by Dan Zangari
Kalder narrowed his eyes at the scholar. Cornar had told Kalder that he intended to discover what Jahevial was doing.
Shouts of Cornar’s name roused Kalder from his reverie. Everyone else had hurried down the slope, calling to the warrior. They shouted his name as they headed to the trees. Kalder and the others searched for hours, to no avail. The sun had set, and darkness was falling. Igan had cast a spell, mustering a ball of light that hovered nearby. That spell was more useful when indoors. Out in the open it only illuminated a small area.
“We should get back,” Kalder said to Igan, “grab some lightstones, and resume searching for Cor.”
Igan nodded and looked at his illuminating globe with disappointment. It wasn’t lighting much.
“Kalder!” Aron shouted. “Over here!”
Kalder and Igan exchanged worried glances, then hurried toward Aron. Aron was standing at the precipice of a gaping hole in the ground. How had that happened? Earthquakes didn’t tear random holes in the ground. This hole was so big you could fit several estate homes inside it.
Igan guided his light into the enormous hole.
“Is that stone?” Gregan asked, pointing to the far side of the hole.
The wizard guided his illuminating globe across the hole, and the light shone upon a dirty slab as large as a ship. The massive slab had a curve to it.
“That stone looks at least fifty phineals wide,” Gregan said.
“Do you think this is part of those tunnels?” Aron asked.
Vargos hummed. “It could be… I didn’t get a good look at the map, but I thought all the tunnels were beneath the ruins.”
Kalder stepped closer to the hole. It seemed to go on a way, several hundred phineals. Had Cor fallen down there? That would have been fatal… He quelled his fears, resuming the mantle of leadership. “We need to grab more lightstones and some rope.”
“We’ll need magic cords,” Vargos said, his tone matter-of-fact. “I don’t think the Mindolarnians have any rope that’s more than fifty phineals long.”
Kalder nodded. “One of you grab Hem. He can weave us some.”
They continued back through the trees—Aron leading the way. The ground began to shake again.
“Another tremor?” Gregan blurted.
Vargos’s eyes widened, and he began casting a spell, mustering barsion magic. There was panic in the old man’s face. Did he think the ground was going to collapse? The barsion magic surged beneath Vargos’s feet, spreading in an area around him wide enough to enclose the search party.
“To Vargos!” Kalder shouted the command and bolted to the barsionist.
Tree trunks cracked amid the spell, and several trees fell around them.
Igan and Gregan darted to Vargos, grabbing his robe. As Aron neared, a tree fell, barring his path. The warrior backed up and leapt over the trunk, but before he could reach Kalder and the others, the ground gave way.
Kalder felt himself falling. Aron struggled in the air, trying to reach them. Vargos’s spell finished and the four of them were surrounded by a bubble of barsion magic.
Kalder watched in horror as Aron fell, unprotected. The warrior hit something and vanished.
The barsion bubble hit something as well, and the four of them tumbled about, bouncing off the magic. They collided with each other, then fell against the barsion again. Falling against barsion was like falling on a pillow—well, many pillows. They fell for quite some time, then came to a halt. The bubble settled on a cavern floor, made of… stone?
Igan’s illuminating globe shone through Vargos’s protective barrier, lighting the unnatural cave. Were these the tunnels Krindal and Cornar had mentioned?
Kalder looked behind them, where a steep face of curved stone led back up to the surface.
“Where’s Aron?” Gregan asked, his tone panicked.
A faint cry reached Kalder’s ears, coming from the opposite direction of the curved stone.
“There!” Igan pointed toward the sound.
Vargos dismissed his magic, and they all bolted toward the noise, calling for Aron.
“Here-ahh!” Aron’s voice echoed off the stone.
Kalder rounded some debris and found Aron wedged between piles of stone along a towering wall.
“M-my leg!” Aron shouted, his face reflecting his excruciating pain. His leg had probably been crushed.
Kalder hurried to Aron, while Vargos knelt beside the younger warrior. The barsionist began casting another spell, pointing his hand to Aron.
