by Jason Jones
“Ssshhh.” Lavress put his finger over his mouth, forgetting momentarily the blackness of the tunnel. He whispered in the sylvan tongue as he drew his curved kukri dagger, his enchanted gift from the Hedim Anah. It glowed a faint yellow, flickering as if a candle burned from inside the steel, and then drew his falcata.
Liogan unsheathed his broadsword carefully, nodding to Lavress that he would be silent and was ready to move ahead. His white tabard dripped salty water, his heart was racing, yet all he could think of was finding the heir prince for his king, before it was too late.
Soft steps ahead revealed a twisting tunnel that even the shorter elf had to crouch to traverse. Snails of sizes up to that of small boulders retracted their eye stems as the faint light grew near. Moss that moved and had never known light curled tight to the walls. Besides the occasional slosh of a footstep, the two invaders made not a sound, yet the ever hidden life in the tunnel knew that strangers approached.
Lavress slowed and stopped, placing his back to the wall as the tunnel widened and raised in height. He saw a grate ahead in a chamber, and stairs leading up to it and beyond. Torchlight flickered ever so far away, but enough for him to know that somewhere ahead their would be someone that needed light to see. He raised his chin to Liogan, then eyed his blades, getting his attention. The young knight of Chazzrynn watched and nodded.
First, Lavress mocked slashing his blades out to the sides, horizontal, diagonal, and wide cuts in slow motion. He tapped the stone, just barely, and furrowed his brow. Then he shook his head from side to side. Liogan nodded that he understood.
The wood elf shot his kukri forward, then up and down, followed by the falcata, in vertical cuts and thrusts that did not come near the walls. He nodded to the young human knight. Liogan Andellis wiped the sweat and saltwater from his face, took his blade in two hands, one over the other. He cut upward slowly, then down diagonally, and thrust ahead with the point of his blade. He smiled, receiving the same nod and smile from his tattooed and tan elven companion.
Black mold and mildew greeted their noses, the slick steps down into stagnant water once more met their feet, and the torchlight beyond the grate was now flickering. Men were moving past and around the lights beyond, they were close. Lavress led them in, then up again near the steel grate covered in rust and mold. He waited for the far off sound of men moving in other passages to dwindle, then motioned for Liogan to take the right side of the bars, and he sheathed his blades.
Both of them pulled slow, testing the resistance and possible noise, it seemed ready to fall as it was. With a quick creak and pop of old worn steel, the grate came loose on the left side. Lavress set it down behind them on the steps, carefully watching that it would not slide and cause noise, then he saw a ripple in the stank water behind them.
He tapped Liogan on the shoulder, right as he was about to head into the next chamber and continue their infiltration and rescue. Just in time, Liogan turned, then dove to the right as the water erupted toward them both. Lavress sprung to his left, and then the grate was covered in saltwater and scales. Then it was gone, leaving only washed up bones and broken shards of shells upon the stairs where they had just been. The water turned and rippled, then calmed, neither elf nor man moved a muscle as their knuckles kept tight on their weapons.
Seconds passed, the soft yellow glow of the kukri showed only shadows on the walls and a black pool of water that neither wished to give their back to. The grate tipped out of the water, as if something dangled it as bait, yet neither Lavress nor Liogan moved beyond short breaths. The young knight nodded to Lavress, put his toe behind a jawbone that had but three teeth remaining, and flicked it into the pool. Small a ripple as was made, it was all the creature needed to emerge, searching for a meal.
Two clawed feet landed on the stone from the aquatic explosion, dark green and webbed with claws as long as a mans arm. The serpentine body had yellow spots and black stripes on the scales and was as thick as an old maple tree, how long it was with but twenty feet exposed, neither could tell. Four flaring sets of red gills opened and closed fast beneath a cold staring pair of gray eyes.
The mouth opened from a long curved smooth head resembling a distorted fish, revealing hundreds of overlapping curled fangs that were transparent and moist. Clear slime dangled like strands from its bared teeth and its rough black tongue felt something less than pleasurable upon it. The low hiss mixed with gurgled water shot the jawbone high into the air, then its head turned down to Liogan, unblinking eyes looking at the one that had tricked it.
