by K L Reinhart
Just wait, for Star’s sake! Terak silently pleaded with the orcish champion.
“Consider this,” Terak began, trying to remember the coaching that Father Jacques had given him. Only say that which needs to be heard, he would have advised.
“I do travel with strange companions, because these are very strange times indeed. The Blood Gate is opening, and both the Second Family and the human kingdom of Brecha are attempting to stand against the tides of foulness that will fall from it.”
There was a murmur of disgust and appellation from the assembled mountain elves. Terak didn’t know if that was because of his mention of the Blood Gate or the fragile alliance between the human Brechans and the Second Family.
“Look, here! These humans do not garb themselves as the humans of the south. They are clearly not Araxians or Benuin. That is because they are Brechans. They do not come to you to battle, but to help stop this madness,” Terak said firmly.
Lord Falan looked up from where he tended to his soldier Hanna. “My people are riven by the Blood Plague, the third of the Baleful Signs.”
There was a moment of silence as the elf maid looked again at her fellows, who grimaced, but said nothing. Once again, it was on this blond-haired spokeswoman to make the choice.
“We have all seen the Ungol-light, Vardalion,” she said heavily. “And we know that there is no strength in the races of men anymore–and neither have the Second, Fourth, or Sixth Families of the elves ever spared us a thought! That is why the Fifth Family of the Elves will stay here, high and safe in our homes of the Vandra Mountains!” she said fiercely, holding her chin high and earning muttered approval from her warriors around her.
“Idiots!” Vorg belched before Terak could try to counter them. One of the archers hissed, turning to draw back the glittering silver cord of his bow.
But the giant orc was undaunted. “You think that your stupid mountains will save you when Ung’olut and her brother walk through the Blood Gate!?” he demanded, and there was a low moan of dismay and disgust amongst the Fifth Family.
“How dare you speak those names here, to us!?” one of the archers demanded, to be answered by a mocking laugh from Vorg.
“I dare because that is the only name that any of you will be speaking through your fool lips for the rest of your short lives when they arrive! Lives that will be miserable and painful!” Vorg laughed.
“Hsss!” the archer tensed his arm, and Terak moved, stepping to one side to cover Vorg with his own body.
“What!?” the blond elf maid asked in surprise. “You would save the life of this brute?”
“As he has saved mine, often,” Terak said without a flash of hesitation. That confession seemed to cause even more confusion amongst the ranks of the Fifth Family, and Terak saw one of the archers even lower his bow, stunned.
“These are strange and dark times,” Terak repeated. “And we are on the trail of the one who heralded and masterminded them. A human warlock called the Hexan.”
There were low mutterings between the elves, and when the elf maid’s voice returned, it was thick with worry.
“Our family remembers the cult of the Hexan. Although we thought them eradicated.”
“They were,” Vorg answered with a cough of derision. “But old evils don’t stay buried long in this world. The Hexan found their grimoires and their amulets. He has taken on their curse and concentrates all the power of that dark sect into just one man.”
The elves of the Fifth family looked at each other seriously. Terak could sense that there was some form of unspoken communication between them.
“I have to tell them,” the elf spokeswoman said.
“Sister Denaal—” the last remaining archer still with his bow cocked spoke low and warningly, but Denaal was adamant as she turned back to Terak.
“You say that you are on the trail of this human sorcerer? Here, to the Vandra?” she asked seriously.
“I do.” Terak nodded gravely.
“There was one powerful human sorcerer who came through here not two days ago. We confronted him, as we did you, but he proclaimed that he was the High Chancellor of Araxia, and that he had come seeking a way to stop the orcs attacking his home city,” the elf maid said. “He wove a powerful magic, allowing us to see from afar the wreckage that the orcish War Burg was leaving his home in, and he healed all of our community who had ills.” She sounded embarrassed, traumatized even.
“The Hexan was masquerading as the High Chancellor,” Terak confirmed. “That is how Araxia fell in the first place!” And with the help of Lord Yuliel of the Fourth, Terak considered, but thought it wise not to layer any more suspicion into the minds of the Fifth Family.
Sister Denaal let out a low groan, thumping the side of her head with the ball of her hand. “I should have realized,” she said, a note of frustration in her voice.
“Surely, you could not,” Lord Falan said in a firmer tone. He had never met the High Chancellor of Araxia–or the Hexan–but Terak remembered that he and the court of Brecha had their own infiltrator, a servant of the Ungol who had tried to stop Terak and the Enclave from getting the Loranthian Scroll.
“Well. At least the Fifth Family can help put to right what was our mistake.” Denaal broke ranks from her forces, striding confidently past Terak to the pillar, muttering something low and nearly inaudible before placing her hand reverentially on the stone.
This time, the bright orb of light pulsed, but did not expand and blind as it had done to Hanna. It started to diminish and grew smaller and smaller above their heads.
“I am sorry for your friend,” Sister Denaal said with deep feeling. “If you will, leave her and any of company with us, and we will cure their hurts.”
Terak saw Falan grimace a little at the thought of leaving one of his own behind, but he nodded all the same. “Thank you,” the ruler of Brecha said.
