a copper at least.” The man chuckled.
Lyra shook her head. “No need.”
He shouted from behind her. “If you change your mind, come back, and I’ll be here.”
Lyra caught sight of a man selling bread, shouting to passers-by that it was half price. She considered buying some, but spotted an inn down the street and decided on a hot meal. Weaving her way through the crowd, she approached a building with a sign of a pig, its eyes bulging as a knife poked through its head. The placard below the sign read The Poked Pig.
The streets outside appeared seedy, but the interior of the inn was perhaps worse. A group of men in one corner held their mugs high as they bellowed a song common to sailors. Lyra winced. They were doing a very poor job of it. In another corner, two men played knucklebones, surrounded by a crowd cheering them on. Lyra considered playing, but she didn’t need the money and didn’t want to invite trouble. It would likely find her without help.
She passed two men harassing a waitress, with one grabbing the woman roughly. Lyra paused and considered helping the woman but smiled and moved on after the woman grabbed the man’s finger and bent it back until his eyes bulged.
Reaching the bar, Lyra flagged the bartender. The man had a bushy black beard and thick black hair that surrounded the bald spot atop his head. He was an obese man, three times Lyra’s weight, yet only a half-head taller.
“What do you need?” the man grumbled.
“I’m looking for the owner. I need a room…and food.”
He snorted. “My name is Darvin, and I own the place. I have both, if you’ve got coin.”
Lyra dug into her bag and held her hand toward the man.
“What will this get me?” Lyra rolled her hand over, revealing a chunk of gold slightly larger than a gold coin.
Rogue Legacy: The Secret History of Issalia Page 24