Two arrows pierced through the soft gills from the left, the hum of vibrating bowstring echoed in the cavern as a hiss of pain rose toward Lavress. A third, then a fourth arrow plunged into cold flesh, and then the elven hunter slung his bow and dove back toward the stairs over the sweeping fast claws of the serpent. Back again to his right, leaping over the biting head, he drew his blades. Lavress had no room to maneuver, the slick ledge was barely enough for his feet. He feinted left, then right, the claws of the giant sea snake planted on either side. There was no escape, it blocked any route, and Lavress waited to face it blades to fangs.
Slash, chop, thrust, and oily blood ran down the side of the serpent as Sir Liogan drove his sword deep a fourth time from behind. The beast whirled with fangs bared, plunging over Liogan, who at the last moment raised his blade up and cringed. The point dove through the skull and open mouth, yet it bit down hard. The knight placed one fast hand between two fangs on the lower jaw, his sword wielding elbow wedged between two on the upper, blade still lodged through the roof of its mouth into serpentine skull. His face reddened, he exerted all he had, trying to keep his chest open and not be swallowed alive as the creature reared into the air with a mouthful of knight.
The falcata sliced clean through in the distraction, then again, and both clawed hands splashed into the water, cut off at the wrists. Lavress spun to his left, anticipating the fall of the beast that had held itself up with what he had just chopped off, and slashed the kukri up hard. As it fell forward, Liogan still pinned in its salivating maw, its innards spilled all over the ledge. Like a bed pail being dumped down an alley, the slosh of inside organs and blood splashed onto the stone as its head thrashed from side to side.
Liogan tried not to yell as the head hit the ledge and his arms now held the fangs but hairs from his face. Its body whipped and spasmed relentlessly as it began to slide into the pool of backwater. The blood and more poured onto his legs from where his sword still stuck, the tongue frantically tried to wrap around his waist, and he had nowhere to go. He breathed deep in the dark, feeling the water come up fast, and Liogan went under, and down with the dying serpent.
Lavress looked for where to place his edges, not knowing how much life in the beast there was left. The creature sank slowly, Lavress dropped his blades, and then drew his bow and nocked an arrow. He hoped that Liogan had not been swallowed, waited one moment, then fired below the gills and into the chest. The serpent sank more, now submerged and out of sight, and Lavress looked around for Liogan Andellis. He found nothing, not his blade, not a drop of human blood. Lavress turned left toward the grate, yet there was no knight there either. The water stilled. A cloven claw floated up, then the other, but nothing else.
Lavress dropped his bow and quiver, closed his eyes in silent prayer, and stood over the edge to dive in. His senses saw something moving up, something shiny, moving back and forth under the water. He drew his blades.
A broadsword emerged and clanked loudly on the edge of the pool, then a hand, and then Liogan pulled himself up and gasped for air.
“Help please.” He whispered.
Lavress smiled, thanking Seirena in thought for his companion’s survival. He pulled Liogan out of the water, checked him over, and noticed he was barefoot, but otherwise unharmed.
“It got my boots. Bastard serpent, I liked those boots.” He stifled a laugh and let Lavress help him to his feet.
“Ssshhh, well done, but quiet now, it c
ould come back and we need to move.” Lavress whispered and motioned toward the opening where the grate had once been.
Liogan shook his head. “It won’t come back, I killed it, trust me. What did you think I was doing down there?”
“I don’t know, I..I was coming..how did you…?” Lavress was surprised, assuming his young companion was caught in terror of things he had never seen.
“How? A good teacher I suppose.” Liogan thrust his blade forward, recreating a slow stabbing lesson, one which he retained while underwater in the deathgrip of a dying sea serpent.
Lavress smiled again and the two cautiously stalked ahead through the small opening. The tunnel and chambers ahead were much more dry, dimly reflecting the torches beyond, and the sound of men could be heard talking in the distance. Corner to corner, passage to dark passage, the two dashed in quick steps through the underground of Valhirst.
