by Adams, David
“So you can open it,” Darius said, his face showing relief.
Aerlos read the look and feared the young man had missed the intent of her words. She saw that the others, at least, had not, and so answered, “I can arrange for it, I believe.”
“What do you need from us?” Silas asked.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for another measure of your patience. There will need to be some arrangements made before I am ready.”
“Of course.”
“And one other thing. I will need you to trust me. You may not approve of what must be done to break the book open, but I assure you I will only be doing what is necessary.”
Silas repeated, “Of course.”
She looked to the others. “In this I would have each speak his or her own heart.”
“Whatever needs to be done,” Barlow agreed with a nod.
“I’m in,” Adrianna said.
Darius gave a small shrug. “We’ve come a long way to ask for your help. How you open the book we must leave to you.”
“Very well,” she said. “I will see to things as soon as I can. Keep the book with you. I will call for you, and it, when all is prepared.”
They were shown to a small room on the perimeter of the court where they could wait. Four hours later, as they finished the light lunch they were provided, a guard entered and said, “All is ready. Please follow me.”
He led them outside and to the northeast, a section of the city they had not toured during their brief stay. They soon learned this part of Lon Antar was less developed, several of the trees still untouched by the elves. They had come within sight of the city’s outer wall when they saw a tree with four guards posted around a heavy, barred door. At a nod from their guide the door was opened and they were ushered inside.
The interior was populated by more guards and a half-dozen cells. Two were presently occupied, but the elves held inside took scant notice of the newcomers. One of the guards snapped to attention and said, “I’ll take them from here. The queen is waiting below.”
As their old guide departed, their new one led them to a long, straight stair, which delved into the ground, and under and beyond the edges of the tree that served as the city’s jail. Eventually they reached another heavy door, which had three locks that their escort had to open before he led them on. “Welcome to the dungeon of Lon Antar,” he said with some seriousness. “Few even know of its existence, and most that do never see the light of day again.” He shot them a quick look and added, “Guess you’re the rare lucky ones.”
They moved down a long hall, the light here dim and tinged red. Both right and left were rows of cells, but these, unlike the ones above, were accessible only through thick, solid doors, and the only sight-line into them was provided by a gated, two-inch slot at roughly eye level. All these slots were currently covered. They had no way of knowing how many of the cells were occupied, but they knew they were not all vacant, as now and then a cry or moan was heard. These voices were clearly not elven, though what they were was open to some debate.
At the end of the long hall was a larger chamber, the door of which stood open. It was into this room that the guests were escorted. The queen was there, along with four other elves, another set of guards apparently. These had taken position around a prisoner, a goblin that was bound hand and foot and blindfolded as well. To the thick leather bindings four heavy chains were attached. The goblin turned its head at the sound of the newcomers entering the chamber, as if trying to get further clues as to what the elves were planning to do. Based on the look of some of the cruel devices that lined the walls of the room, perhaps it was best it could not see.
Each progressive trip in their latest journey had led the companions to a more foreign place, and a greater feeling of trepidation. As much as a jail with a couple of elven prisoners seemed odd in this fair city, one could understand the occasional need to isolate someone for a time, perhaps for having enjoyed too much wine or for taking a joke further than what was prudent. The lower chambers as well, despite the magic of the Auerl Forest, indicated only that there were those that might come at the elves intending them harm, and that once caught they needed to be held while the elves tried to discover if a larger plot was in the works. But this room, and the dire intent of some of the tools present, seemed beyond what one could imagine of folk that seemed so wise and kind. Darius, in particular, having heard of and seen so much while at war, was taken aback, and started to regret his words earlier, allowing Aerlos whatever method she chose to open the book.
She acknowledged their arrival with a nod, and with the same gesture told the guards to begin. Two pulled on the ends of the chains, hoisting the goblin into the air. They maneuvered it until it was left hanging upside down, with its arms tight against its body.
“Do you know who I am?” Aerlos asked the goblin.
It let out a low growl, its face contorted in a snarl, but it paused before speaking, likely working through the more biting comments it wished to make. It took a moment to calm itself, then said, “No, I do not,” in a passable version of the common tongue.
“I am Aerlos, Queen of this realm. I want you to understand who it is you are dealing with. I represent my people, and my actions are sanctioned by them. Do not believe for a moment that what happens here is simply the work of some cruel guard that might be reprimanded for such behavior.”
The goblin did not speak in reply to these words, but the sweat that was starting to bead on its bald, green head was visible to everyone.
Darius had to bite back a gasp as Aerlos went to the far wall, pulled down a barbed whip that hung on a peg there, and returned to stand before the goblin prisoner. Surely, he thought, if there was cruel work to do, one of the other elves would do it.
Aerlos snapped the whip, the barbs biting into the goblin’s exposed back. The creature squeaked in surprise and pain, and jerked against its bonds.
