The Harrowing Path

by Cleave Bourbon

  Vesperin stood stunned.

  “Aye, the boy is very feminine, now how do we get out of here?” Gondrial asked.

  A noise from the stairs behind the statue set Seancey back into attack stance. “Another comes up from below.”

  “Another Spectre?” Kelle said, grabbing a hold of Devyn’s arm.

  “Oh no!” the voice from below said. “I am not a Spectre.”

  Esperdahl went to the statue. “I remember now. I held a thief prisoner within the armory.”

  Enowene produced a crystal, which she affixed to her staff. She muttered at the crystal and it shined brighter than any torch they carried.

  “Why didn’t you bring that out earlier?” Gondrial asked. “It might have been useful.”

  “I forgot I had it with me,” she replied.

  Gondrial rolled his eyes. “You, forget! That’s not likely.”

  “You must think you are very clever; don’t you Gondrial?” She said acidly.

  The glowing stone brightened the room as the thief appeared at the top of the stairwell. He was well dressed in green cloth pants and tunic, and he wore a light greenish cloak. His face was pleasant, and he smiled widely with excited admiration. He appeared to be elven despite the fact that he was a head and a half shorter than Devyn. “Welcome to Signal Hill,” he said.

  “Kyrie!” Lady Shey said. “What are you doing down there?”

  Kyrie ignored Lady Shey.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” Shey exclaimed.

  Kyrie squinted and looked at Lady Shey intently for a moment. His face suddenly brightened in recognition. “Sheyna? Sheyna Namear, is that you all grown up?”

  “It is, Kyrie, although I prefer to be called Shey or Lady Shey. I have left the name Sheyna behind.”

  Kyrie nodded while bowing. “As you wish. Aye, I do remember you.”

  “You do not appear to be cursed,” Kelle said.

  “Oh, I was not cursed with death as the others of this village. I was cursed with life.” He lowered his head. “I was in the armory when the city fell.”

  “And I kept him there,” Esperdahl said.

  Kerad cocked an eyebrow. “How is it that you escaped the curse of the city, and how did you survive all this time?”

  “I am not entirely sure. I suspect the armory itself protected me. I ate whatever I could find, and I conjured the rest.” Kyrie sighed and sat down on one of the pews. “As best as I can figure, time has abandoned me in this place. What will you do with me now that your curse has been lifted, Esperdahl?”

  “You will refer to me as your grace, thief.”

  “Forgive me, your grace,” he said bowing.

  “I will charge you with assisting me as your penance for your crimes.”

  “What, being trapped here was not penance enough?”

  “There is much to be done.”

  “Wait a moment,” Gondrial said. “All this makes no sense to me. Signal Hill was cursed because it is...well...was a village of weaponsmiths and armorers, and the wielders were losing the War of the Oracle, right?”

  “Aye, that is the story I know,” Seancey answered.

  “That war ended a thousand years ago. Where are your loyalties now, uh, your grace?”

  “Where they have always been, my son, with the will of Loracia. I will free the peoples of Signal Hill, and we will once again prepare for war. As I understand it, a new war is coming.”

  “That’s where I have a problem. How do you know a new war looms on the horizon? You have been a ghost for a thousand years. Do you see my dilemma?”

  “I only follow that which Loracia commands, and she commands me to rebuild Signal Hill. The war I knew is long over, but we are needed once more.”

  “But I...”

  “Let it be, Gondrial,” Kerad said. “He is a high priest, and as such he does have the power to know Loracia’s will and do her bidding. It is our way.”

  “Are you saying that Loracia has filled him in on the particulars somehow? He knows things just because he knows them!” Gondrial said. “Didn’t you say something about not being a disciple of Loracia if you are cursed to that other priest? You know, when you got all angry and started swinging your mace and slinging golden light on him.”

  Vesperin stepped up. “I know it is not something you will accept freely, but you must.”

  “I did say that earlier when the priest invoked the name of Loracia upon his cursed lips.” Kerad said. “But this man is a high priest of Loracia, and he responded to Vesperin. He is touched by Loracia’s light. He is one of our order.”

  Oh, that clears that right up!” Gondrial said.