The elf paused, raised his hand, and motioned with a sideways nod for Liogan to get close to him. The knight followed his eyes beyond his pointed ears, and saw two men ahead by an alcove. Both dressed in black, both with masks up over their noses, and both taking turns at an underground latrine. Then, both men, the one relieving himself and the one waiting for the same, came to attention as more men arrived. Lavress listened close while he and Liogan watched a group of ten men, led by an immense black panther and a man in shining gold armor and a flowing cape, stop before the two masked guards.
“My prince, what an unexpected visit. And master Vermillion of the South, master Oggidan, and his…pet…” The guard stood while the other pulled his trousers up and buckled quickly, both staring at the strange black feline.
“You may call me Crrrimson of the Norrth, now open the cells.” To the surprise of the guards, the panther with a patch over one eye spoke to them. Farrigus smiled at the looks in their wide eyes.
“One hour, Farrigus, no more, then you gather your men and meet me in the courtyard. I have a warring king awaiting. Jehrale, stay with him, Oggidan with me.” Johnas turned, ignoring the bows and formalities, and marched back the way he came.
“Yes, Prince Johnas.” The panther and cloaked man beside it spoke in unison.
The keys jangled nervously, the bars were unlocked, and the panther that spoke strode in with the dark robed man, silent as the grave. Lavress motioned to Liogan with his eyes, to back up. They went round a corner, and the blades came up again from the wood elf hunter. He made a motion with his falcata and kukri opposed and horizontal, his arms wrapped around an invisible foe. His elbows were high, then his blades cut in and across, as if he were slicing a throat from behind.
Liogan nodded, reluctantly, then looked to his broadsword. He paused, then he heard Prince Bryant moan and the echoes of war above, remembered the finger he had seen, and that his kings only son would be hung soon if they did not rescue him. He met the eyes of Lavress, and nodded. The two infiltrators snuck toward the guards by the underground latrine, quiet as death, ready to kill.
Exodus IV:III
Outer Ruins
Western Curselands
Morning light had never been so dark and treacherous as it was now. The hours had passed without a sound, no army of the dead came hunting Shinayne or Azenairk, and there was no sign that such a force had existed previous. The five companions had a minimal meal, as none could get their minds off of what the elf and dwarf had recited to them of their midnight excursion. It seemed they were gone for hours, yet Gwenneth knew they were not. The wounds they should have had were not there either, not a cut in cloth nor flesh to give credence to their recounted battle in the night. No one doubted the words of their friends in the least, but trying to understand how things such as this occurred was difficult. Then came the hopeful western sunrise, then came the storm of storms with it, shattering any hope of normal travel.
The sunlight brought with it a terrible moan, like the dying howls of a thousand tortured souls. Winds came from nowhere and everywhere, dark clouds circled from the very ground and began to rise. From their vantage on the sandstone cliffs of the Temple Way, they saw the forming of a gale turned swirling hurricane miles across. Within moments, it was as dusk again, with all the cacophony of the cursed storm that was but silent rain the night before. The passage to the ruins was blocked by a force of cursed nature and angry air, surrounding even beyond the peaks of the Kaki Mountains to east and west, and sending rumbling warning to any within miles.
“So, armies of the dead by night, and this storm blocks us by day! For such a holy place of myth, it certainly makes things difficult for visitors!” James yelled out his attempt at enlightening humor, having to get his voice over the winds that now whipped sand and debris to the air.
Zen shielded his eyes with his hand, as did everyone else. “We can’t go through that! Try and find a way around it, or do we wait for nightfall again?!”
“If we go south and east, we stay to this road and the cliffs, too dangerous!” Shinayne raised her voice over the gale. “We will be blown off the edge!”
“West means crossing in front of it for miles, likely to get lost in the haze and pummeled by all that it is throwing out! We won’t last long walking across it!” Saberrak the gray huffed out.
Heads held down, eyes all squinting, they stood staring at the storm for untold moments. A curved semicircle of peaks with a valley filled with ruins had supposedly lay before them, they knew it was there, and knew it was indeed what they had been searching for. Faith and belief held them to that thought.