The sound of cracking stone reached Kalder’s ears. It was coming from that wall beside Aron. Kalder looked around. The cavern was at least two hundred phineals tall. Its ceiling—which was probably that curved slab leading to the surface—was gone. Kalder could see the night sky through a gaping hole, like the first they had seen. More cracking sounded from beside him, near Aron.
“You hear that?” Gregan asked, looking frightened.
Kalder gave him a hollow glance, then returned his attention to Vargos and Aron. Barsion magic shrouded the wounded warrior.
“Pull him!” Vargos shouted, frantically turning to Kalder.
Kalder quickly grabbed Aron, and Igan helped him pull the wounded warrior. As they got Aron free, the nearby wall fell toward them, covering the sky.
A spike of adrenaline shot through Kalder, and he ran, dragging Aron. Frantic footfalls echoed around Kalder—the others were also running. A resounding crash echoed behind Kalder and reverberated throughout the cavern. The cavern seemed to get darker. How was that possible?
“Kalder…” Gregan began. Kalder turned around and started. The entire wall barred the way to that slanting slab leading to the surface. Igan was guiding his illuminating globe all along the collapsed wall, looking for any way around it. Unfortunately, the areas that weren’t covered in stone were packed with dirt.
“We’re trapped,” Vargos growled.
“Can’t you disintegrate that?” Gregan pointed to the stone, his question aimed at Igan.
“And risk further collapse?” the wizard said. “I don’t want to chance it.”
“Put him down,” Vargos said, gesturing to Aron. “I should set his leg.”
“How are you going to do that?” Kalder asked, gently guiding Aron to the cavern floor.
“A concentrated cast of barsion magic. It should stop the bleeding too.”
Aron groaned. The procedure sounded like it was going to hurt.
Barsion faded around Aron, and Vargos cast another spell, concentrating on Aron’s left leg. The limb was bent unnaturally below the knee. Had that happened when he was dragging Aron? Or was it a result of the fall?
“You’re going to be all right, Aron,” Kalder said, kneeling beside the wounded warrior. “We’re getting out of here and find one of those Mindolarn arpranists. You’ll soon be in tip-top shape.”
Aron looked at him with pained disbelief and then screamed as Vargos set the bone. Kalder stayed beside Aron until he stopped screaming. You poor man, he thought.
Kalder gazed at the wall barring their way. The earthquake must have weakened this structure. That explained the hole they found. Cornar must have fallen. But he was unprotected… Had what happened to Aron happened to Cornar? Was he mangled in some part of this godforsaken hole?
“We’re stuck,” Igan said, coming beside Vargos. “And there’s no telling how much of the ground and or whatever this structure is”—he gestured to the broken stone—“is on top of us.”
“We should go farther into the cave,” Vargos said, resting beside Aron.
“Into the cave?” Gregan asked, bewildered. “We don’t even know what’s down there.”
“The temple is down there,” Vargos said in a matter-of-fact voice. “If we keep going, we have a chance of running into the others.”
That logic seemed sound.
“We might find Cor,” Igan said. “He could be hurt like Aron.”
“But he was back that way,” Gregan pointed to the collapse.
&
nbsp; Igan shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“I don’t think we should wait for a rescue,” Kalder said, frowning. He hoped no one would be foolish enough to try to come after them. Some of them might try, Ordreth in particular. With himself, Cornar, and Gregan gone, Nordal would be in charge. For now, Kalder was leading this ragtag bunch.
“Let’s move deeper into the cave,” Kalder said. “Gregan, help me carry Aron.”
Gregan complied without any complaint, and they hoisted Aron between them. Aron was shorter than the two of them, so carrying him with his arms around their shoulders made it easier to avoid dragging his leg on the ground. The tip of his foot barely touched the stone floor.
Igan took the lead, guiding them with his illuminating globe. The light barely reached the cavern’s walls and ceiling. This tunnel was massive. What use had it among the ancient Klindala people?
I hope you’re okay, Cor, Kalder thought. Please, don’t die on us. The thought of losing Cornar tore at Kalder’s heart, and a tear trickled down his cheek.
“We’re going to find him,” Gregan said, his tone stern.