Twice more she cracked the whip, with the same results. Small rivulets of blood began to trickle down the goblin’s back.
“Are you ready to speak now?” she asked.
“What do you want?” the goblin asked in reply.
She hit it again, then said, “For you to suffer.”
Three more times the wicked barbs tore at the goblin. It screamed out in pain and fear, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“I want to know why you are here.”
“Your people brought me!”
“Why were you in our wood?”
“I was hungry. All my people are hungry.”
“And so you came to steal what we have.”
The goblin paused, and the whip fell again.
“You have much,” it said after its cry had died down. “We only need a little to survive.”
“You would kill us all if you had the chance.”
“No! I only want to live.”
She laughed and whipped the goblin again.
Adrianna turned away. Darius started forward, but Silas held him back. “Do not interfere,” the cleric whispered.
“We can’t allow this. It’s too much.”
“It has to be done.”
Darius looked to Barlow for help, but the paladin averted his eyes.
“Please,” the goblin begged. “Mercy!”
“No mercy shall be shown to you, or to your people. After you have died, our armies will march out and destroy your clan. Your people will no longer need to steal to satisfy their hunger.”
The whip rose and fell, and with each successive lash any hope for pity or mercy was driven from the goblin, to be replaced by rage and hate. It screamed again, but not so much in reaction to the pain, but out of spite. “You will all die! Your heads will decorate the walls of our city!”
Aerlos applied the whip again, then turned to Silas and mouthed, “The book.”
Silas let Darius go so the younger man could pull the book from his pack and step forward.
Aerlos used the whip again, causing the g
oblin to spew further vile threats, all caution now gone. She pointed to a place beneath the poor creature, and Darius put the book there and then quickly backed away.
The whip sliced through the air once more.
“I’ll chew your eyes out elf-witch!” the goblin yelled.
Another lash.
“Your children will be boiled alive!”
Another lash.
The goblin spat a stream of curses in its native tongue.
Another lash.
“Stop it,” Darius said through clenched teeth.
“Silence!” Aerlos shouted, shooting him a fiery glare. She flailed at the goblin twice more.
It screamed, a long, piercing shriek, while it thrashed against its bonds. If its anger could have set it free, it would have been loose long ago. The blood from its wounds rolled down its back and neck and onto its head. On the goblin’s left ear the blood beaded, and finally a drop fell, landing squarely on the book, which Darius had placed beneath the hanging creature.
The clasp on the book fell aside.
Aerlos stepped away from the goblin while one of the guards moved in. With a gloved hand he held a vial under the dangling creature, catching more of its blood. When the small container was full, he capped it and handed it to Aerlos.
“You may retrieve the item,” Aerlos said to Darius.
Darius knelt to reach under the goblin, extending his arm quickly and sliding the book out from under the drops of blood that continued to fall. When he picked up the Book of Dread he expected the cover to be slick and wet with the goblin’s blood, but he found no sign of where the blood had fallen. He slid his finger under the clasp and held it open, fearing it might re-latch.
Aerlos waved the visitors from the south toward her as she placed the whip back into its place on the wall. Softly she said, “We cannot speak here. Say nothing until we return to the throne room.” As soon as she saw their nods of understanding, she led them from the room. As they started back down the long hall of the dungeon, they could hear the chains that held the goblin being lowered, and the creature shouted out further curses on Aerlos and her people.
Any elation they may have felt on finally having the book open for inspection was dampened by what they had just seen. They returned to the throne room in gloomy silence, Aerlos’ request that they not speak until then a moot one.
The clamor in the Court dropped considerably as Aerlos led the visitors through in a glum parade. Those who knew the Queen could see that she had passed through a trial of sorts, and what had just transpired and how it appeared to have effected their leader and her guests would be debated and subject to rumor for weeks to come.
Once Aerlos was back on her throne she let out a tired sigh. “I wish I could apologize for what just happened, and for making you watch it. But it was important that you understand what price had to be paid to open the book.”
“There was no other way?” Darius asked, an undertone of challenge in his voice.
“Of course not,” Silas said. “If Aerlos—”
“Silas,” the queen interrupted. “The young man has a heart. I do not fault him for that, and I know you do not either. Remember, Darius and I have just met.”
“And I intend no insult,” Darius said, adding a short bow. “But…”
“I know it seemed hard and cruel. And it was. Do not think that I acted lightly, or care not for the pain I inflicted on both the goblin’s body and its mind. It will be healed of its wounds, but it will never forgive. Such a thing I could not ask any of my people to do in my place. That is why I wielded the whip myself.”
“But if we just needed its blood…” He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “It was more than just the blood, wasn’t it.”
Aerlos was able to smile at that, if only fractionally, pleased that Darius had reached the correct conclusion. “Yes. The hate, the rage, the evil intent. Blood from such a darkened soul is what will open the book. Not all creatures can reach such a state. You or I may grow angry, perhaps brooding over a need to avenge a dire wrong done to us or someone close to us, but even then the book might not respond to our blood.”
