by C. M. Hayden
The army’s food supplies were curiously light, and even with rationing, it wouldn’t last such a large army more than a week as it stood. This meant that whatever this army’s purpose, it would have to move soon.
Chapter Forty-one
Where the Mountains Meet the Sea
Four hours of sleep wasn’t much to go on, but Taro had run on much less before. At around five o’clock in the morning, the Hour of the Eagle, as it was called, Taro, Kurian, and Kadia got their things together and crept silently past the valley encampment. They were much closer to the edge of the Caesos Mountains than any of them realized, and as sunset drew close, Taro could smell the thick salty air of the coast.
The trek wasn’t pleasant, but there were ancient paths carved into the sides of the mountains that, at the very least, allowed them to walk on relatively flat ground most of the way.
As the smell of water and the cool rush of sea air swept over them, they finally came to the last cliff and saw where the mountains met the sea.
Nir Daras sat on an enormous piece of rock elevated from the rest of the open water. The front of the city was on dry land, while the back sat in the water. Nir Daras was built like a concentric castle. The inner bailey held an enormous temple with spires and high stained glass windows. It was a truly ancient structure, possibly one of the oldest aculams still standing.
The outer walls and ramparts were modern, comprised of solid stone. There were crenellations surrounding the entire first and second sections, two guardhouses offset from the main entrance, and corbels supporting curved machicolations throughout the structure. It was built to last.
Several aculams comprised the entire area of the inner walls, but between them and the outer walls was contained a bustling port town. In the open sea, Taro spotted dozens of fishing boats and merchant ships. That was a good sign. If they were open to merchants, he, Kurian, and Kadia might be able to get inside without incident.
They approached the earthen causeway, and followed it up to the main gatehouse. The drawbridge was down, the portcullises were open, and they were able to walk directly inside without so much as being searched. There were a few smatterings of guards, but none paid them any attention.
And there was something on the air. Something that lifted over the chatter and clamor of people: music.
The streets of Nir Daras were packed with people singing and dancing. Parades of musicians and throngs of acrobats and jugglers. Scantily clad women waving long colored ribbons through the streets as they danced and twirled. Crowds had gathered on either sides of the roads, allowing a parade through the center.
There was hot cider for sale at booths, candied almonds, and a thousand small shops selling overpriced confectionaries: saltwater taffy, popcorn, and chocolate by the brick.
Everyone, from the elderly to the small children, wore dragon masks. They were composed of shredded, colored paper; some shimmered with metal foil, some frowned, some smiled, most were fairly silly representations of an actual dragon. Hanging overhead from ropes were hundreds of paper lanterns shaped like green dragons, each with a tiny candle inside that lit up the cobblestone streets.
“How are we going to find Lokír and Fenn in all this?” Taro asked, brushing off a woman who tried to place a necklace of red flowers over his head.
“Well,” Kurian said, taking it all in, “they have to be staying somewhere. So, one of the inns is a good place to start. Lokír is hard to miss, so if we ask around, someone’s bound to have seen him.” He pulled Kadia near him. “Stay close for me, okay?”
Kadia nodded meekly. She seemed overwhelmed by the festivities around her, even a little scared, and as they pulled her along through the streets of Nir Daras, her eyes were as wide as saucers.
After half an hour of getting lost in the maze of festivities, and even mustering the courage to ask one of the guards, they were no closer to finding Lokír and Fenn.
There were a full fourteen inns in Nir Daras. What Taro could ascertain was that the city was a common religious attraction for Helians, and under the command of Lord Paramount Ricarn. Ricarn had the blood of ancient Haleryia, and was a fierce loyalist to the Shahl. He’d been handpicked by Valros Andurin himself after ousting the city’s old ruling class.
“We’re going in circles,” Kurian said. He sat on the edge of a marble fountain. In the center was a six-winged stone dragon with water pouring out of its mouth and into a crystal-clear pool.
“Can you smell them? Or hear them?” Taro asked, not too hopeful.
“There are people here from all over Aedris Enor,” Kurian said dejectedly. “I can’t make them out amongst all the background noise.”
“What are they celebrating? Are they dragon worshipers?” Taro asked.
“Some of the Shians worship dragons,” Kurian said, “but I’ve never heard of Helians doing it. I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”
Taro sat beside Kurian and looked down at the stone tiles. “No real guards on the ramparts. A wide-open gate. Innocent people everywhere. That army’s going to tear through this place like a hot knife.”
“We have to warn them,” Kurian said.
“Is it really any of our business what happens to this place?” Taro offered.
“Keeping innocent people alive most certainly is our business. Though there’s no guarantee the Lord Paramount will take us seriously.”
The gatehouse to the inner temple was shut, and unlike the rest of Nir Daras, exceedingly well guarded. There were half a dozen well-armed men waiting at the portcullis when Taro and company approached.
“Just keep your head down,” Taro pleaded with Kadia. “Stay quiet, and we’ll be fine.”
“Halt,” one of the soldiers said. He didn’t sound particularly unfriendly; his tone was more of an exasperated one, as if turning away curious travelers was just part and parcel of his job. “This area’s not for pilgrims.”