The bright orb was growing smaller and smaller still, seeming to concentrate its brilliance until it appeared like a star. “The Fifth Family have long since made friends with the spirits of this place,” she explained.
Root magic, Terak thought.
“But that doesn’t mean that it will be an easy journey for you,” she said heavily.
What journey? Terak thought. Just as the brilliant orb became no bigger than the pupil of his eye, it moved. It shot across the stone clearing and the still waters to hit the opposing cliff wall, exploding in ripples of light that did not seem to harm the steady mountains at all.
But it did change them.
As Terak and the others watched, a section of the solid cliff wall appeared to swirl and melt, flowing back to form a perfect oval passageway into the depths of the mountain.
There was the sound of water rippling as several naturally flat stones rose in the pool between the clearing and the corridor, creating a pathway forward.
“Where does it lead?” Falan whispered in awe. It was clear that this was no act of normal magic–or perhaps one trained in the arts of illusion could perform such a deed.
But this was no illusion, was it? Terak thought. The rocks down there looked as real as the smooth and strangely-whorled natural stone of the clearing under his feet. The opening into the mountain looked just as real, too.
“It leads to the Vault of Heroes,” said Sister Denaal. “Which was a place where the First Family of the elves—” A shadow crossed her features. As well it might, Terak thought. It had been the First Family who had created the Blood Gate, after all.
“But, even more important than that, it leads to Grom,” she said, her voice lowering itself to the merest whisper against the sighs of the mountain and forest night.
“Grom?” Terak frowned. He had never heard of this place–or people.
“The Grom is a creature older even than the elves and is protector of these mountains,” Sister Denaal said. “Some say that Grom is an original creature,” she explained, although Terak still had no idea what she was going on about. “Just as every one of the T
hree Worlds have their races and spirits, our world of the Midhara has its own–and the Grom was one of the first.”
Root magic, indeed, Terak thought, a little sourly as he was a null.
“What is it? A beast? A spirit?” He asked, earning a cough of annoyance from the Fifth Family.
“The Grom is no dumb animal!” Sister Denaal said hotly, before allowing her temper to cool as she continued. “The Grom is perhaps both a spirit and a creature. It is ancient and powerful, and we of the Fifth believe that is why the First Family chose this site to house their honored dead.”
Terak nodded. From what little he knew of magic or of history, it seemed to make sense, given what he had heard of the sorcerer-kings and queens of the now-extinct First Family. They had lusted for power after all, hadn’t they?
“But the Grom obeys its own rhythms and laws. It may choose to honor you, or it may decide to kill you. Or it is far more likely that it will just ignore you!” Denaal said with a slightly wry smile. “However, it is still a perilous journey into the dark. And if you anger the Grom while you are in his domain–then there will be no hope for you, either under the earth or under the stars.”
There was a muttered expression of fear from the now-visible Brecha soldiers. Terak figured that each one was considering whether they would like to be the one to annoy an ancient, powerful, and strange god-thing.
“And the Hexan went before us? With how many? How well equipped?” Lord Falan was far more practical, speaking of matters that any soldier could calculate.
Sister Denaal flicked a glance at the assembled wary Brechan soldiers. “Around your number. Twelve soldiers and himself, that is all.”
“Hmm,” Falan considered. “Better than being outnumbered . . .”
There was a low bark of derision from Vorg, now lumbering to his feet. “You could have four times as many, and the Hexan alone would still be a challenge!”
You’re not helping, Vorg. Terak hissed internally as his annoyed thought flooded through him. Unlike humans, orcs weren’t fazed easily by the prospect of pain and defeat.
“Luckily, I have my ax,” Vorg said happily, picking up his dropped weapon and slotting it back into the harness strap across his back.
“We have what we need—” Falan tried to raise his voice to inspire his nervous soldiers. But many among them had seen too much already, with the War Burg of the orcs and its orcish wyvern-riders, the magical darts of the human Benuin, and the crash of their beloved air galleon The Lady of the North . . .
And now they are wondering whether they will have to fight an original god-creature! Terak thought, knowing what was going to happen even as one of the soldiers raised his voice.
“I’m tired, my lord. And I was injured over those accursed plains,” the middle-aged man said, holding up his heavily bandaged arm. “I fear that I will be no use to you down there in the darks.”
“I, too—” said another man, each one displaying reasons and wounds why they could travel no further into this madness.
“Cowards,” Vorg muttered, but Terak could hear that there was no great derision in his voice when he said it. The orc had made his opinion of the strength of humans very clear already, after all.
“No.” Falan’s voice was clear and strong as he stood up to face the far larger orc champion. “These men and women are certainly not cowards!” Falan said hotly, as Vorg turned to look at the human lord facing up to him. Terak thought he saw a twinkle of mirth in the orc’s eyes.
“They are strong daughters and sons of Brecha, and they have followed me here, to the ends of sanity and into dark places, to save their families and homes!” Falan said loudly, allowing everyone to hear his pride for them shine through.