  “The last I saw you, Kyrie, you appeared to me in The Blight.” Shey said. “So, this is where you projected yourself from?”

  Kyrie looked confused. “Aye, of course. I thought that would be clear enough.”

  “I guess it is apparent. It’s just that Kylerie elves have such strange magical abilities.” Shey said. “How did you get trapped here anyway?”

  “It was that terrible Toborne who trapped me. He hired me to sneak in this village during the War of the Oracle and steal away their weapons just before the curse. Aye, you are correct, I am a Kylerie elf, curses do not taint my people easily, but I could not leave except for the projection of my spirit. That’s how I appeared to you when you were in The Blight. Physically, the Spectre trapped me down here, not allowing me to pass. I could not defeat it, but as long as I stayed in the armory, it did not bother me. I tried twice to leave and both times it attacked me.”

  “Likely story, Kyrie. I do not believe you,” Lady Shey said. “I know for a fact that Kylerie can use spells to travel in and out of places.”

  “Sheyna, I do not lie to you. Remember long ago, I never lied. The spectre used some bizarre power on me. I have never seen the like. It kept me here.”

  “All right, but I have my eye on you,” Lady Shey said.

  Esperdahl bowed to Kerad and Vesperin. “I have been guarding this armory for one thousand years because it contains weapons and armor from the forgotten times. I think it is time for the armory to give up its secrets. Follow me down below and I will do Loracia’s will.”

  Gondrial drew his sword and nodded to Seancey for him to do the same.

  “There is no need for your caution,” Esperdahl said.

  “Right,” Gondrial said nodding. Esperdahl shook his head and led the way to the stairway.

  The stairway, made of carved stone, spiraled slightly downward to the left and entered into a large room at least as large as the temple above. Lining the walls were racks filled with armor and weaponry. Devyn could see the area where Kyrie must have lived. It was in a corner of the massive room and contained a fire pit, a makeshift bed, and several odd knickknacks. Esperdahl led the party to a particular rack of rusty armor, and Devyn frowned as Kyrie pulled one of the sets down. The decaying breastplate was not of high quality, but since Devyn had no armor, he decided to say nothing.

  “Here you go, friend,” Kyrie said as he handed the rusty armor to Rennon.

  “Thank you,” Rennon said, looking at the armor as if it were about to crumble in his hands.

  “What? No, no, I’m not giving you that to keep.” Kyrie laughed. “Get rid of that old rust bucket. Set it aside,” he said as Esperdahl pressed on the rack. It toppled into the wall behind, revealing an opening.

  “I managed to conceal this doorway not long before the curse.” He pressed the doorway open and entered. The sconces on the walls lit up immediately, alerting Devyn that Esperdahl was indeed more than he seemed.

  Inside the room was a treasury of armor and weaponry. The racks and the room were small, making the treasure seem larger than it was.

  “Welcome to the hidden armory of Signal Hill. A place designed to hold the most unique arms and armor of the age.” Esperdahl picked up a broadsword and handed it to Seancey “This is Elvander, a most powerful sword. I present it to you.” He also gathered up a suit of combination chain mail and pl
ate armor. “This is the companion armor to the sword. It is the pride of the elven kings of old. It is said no arrow, spear, nor any weapon of piercing can penetrate it.” Seancey set aside the sword and took the armor, holding it as if it were a poisonous viper. “Take it, Ranger of the Vale, it has no curse upon it. Surely you can see it was crafted by the skill of the elves of old?”

  Seancey feigned a grin and nodded.

  Esperdahl opened an overly large chest and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. He handed it to Devyn. “Here you go, something fit for a wielder.”

  “I am not a wielder,” Devyn protested.

  “Oh, aren’t you? I sense it all about you.” He paused. “Here, this is Dranmalin, forged by the dragons. It is light and deadly to creatures of shadow. Its name translates to dragon hammer in the tongue of the drakes of Draegodor.”

  At first, Devyn was reluctant to take the sword, but he couldn’t resist. It was familiar to him somehow. It was a broadsword with the head of a dragon at its pummel as if it were biting down on the grip, which was wrapped in a leather of the like Devyn had never seen. The guard was a single, double ended talon complete with a claw at each end, and two talons extended a ways down the blade from the hilt with claws curving inward to the blade. He took the sword and it felt natural to his touch like it had belonged to him all along. He studied it intently for a moment and then realized why it seemed familiar. It was the sword from his reoccurring dream!