“Good thing we’re not pilgrims,” Kurian said. He motioned to himself. “My name is Kurian, I’m one of the dragonkin. I’ve come to speak with Lord Rician.”
The guard rolled his eyes and spat some chewing tobacco on the ground. “Sod off, I got more important things to do than entertain some kids. Get back to the festival.”
Kurian’s yellow eyes glimmered, his body started to smolder from the inside, and when Kurian spoke again, there were flames licking out from his mouth, moving over his skin, but not burning him. He took a step toward the guard, who recoiled back, fumbling to pull his sword from his sheath.
Kurian held his hands aloft, flames running up his skin. “As I said, I want to talk to the Lord Paramount. Can you gentlemen arrange that for me?”
Taro wasn’t sure if Kurian’s display was pure genius, or pure idiocy, but whatever the case, it worked. The guards led them inside to the inner temple.
It was positively enormous, sprawling out for half a mile and filled with statues of ships, nautical equipment, and elegant marble carvings of the Old Gods. The floor was painted in vibrant hues of blue, simulating water and waves. Stunning murals were painting on the ceiling of every corridor, images of sea monsters and naval battles amidst a churning ocean.
Taro expected the men to bring them to a keep of some kind, but instead, they brought them to the main chamber in the heart of the temple. It was wider than any building in Castiana, and taller than any room in Endra. It was immense, with a thousand columns surrounding a perfectly circular inner chamber. There were altars dedicated to each of the Old Gods, and around them, ten thousand lit candles dripping hot wax onto the floor. Veiled priests carrying incense milled about, lighting the candles.
Kneeling at the feet of the statue of Sarona was a portly man with a shaved head and a crooked nose. One of the guards went on ahead to speak with him. Their conversation was short, and he ushered the guard to bring Taro and the others t
o him.
When they were near, the man shooed the guards away, and began to light a few prayer candles in front of him.
“Excuse me,” Taro said after a stretch of silence. “Are you Lord Ricarn?”
“Archcleric Ricarn, if you please,” the man said. He didn’t look much like a cleric. He wore brown, dingy robes supported by a frayed length of gray rope. He wore no shoes, and looked more like a grocer than a high cleric or a lord. Amongst the polished floors and crystal fixtures of the temple, he stood out.
“Sir,” Taro said with urgency. “There’s an army not a day away from your gate. We saw them in the mountains. We think they’re going to attack.”
The Archcleric stood and smiled. “I’m aware.”
“What?” Taro asked. “You know?”
“The moment I voiced my opposition to Vexis and the would-be Emperor Lethen, I knew my days were numbered. I hear the young ruler’s coronation went well, good for him. He’ll be a fine puppet. A step up from the Shahl, to be sure, but not quite the revolution I’d hoped for.”
“Sorry,” Taro said, confused, “I thought the Shahl appointed you as Archcleric.”
Rician smiled. “He did indeed. And now that he’s dead, I can honestly say he was the cruelest, most despicable man I’d ever met. His reign has left an irreparable scar on Helia, stained our souls. When I heard of his death, I’d hoped it would lead to reforms that the nation desperately needs. I was foolish. And now, the rats are running the ship, as they say.” He looked Kurian up and down. “As one of the dragonkin, I presume you know what lies beneath the temple.”
“I do,” Kurian said. “But I’m a bit surprised that you know.”
“I thought the secret was well-kept. But no longer,” Ricarn said. “Halric and Vexis, cursed be their names, will come for the Deeplight. The one piece of magic that eluded the Shahl for decades.”
“What do you know about Halric?” Taro asked.
“I’ve met him many times. I sensed something in him that I’ve only ever felt one other place, and that’s in the catacombs beneath this temple. I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think he’s human.”
Taro nodded, and removed the Eye of Sethetrion from his pack. He handed it to the Archcleric.
“Sethetrion’s Eye, marvelous,” the Archcleric said.
“You know what it is?” Taro asked.
Ricarn ran his fingers along the frame and glass. “I have somewhat of an affinity for ancient dragon relics. We hold several relics right here in the temple, but none so powerful as the gift of true sight.” He handed it back to Taro.
“When I looked at Halric with true sight, he was different. He looked…monstrous.”
Archcleric Ricarn didn’t seem surprised by this. “Come with me.”
Taro and Kurian followed closely, with Kadia in tow. Ricarn led them down a flight of dark stone stairs, and deep into the underbelly of the catacombs. The walls were matted earth and wet stone, and there were dry bones built directly into the walls, floor, and ceiling. All around them, Taro heard rushing water.
They eventually reached a small antechamber; its walls were covered in detailed pictographs and Draconic script. Ricarn pointed to one of the images. In it, a great dragon loomed over the images of five stars, each a different color. Beneath them was what could only be described as a monster. It had the vague shape of a man, but was covered in eyes, tendrils, and gaping teeth. It looked identical to the true form of Halric, so much so that Taro felt his throat close up at the sight. He backed away, and Ricarn gave him a serious look.
“It’s him,” Taro said. “It’s Halric.”