Kalder nodded. They had to find Cornar, even if it was the last thing they would do.
“Apostates will not believe the Unspoken One’s advent. They will fight against him, but he will prevail. None can stand against the Unspoken One and live, for Hemran’na upholds him.”
- Prophecy of Soron Thahan
Naedar, are you all right?” Cornar heard his father’s voice. He was dreaming again… Was his father talking to him?
Cornar sucked in a breath, taking in his surroundings. He was lying on his back within a forest. Tall trees covered most of the area, their leaves high above a ledge not too far away. What was this place? Cornar didn’t recognize it. And there was a sickly whine nearby. Was that a horse crying?
“Naedar!”
Cornar glanced toward the call, seeing Melthas hastily approaching atop a horse. Melthas was wearing simple clothing. His father dismounted and knelt beside him. There were dozens of others behind Melthas, all dressed the same. Adrin was there too. They looked like a band of travelers. Where was their armor?
“Naedar?” Melthas asked, cocking his head in a way that awaited a reply. “Are you hurt?”
“What?” Cornar asked. Was Melthas talking about that fall Cornar had taken during the earthquake? How could his father know about that?
“The ledge you were on gave way,” Melthas said, checking Cornar for wounds. “Can you move?”
Cornar started by wiggling his fingers. They were fine. Cornar raised his wrists but a sharp pain surged up his right forearm. He gritted his teeth against the pain.
“Adrin!” Melthas called. Within seconds, Adrin was kneeling beside Cornar, casting an arpran spell. Green magic coalesced within his hands. “What about your legs?” Melthas asked. Cornar strained to move his legs, but couldn’t. He didn’t even feel them.
Melthas sighed, clasping a hand to Cornar’s shoulder. “At least you’re alive,” he said. “You didn’t see it coming, did you?”
His father’s question was eerie… The last thing Cornar remembered was falling and sliding into that dark abyss. Had he been knocked unconscious?
“Kalric,” Melthas shouted, “see to Naedar’s horse.”
“Yes, sir,” a man from the company replied and hurried through the ranks. Cornar heard the man—Kalric—casting an arpran spell.
“We’re going to resume scouting ahead,” Melthas said. “Take your time getting up.” He patted Cornar’s shoulder and returned to his horse. The others rode away, but Adrin remained, healing Cornar’s—or rather Naedar’s—wounds.
“That was a nasty fall,” Adrin said, guiding the healing magic to Cornar’s legs. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
Was he? How far had he fallen in the real world?
“Two hundred and seventy-three phineals, give or take a few fractions,” Adrin said, as if answering Cornar’s question. “Trans-lines of that era had a standard diameter of two hundred and fifty-three phineals. Then take into account the thickness of the tube, then the dirt between it and the surface. You’re looking at about a thirty phineal difference.”
Cornar looked at Adrin, confused. Was this that strange being that had haunted his other dreams?
“You were lucky.” Adrin smiled, finishing with Cornar’s legs. Cornar could feel them again. “That elf, on the other hand… well, he’s just a blob of mush.”
“You’re not Adrin,” Cornar said, pushing himself up.
Adrin put a finger to his lips and smiled wryly. “Don’t tell anyone.” Cornar gave the not-Adrin a hard look.
“You’re wondering why you’re here, aren’t you? I put you into this Naedar character because he suffered a similar fate during your father’s journey to Laelin Lake. It was the only way to keep you alive.”
“What?” Cornar asked.
“Your horse is ready, Naedar,” Kalric said, walking back to his own horse.
Soon, Cornar and the not-Adrin character were alone.
“I can’t reach out and heal you,” the not-Adrin said. “So, I pulled you into this situation here in Vabenack. When you awake, you’ll be fine.” He stood and offered a hand to Cornar.
Who was this being? And why was he helping? He had told Cornar that these dreams were for his benefit. Cornar had yearned to experience another, but had not been granted an opportunity. Cornar looked skyward, seeing that strange yellow sky with sparse red clouds. It had been days since he had been in this dreamland.
“So what am I supposed to learn today?” Cornar asked the not-Adrin.