  “Curious sensation, is it not?” Esperdahl commented. “That sword chooses its master and binds itself to him. If you handed the sword back to me now, I would not be able to hold it, nor anyone for that matter. As you become familiar with it and bond with it, you will discover its true power.”

  “What did you call it again?” Devyn asked.

  “Dranmalin. It is the companion sword to the lost sword, Malinfel.”

  Shey gave Gondrial a quick look and he nodded.

  Devyn felt a chill run up his spine. It was the sword from his dream of the girl falling through the trees.

  Esperdahl removed a set of silver and white armor from another rack and gave it to Rennon. “This is the armor of Adjent Amar. It will not interfere with the magic you wield, and it has no helm to obstruct you. It is truly the armor of a mindwielder.”

  “What did you call me?” Rennon asked in horror at being called a wielder in front of the party.

  “Mindwielder.” Esperdahl dismissed Rennon’s protest with the wave of his thin hand. “It is of no matter, friend, I meant no offense. Please accept the armor in good faith.” Rennon took the armor, already developing a dislike for the high priest.

  Kyrie spotted something on a nearby wooden table. “Oh and here are the daggers I planned to steal. They will never lose their master if you treat them with respect.” Esperdahl moved with haste, almost knocking the little rogue off his feet. He grabbed the daggers off the table and glared at Kyrie with contempt.

  “I wasn’t going to take them right in front of you,” he said defensively.

  “I should hope not!” Esperdahl handed both of the daggers to Rennon, who smiled in spite of himself. The daggers were beautiful, golden-jeweled and carved with strange creatures Rennon had never seen before.

  Kyrie appeared disappointed.

  Esperdahl disappeared behind a canvas draped over a collection of swords and returned a moment later with a breastplate made of blue dragon scales and handed it to Kelle. “This is the armor and weaponry of a dragon knight who lost his life in the battle for The Blight. Just before his final moment, he asked me to give this armor to one that could wear it with pride. The broodlord seemed quite determined that I swear to do as he asked. He also felt compelled to tell me that the dragon master he was sworn to serve is called Amadace the Blue. He told me that I must see that it is worn again.”

  Sylvalora spoke up. “Excuse me, kind sir, but I have never heard of a woman donning the armor of a dragon knight. Are you certain you honor the broodlord’s wishes correctly?”

  Esperdahl’s face contorted into a malicious scowl. “As clearly and correctly as your own words. I follow the will of Loracia, and that armor goes to the young woman by my goddess’ order!”

  Sylvalora raised an eyebrow, “I did not mean to offend.”

  “Mean or no, you offended.” He retorted.

  “Forgive me. high priest.” Sylvalora said.

  “I am no warrior,” Kelle said, turning up her nose to the armor. “Why not give it to one of the men?” She inspected the breastplate. “This armor is crafted for a man.”

  “I have sworn to give it to you, and now I have given it to you. It is yours. I have fulfilled my promise. Female or not, it is no longer my concern. Do with it as you wish.”

  Kyrie pulled a long, slender sword from a plain green and blue scabbard. Seancey reached for his new sword but stopped when he realized Kyrie did not intend to wield the weapon. “The dragon knight’s sword is called a dragon fang by the way, and his shield and armor are made of dragon scales.”

  Esperdahl took the sword from Kyrie and handed it to Kelle. “This too belongs with the armor.”

  “All right, how is a suit of armor useful to me when I am not to fight in battle alongside men?” Kelle lamented.

  Enowene exhaled. “It is a gift, dear. Try to think of it as such and not complain.”

  Gondrial rubbed his hands together urgently. “We need to speed this along and prepare for travel. A few ancient trinkets are fine, but we still need to vacate this village.”

  “Trinkets!” Esperdahl puffed up.

  “I’m sure he meant nothing by it.” Enowene said while giving Gondrial the evil eye. “Well, thank you for the gifts, Esperdahl, we will be sure to have the clerics and smiths in the Vale of Morgoran look them over when we return,” Enowene said.