Yet, each breath brought a hopelessness that meant they would have to wait for night and the calming of the storm. In turn they each wondered about the innumerable dead they might face. If what Shinayne and Zen had been through happened again, they knew that getting inside the ruins was a lost cause.
“We go through it!” Gwenneth yelled, staff in hand, eyes staring back at the storm in defiance.
“How?” Saberrak flared his notrils at the black robed woman.
“I have a few ideas, trust me!” Gwenne smiled as the wind whipped her black hair straight back from her head. She looked to the staff of Imoch, the ancient carved runes in the dark redwood and the emerald atop both glowed, and let her know it could be of assistance.
Silent nods in the howling of winds appeared from James, the minotaur, Zen, and the highborn elf, all directed toward Gwenneth. Each waited for the approval of another, none too certain of what she could do against such power, but neither did they have any answers themselves.
Down off the Temple Way they pushed, the storm throwing unforgiving belts of wind at them with relentless ambition. An hour passed, it seemed as much more from their exertion at each step, and they had made it but a mile closer to the old ruined outpost. The hill was not visible in the dark gray morass of swirling anger, yet Shinayne and the last Thalanaxe guided them to where they knew it had been. Now their steps were heavy, labored, and breathing was as much a task as carrying forward.
First one on all fours was Shinayne, her light frame started to lift and she dropped to the ground as to not be taken away by the storm. She looked back, barely making out the figures of her four friends, and then realized that nothing but darkness and impenetrable winds were in view no matter which way she looked. Large branches tossed overhead, old skulls bounced off the ground only to be sucked back up, and even small rocks flew through the maddening circle they were now inside.
James and Gwenneth crawled next to Shinayne, while Saberrak and Azenairk crouched and gathered close. The minotaur and the dwarf put their backs to the west, blocking some of the debris, and the five sat low and tried to catch their breath.
“I..I..cannot…breath…here…too hard!” James was gasping.
Grunts and squinting flinches from Saberrak let them know his back, despite the scale mail he wore, was taking a beating from the debris. The constant impacting of things large and small kept him quiet.
“Allright, we be in here now! And a stupid idea it was! Now what?!”
�
�It seems to strengthen as we push on, before long I will be lifted up and you all will be---“ Shinayne was cut off.
“Be silent!” Gwenneth stood slowly, staff in hand, holding onto Zen with the other. She put her body directly behind the minotaur, letting his size block as much wind as possible. She concentrated, eyes closed, and reiterated some of the passages from the book Ansharr had given her, with her own verbage of the arcane mixed in.
“Usk ava, drixolin usxivian uhrr althiex!”
Gwenneth Lazlette focused her energies and words through the staff and then back into herself, and then light radiated out her other hand. She had never channeled in such a fashion, yet the book mentioned that ancient wyrms cast in such a manner at times due to their inability at small complex arcane gestures. She continued to yell her newfound words in the draconic tongue over the storm.
“Juriasi vughix amerxis vash vah!”
The staff glowed from the emerald, then the top rune, the second, and then the third of five took an orange flaming illumination. That arcane fire shot back into Gwenne’s hand, near Zen who jerked away quickly, and then they all saw her eyes glow with a flicker of fire. It was gone a moment later, yet she smiled as if something wondrous that only she could understand had just occurred.
“Athalies uduarte hivianis uhhrr!” White strokes of light erupted from her hands, dancing through the gale and touching each of her friends, arcing from one to the next and lastly back into her fingertips.
Gwenneth hovered off the ground slowly, Saberrak grabbed for her before the winds took her, then stopped as she shook her head that she was fine. And she was, it was as if the winds held little sway on her glowing form. Lightning flashed, not of her own making, and the storm seemed to grow in fury. Bones and branches suddenly joined the low circling debris, determined to impact into her and her friends. Gwenne flared her eyes at the massive onslaught of remains and ruin, and despite no visible barrier, they arced up at the last moment and spun back harmlessly into the storm. Perspiration appeared on her brow, the concentration was beyond anything she had ever unleashed, but she spoke nonetheless.