“Not much,” the not-Adrin hummed. “I brought you here to heal you. You’re not ready to see what happens next,” he smiled. At that moment, this visage of Adrin looked exactly like Iltar. It was like Iltar was standing right in front of him, smug expression and all.
“Are we near Laelin Lake?” Cornar asked.
The not-Adrin nodded and gestured for his horse to come near. Cornar hadn’t noticed before, but Adrin’s horse wasn’t like the others. It looked transmuted, formed from dirt, grass, leaves, and rock. The horse’s eyes glowed a white hue. He recognized the features of the horse as an Alathian Thoroughbred. Cornar had become accustomed to the various breeds because he had participated in horse shows with Karenna.
“I suggest you stop with the questions and play along,” the not-Adrin said, trotting his horse toward the others. “Naedar is part of your father’s Elites; he’s a vicious and skilled soldier. There’s still an evening’s ride to the incursion point. You won’t dream longer than that.”
Cornar sighed, turning toward his horse. It was of the Custerwin breed. Custerwins were common in the region of the Western Sovereignty, native to the western plains of the Mainland. The horse let him on without a fuss, and Cornar hurried after the others.
Soon, Melthas’s party was at the edge of a lake, a purple lake. What was wrong with this place? Why did some things look so different?
“The castle should be over there,” Melthas said, pointing to the left side of the lake. “We could probably be at our planned incursion point after nightfall.”
Melthas guided the others into the trees along the shore. Cornar went to follow but felt a nudge against his shoulder. He turned in the direction of the nudge but didn’t see anyone. Another nudge swayed him in his saddle.
What was happening?
“Are you alive?” a voice boomed across the sky, followed by a third nudge.
Someone is trying to wake me, Cornar thought. He glanced to Adrin, who didn’t pay attention. You better pull me back here soon. Laelin Lake, the place his father would die—or died. Cornar had to know how this was related to his quest to find the Keepers’ Temple of Klindil.
Suddenly, everything dimmed. A faint light shone behind a masculine figure huddling over Cornar.
“Good, you’re breathing,” the stranger said. His voice sounded like that one in the dream, except not as booming. “Can you move?”
Cornar coughed and raised his hand, shielding his eyes against the light. Was that a lightstone? It wasn’t flame. A musky smell assailed his nostrils, the kind that only lingered in places that hadn’t seen the light of day in centuries.
“Nothing looks broken,” the stranger said. His voice was deep, masculine, and stern. It wasn’t one of his men. Was it one of the Mindolarnians?
“Who, who are you?” Cornar asked, pushing himself upright.
“So you can speak,” the stranger said, standing. He towered above Cornar, extending a hand toward him. Cornar grabbed the hand and pulled himself onto his feet. He stood almost equal in height with the stranger, whose face was still hidden behind the shadows cast by the light. The light was coming from a simple lightstone.
“Where are we?” Cornar asked. The lightstone didn’t illuminate much.
“Buried,” the stranger said. He walked toward the lightstone, kneeling to pick it up. He turned toward Cornar, exposing his face to the light.
Cornar started. Impossible! It was that elf from the tavern, the one with the goatee. But hadn’t those elves left port?
“Who are you?” Cornar asked, his tone wary.
The elf stood, eyeing Cornar with an equally cautious gaze. “My name is Solidin,” the elf said. “And you?”
“Cornar.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Solidin said, looking about. Cornar nodded. Who was this elf? He wasn’t the same one spying on Jahevial. “How did you get down here?” Solidin asked.
Cornar remembered sneaking through the trees, wearing—Sharon’s cloak! he thought aghast, ignoring the question. The cloak wasn’t on him. Cornar spun back to where he’d fallen.
“I’m missing something,” he said. He scanned the floor but didn’t see the cloak. Where was it?
“Your cloak?” Solidin asked, glancing to a pack slung over his shoulder. The elf opened it and pulled out the shimmering shroud.
“Yes,” Cornar said, extending a hand. “It’s mine.”
Solidin nodded and handed the cloak back to Cornar.
“It was wrapped around your neck,” Solidin said. “Looked like it was choking you, so I took it off.”