The Archcleric moved along the walls of the pictographs, slowly explaining them as he moved a lantern from right to left. “Using the Deeplight, Craetos sealed away a terrible creature beneath Nir Daras. The Mouth of Nuruthil, Suborgath the Corrupter.” As he eyed their reactions, his own eyes were deadly serious. “I see you’ve heard the name.”
“Unfortunately,” Kurian said.
“There are precious few who have, and even those stories, few believe. So much of the Old World is lost. So many stories, so many people. The dragons are our only tangible link to a world long passed. Nir Daras is a temple to the Old High Gods in their entirety. The shahls of old would come to study the endless mysteries here. But Valros Andurin gave his heart to the darkness, trying to commune with the Mad God. One day, the Netherlight presented itself to Valros, for what reason, I can’t say, but with it came the man who calls himself Halric.”
Kurian ran his fingers over the pictographs. “Halric can’t be Suborgath, can he? The prison is still here.”
“Sir,” Taro said, “you can’t let Vexis find this place. If she gets her hands on the Deeplight—”
“Resisting is pointless,” Ricarn said. “We can’t defend this city against the imperial army. Thousands will die if we try, and what gain will there be?”
“Let us get it,” Taro said.
“Excuse me?” Ricarn asked.
Taro stood in front of him. “Let us go down there and retrieve the Deeplight before she can get to it.”
Ricarn shook his head. “I’m afraid nobody has been able to access the lower levels since the Shahl himself. They’re sealed behind a door built by Craetos’s own hands. No mortal can pass.”
“We have reason to believe that during the Double Eclipse tomorrow, the doors will open,” Kurian said. “Will you let us inspect them in the meantime?”
The Archcleric nodded slowly. “Far be it from me to deny one of the dragonkin entry to their own temple. You have my leave to try.”
“Not to press your kindness,” Taro said carefully, “but could you help us with one more thing?”
The Archcleric leered at him. “Yes?”
“We lost some friends in the city. A tall Northman and a lanky Endran boy with a loud mouth. Any chance your men could round them up for us? We’re going to need their help.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Forty-two
The Gate Below
The gate to the lower levels of Nir Daras was a perfectly round solid plate of pure dragon-forged steel. It sat at the end of a crumbling cave, lit only by the oil lanterns that they’d taken with them into the deep below. Carved into the gate was detailed Draconic calligraphy, surrounding an image of Craetos with his wings outstretched.
The air was thick, choked with dust and debris. Rocks sifted from the ceiling and walls, and indeed the entire structure seemed unstable. Even knowing that the place had stood for over a thousand years didn’t bring Taro much comfort.
While Taro searched the immediate area for some mechanism that might open the gate, Kurian got to work translating the Draconic script. It was no easy task, as the words were severely weathered from water running down the sides of the cavern walls.
Taro didn’t find any obvious switches. He did find frayed wires and bits of what used to be explosives nearby; it seemed that, long ago, someone tried to blow the gate open. Obviously, they’d failed, but there were still scorch marks on the gate. The sheer number of spent explosives was astonishing, though even more astonishing was the fact that the door was still standing despite it all.
Taro spun a wet stick of dynamite in his hand. “Looks like blowing it open isn’t an option.”
Kurian glanced back from his reading, and gave Taro a look like he was a madman. “Blow it up?” he repeated. “Do you want to bring the entire temple down on our heads?” Kurian pressed his ear to the gate. “I can’t hear anything behind it. Not a click. Not a tick. Nothing. It’s like on the other side of this door is a void of nothingness.”
“There must be some kind of enchantment on it,” Taro offered.
“Definitely,” Kurian agreed. “But these markings aren’t visumancy runes. They’re a warning.”
Kurian read it aloud. “Here lies the Great Demon of the Old World. The Fiery Corruption. The First Darkness. The last triumph of Craetos the All-Seer, King of Dragons. Those who pass this marker, beware, for there is no return. Suborgath the Corruptor, the Mouth of Nuruthil, will not abide intruders.”
From the dark cavern leading to the gate, Taro heard a familiar voice call to them.
It was Fenn.
“Sounds like we should keep the hell out of there, then,” Fenn said. He was a bit roughed up, and wearing different clothes than last Taro had seen him. Lokír wasn’t far off, a sight for sore eyes.
“You’re alive,” Taro said, smiling.
“We’re alive?” Fenn said, putting his hand over his chest. “You’re the one who snuck into Helia Edûn. I bet Lokír a solid coin we’d never see you again.”
“He did indeed,” Lokír said seriously.
“Gods below, if you two aren’t the luckiest sods I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.” Fenn’s eyes wandered to the corner where Kadia sat. When her eyes met his, Fenn’s words fell to pieces. He approached her like one approached a wounded animal, and placed his hand on her arm.
“Kadia?” he asked, sounding gentler than Taro had ever heard him.
She looked directly into his eyes. “Fenn,” she squeaked.
The mere fact that she recognized him seemed to excite Fenn, and he pulled her into a tight hug. She seemed rather shocked by it.
“I haven’t seen you in ages,” Fenn said.
Kurian stood beside them. “She’s still not all there. Amín only know what they did to her. Did Archcleric Ricarn fill you in on what’s going on?”