  Devyn caught the sarcasm in her voice although he did not understand her tone.

  “I am embarrassed that I do not have more gifts to bestow.” Esperdahl said. “If you see anything that fits your needs, you are free to take it.” He looked at Seancey while he spoke.

  “What you have given is enough, your grace,” Lady Shey said.

  Esperdahl bowed to Vesperin. “Thank you for my freedom, young cleric. I shall begin work on removing the curse at once.”

  Vesperin nodded. “I was only doing my duty as a cleric of Loracia.”

  “All right, we’re all happy. Now, if you could show us to the tunnel?” Gondrial said impatiently.

  Esperdahl gave him a sour gaze. “Manners have somewhat changed in my absence from the world I see.” He reached for a magically preserved wooden staff. “This way, follow me.”

  Chapter 13: Revelations

  Devyn understood why Gondrial had decided again not to use the travel spell to get back to the Vale quickly. If the Enforcers had reinforcements in the area, they would be attracted to their whereabouts, and they might not accept the fate of their companions as the truth. The spell was also somewhat unstable, or at least his wielder companions didn’t fully grasp its concepts. Devyn was not sure he wanted them playing around with something that even they didn’t fully understand. He put his arm around Kelle’s waist, and she awkwardly moved in closer to him with a clink of her armor. “I wish I could take this breastplate off; it is terribly uncomfortable in the chest area,” she whispered.

  “If Rennon still has a bit of twine I could carry it on my back,” Devyn offered. Kelle stopped and lowered her pack.

  “Hold up a moment, Kerad, while Kelle removes her breastplate,” Devyn shouted ahead. “Rennon, do you still have some of that twine you were carrying?”

  “Aye,” Rennon answered, removing his pack and rummaging through it. “Ah, here it is.”

  Devyn took the twine from Rennon and tied it through the arm outlets of the breastplate, after Kelle had freed herself of it, and swung it over his pack, securing it to his pack straps.

  “Is it too heavy for you?” Kelle asked.

  “Aye, but I will manage it. The Vale can
’t be all that far away.”

  Seancey stepped beside Devyn. “Here, let me take it. It will not hinder me.”

  Devyn nodded and swung the armor down from his shoulder, and Seancey easily swung it onto his back.

  “Thank you, Seancey,” Kelle said.

  Seancey grinned at Kelle and signaled for Kerad to lead on. Devyn put his arm around Kelle, and she snuggled in close. “That’s better,” she said.

  The morning sun was blinding as the party caught first sight of the trees surrounding the Vale of Morgoran in the distance.

  “I think I will sleep for a week,” Rennon said.

  “Aye, as soon as I get some breakfast in my belly I will as well,” Vesperin said.

  Kerad rubbed the back of his neck. “Only another hour or so to the Vale. I think we all deserve a rest and some breakfast. I can almost smell the bacon frying now.”

  “I want to soak in a nice, hot tub before I turn in,” Enowene said. “This robe has collected a fair amount of dust hanging in that dank armory for so long.”

  “I can’t believe we almost missed these hanging in the armory. Maybe we should have dusted them off better before putting them on.” Lady Shey said as she patted dust off her arm.

  “What are they made from again?” Kelle asked.

  “They are woven from elven silk. It cannot be burned or torn, and time will not wear it down as long as its magic holds,” Enowene said.

  As the day wore on and the party came closer to the Vale of Morgoran, Devyn felt uneasiness begin to well up inside of him, a heaviness of heart, apprehension like a child scolded for something he knew he did but did not want to admit. The large oak trees surrounding the Vale seemed to bend and scowl at him somehow. A cold, chilling breeze began to rustle the branches around him. Kelle noticed him shiver. “What is it, Devyn?”

  Devyn pulled her tighter to his side. “Something is different. Something is wrong,” he whispered.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “It’s the Vale; something does not sit right with it.” He analyzed the trees swaying in the wind. A branch, blown in an abrupt gust of wind, snapped and tumbled to earth before them with a crack. Dark, ominous clouds began to roll in, and the wind picked up, growing stronger.