“But men are capable of such hate,” Barlow said. “I have seen it, and it is likely that Landri plunged to such depths, at least once, if he mastered the book.”
“Correct. And once the book has been opened, it will respond to the blood of its new master again and again.”
“Which is why the goblin’s blood was collected,” Adrianna said. “So the book can be reopened if shut.”
Aerlos nodded that this was so.
“Could Landri open the book now?” Silas wondered.
“I do not believe he could, unless he once again summoned the blackness required.”
“Then perhaps we have already accomplished something.”
“What of the goblin?” Adrianna asked. “Is it not now even more dangerous, being the book’s master?”
Aerlos nodded. “That is why it was blindfolded and nothing of the book was mentioned in its presence. Even so, it cannot ever be allowed to leave the dungeon.”
“A wise and necessary precaution,” Silas said, cutting off the protest he saw on Darius’ face before it could be verbalized. The younger man took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but said nothing.
“If you are all ready,” Aerlos said, “we should take a look inside.” She gestured toward a small table, upon which Darius placed the book.
Aerlos’ desire to avoid touching the book had not changed. She produced a small, metallic rod, and used it to flip open the book’s cover. For a moment the book seemed to emit a faint glow, as of some distant flame just dying down. The pages were thick, but yellowed with age and to the eye appeared brittle. It was hard to believe the slightest touch of fire wouldn’t consume the book in seconds. She turned over the first leaf and asked, “What do you see?”
Darius shook his head. “Nothing I can make sense of. I do not know the language.”
“Few in this world would. Anyone else?”
Collectively they shook their heads, but Adrianna asked, “Could it be made clear by a spell. Many foreign tongues can.”
Aerlos waved at the page with an open hand. “Try it.”
Adrianna closed her eyes and tried to focus, finding she was nervous about casting magic in front of the elven queen. She was sure Aerlos’ abilities were far beyond her own. She worked the spell, then looked at the page once more, her shoulders dropping. “Nothing.”
“I do not think there is any magic cast over the words of the page, just the book itself,” Aerlos said. “But I imagine any that could open it would find the words legible to them, whether they knew the language or not.”
“Can you read it?” asked Barlow.
“Yes. It is an incantation to call a small demon into this plane. A relatively harmless creature, useful as a spy, perhaps. There are words that need to be said, and a sacrifice made. I suspect the book will be filled with variations of the same.”
“Then you know the language,” Barlow stated.
“Enough to read this. It is the language of the underworld.”
While that was a shock to no one, it made the enemies they might yet face seem all the more sinister.
Aerlos turned the pages, one at a time, studying each only long enough to understand the purpose of the incantation listed. At one point she said, “Here are the winged bat creatures you mentioned. Dezku, they are called.”
They remained silent while she worked through the book, the total page count just over one hundred. Near the end she paused, squinting at a page. “This I cannot read.”
“What does that mean?” Darius asked.
“I’m not sure,” she replied. She flipped two more pages and reached the end of the book. “The last three pages are beyond my skill to decipher.”
“Could one of them be what called the demon riders into this plane?” Silas asked. “You did not mention a spell concerning them.”
Aerlos shook her head. “
There wasn’t one on the other pages. It is possible…”
“You sound doubtful.”
“I do not want to assume too much. It could be a grave error.”
“But wouldn’t it make sense that one of these mysterious pages was what was used?” Darius said. “The leader of those riders seemed far more formidable than the Dezku.”
“No doubt. But there are other ways they could have been called. A portal could have been opened. There may be another book. Or something else called them.”
“What kind of something else?”
“A greater demon.”
“Our problem seems to be growing larger,” Barlow commented.
“Or at least we seem to be finding new questions faster than answers,” Adrianna amended.
“You think those pages you can’t read are used to call greater demons,” Darius stated.
“I do not know that,” Aerlos said. “But I fear it could be so. There were several Blood Books ages ago, though most were never used, to my knowledge. Like many things in the world, some were better than others, if you take my meaning. This book I’ve not seen before, but it is one I’ve heard rumor of, and one I fear if it is used unwisely.”
“Meaning?” Silas said, asking for more.
“It was written by a priest of sorts named Belzlak. A dark priest he had become, if there is such a thing, bent by evil in his desire for more knowledge and power. The dark forces that tormented him were broken, but the book he claimed to have written is now before us. I recognize his hand.”
“Did he ever say what those last three spells were for?” Barlow asked.
“Not to my knowledge.”
Barlow sighed, “Then we’re no closer to an answer.”
“That would be true,” Aerlos said, “except Belzlak still lives. He might be willing to share what he knows.”
“He is an elf then, blessed with long life,” Adrianna said.
Aerlos shook her head. “A man, cursed with it. If you make the journey, you will understand.”