“And so, I will say this.” Falan now turned to the rest of the assembled Brecha soldiers. “I am asking only those able-bodied to come with me, and the rest will accompany the elves of the Fifth Family, to be healed as they may,” he said, although his voice dropped a notch as his tone became darker. “I fear that before long there will be no place left in this world where we will not face the enemy from beyond the Blood Gate. But those who stay here will fight here, with our allies and friends of the Fifth Family. We will fight where we stand!” he said, echoing precisely what Terak had warned him of, just a short while ago.
“We fight where we stand,” repeated the first wounded soldier severely, with tears springing to his eyes with admiration for his leader.
“We should go,” Terak urged Falan a little softer, knowing that there was no sense in delaying the journey.
And every moment we wait, the Hexan might already be getting his claws on the Sword of Damiel, he thought, although he did not know what that would mean for the fate of the middle world.
But whatever this blade can do, Terak knew, if the Hexan wants it, then it’s got to be powerful, and it’s got to be bad news for the rest of us.
By the final counting, only eight of the twelve soldiers had decided to accompany their Lord Falan, Vorg the Unwanted, and Terak the Null into the Vandra Mountains.
It’s not enough, Terak knew, but now, at this late hour, it was the best that they could hope for. He tried to steel himself as the Enclave had told him, as the Path of Pain and the Book of Corrections had taught him to, by breathing down his trepidation until it vanished through his body, leaving his head clear and as sharp as a knife.
But then, as he followed after Vorg and Falan to step onto the strangely smooth slabs of stepping stones that the root magic had summoned across the pool, he saw the look of resignation, even empathy on the face of Sister Denaal.
She raised her hand in farewell–and to Terak it looked as though she didn’t expect to see any of them alive ever again.
7
Under Stone, Under Mountain
Falan was the first to step into the oval passageway. With a muttered cantrip, he set up a small blue ball of were-light, just above and ahead of him.
The passageway ahead sloped a little downwards, but not by much, and appeared to tunnel straight into the heart of the mountain above them. The strangest thing was the fact that the walls, although forming a straight passageway, appeared to be formed naturally. They were not carved and smoothed by chisel or pickax–instead, they were the normal humps, buttresses, and cracks of any normal cave system that Terak might have found familiar in the far-away northern Tartaruks.
Only the passage doesn’t turn or deviate from its path, the elf considered.
Crack! There was a noise like a pick hitting stone, and suddenly the tunnel grew darker by a fraction, a rush of mineral-laden air sweeping over them.
“It’s closed. They closed the doorway behind us!” said one of the more nervous of the Brecha soldiers.
But it was Vorg who voiced the thought that was racing through Terak’s mind. “Not them. The mountain.” And then, a fraction of a moment later, “Grom.”
There was a moment of hushed silence from the assembled soldiers, as they all considered the strange being that they were traveling toward. But no one dared to speak out loud until the youngest of the human soldiers, perhaps only eighteen summers or so, opened his mouth. “Well, Grom or no–we’re Brechans! We faced snowstorm and hail and orcs and worse, right!?”
Crack! As if in response, there was a deep, bone-shaking grumble from the stones of the mountains themselves and a sighing sound to the trapped airs of the place.
“Holy Stars . . . !” one of the soldiers said.
“Easy,” Falan muttered, sharing a glance with Terak which said it all: We don’t know the ways of this place. We must tread carefully.
“Come on!” Vorg grumbled, shouldering Terak and Falan out of the way to start marching. For once, Terak found himself admiring the orc’s practical nature.
Time passed, but Terak had no idea how much time it was. Always, the constantly different walls, but still the passage continued downwards without deviation.
I have no way to read this place, the elf thought. Even though he was
used to the stone walls of the Enclave, he had found himself feeling instantly at home in the Forest of Everdell.
But down here? There was no fresh wind, laden with tree sap. No sound of trees and leaves rustling or brushing against each other. No distant sound of bird call or animal cry.
So, in fact, Terak knew that he had no way to read the signs of danger before it arrived, when it did.
“It’s ending,” Vorg grunted, and Terak saw that the blue ball of Falan’s were-light had indeed illuminated an ending: a fork, two passages heading away either to the right or the left.
“How are we going to know which way the Hexan went!?” Terak hissed in frustration. We’ll have to split our forces. We’ll be smaller, easier to pick off—
“Haines?” Falan turned to call to one of the soldiers–a long-haired, quiet-eyed man who had so far kept his own counsel. Terak watched as the brown-haired man stepped forward to nod respectfully to his lord. Then he fumbled into one of his pouches to draw forth a long silver chain with a smooth polished stone hanging at one end, colored a light whorled blue.
Terak felt the familiar grate at the back of his teeth as guardsman Haines started muttering under his breath. It was magic. The thing that he couldn’t do. He watched as the guard stepped forward, right in the center of the intersection, and looked up to Falan.
“Which way did the Hexan go?” Falan asked seriously, as the other soldiers huddled around behind, close to the light and looking nervous.
Haines muttered once again, and the feeling of tension in Terak’s back teeth only increased. He started to feel a pressure behind his eyes, almost ready to turn into a headache.
Burning. Terak’s delicate senses registered. But where was it coming from? There was a breath of air hitting his face, and it smelled, well . . . sooty.
The crystal pendulum in Haines’ hand started to circle and swing wildly, first jerking to the right-hand corridor and then to the left—
