A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Gregan frowned. He obviously didn’t agree with Cornar’s decision. But Cornar had to follow that whisper. It felt right.

  * * * * *

  Wildmen horns blew beside Kaescis. They sounded primitive, not like a fancy trumpet or any other fine instrument. The Wildmen blew the horns to notify any nearby tribes when approaching the ruins of Klindil.

  Kaescis could see the faint outline of the once majestic city. The ruins stood out against the morning twilight.

  That must have been a grand city, he mused, tiredly gripping the reins. They had ridden from the Wildmen tent capital nonstop since last morning. There was no time to waste when it came to the Sapphire Guard. Kaescis would ensure that his army would reach the Keepers’ Temple before them.

  “God of our fathers…” Bratan said with a gasp.

  “What is it?!” Kaescis demanded.

  “The ground…” Bratan muttered, pointing to the right of the city. “An earthquake must have struck.”

  Kaescis followed his gesture. A plateau of upheaved rock rose above the plain surrounding the ruined city; its height reached nearly as tall as the ruined buildings. And… the war camp was atop it.

  “You’re just now noticing that, Bratan?” Laeyit remarked with a sly grin. Bratan sighed and then grumbled.

  Wildmen chattered about Bratan’s observation. Their words about the upheaved plateau were garbled. Some said that it was done by those that slept within the ruins. Kaescis had briefly heard of such beings after striking a deal with High Chieftain Bhrane.

  Turning to the high chieftain—who rode a valerin beside him—Kaescis asked, “Remind me, what sleeps in the ruins?”

  “Oh,” Bhrane shook his head. “The Sleepers are mighty. They are fierce. They live in the dark, do not like light. I see them only once. Purple skin, like night sky. Red eyes, and they know words. They burn…”

  Purple skin? What kind of mutation would have caused that? Bhrane explained again about the Wildmen who lived in Klindil. He had told Kaescis before their departure from the tent city but thought it prudent to explain it again. They were a tribe consisting of members from each of the other tribes. It sounded like a monastery, as the tribesmen were very devout and trained to kill trespassers and Sleepers. Wildmen joined this tribe to fight. The tribe lived above, while these Sleepers lived beneath. Bhrane had said it was all symbolic. What strange ideas…

  Kaescis looked back at the army of Wildmen that had followed him and the high chieftain out of the tent city. Nearly two thousand restored Wildmen, all human again, marched behind Kaescis. He had spent most of that first evening restoring those that High Chieftain Bhrane had selected. Others, Kaescis restored in a manner like Gevistra and his tribe.

  Gevistra, however, had been turned human, like his sister, Fenia. He and Fenia rode behind Kaescis as part of his retinue. Kaescis would see to their integration into the Mindolarn Empire as ambassadors.

  “The Sleepers do this?” Gevistra pointed to the plateau.

  Kaescis glanced at him. Gevistra probably wouldn’t understand the concept of an earthquake, but it was worth trying. “No, Gevistra. The ground moves.”

  “Because the Sleepers move it?” Gevistra asked.

  “No, the ground moves itself. Imagine the ground as large planks where you place your food.” Kaescis let go of his reins and demonstrated the earthquake with his hands. “The pieces of land push against each other. Sometimes they hit and part of the land gets pushed upward.”

  Gevistra looked troubled. He sighed and his sister patted his shoulder to comfort him.

  “You say Sleepers do not do this?” Bhrane asked, not sounding pleased. Kaescis was challenging everything these men believed. First their very natures, now the nature of their lands.

  “That’s right,” Laeyit chimed. “Your Sleepers are just a bunch of silly creatures with sensitivity to light.”

  “No!” Bhrane shook his head with disgust. “Sleepers are powerful. They speak and the ground shakes. The Galanchum hear them and moves the world.”

  “Galanchum?” Laeyit asked, snickering.

  “The biggest Sleeper,” Gevistra said. “He moves the world, living in the pools of fire.”

  Oh that’s right. Kaescis recalled some of the details about the tribe in Klindil. They were to prepare for a conflict with the leader of the Sleepers, a gigantic beast made of magma that spewed fire.

  Gevistra and Bhrane reiterated the lore behind the Sleepers and their feud with them while Kaescis focused on the war camp.

  “Laeyit, send a signal,” Kaescis said. Laeyit complied by casting a spell. Illusionary magic gathered in her hand and shot into the sky, exploding in a ball of red and white. The red particles wove together in seven strands, resembling the seven-headed hydra on the empire’s flag.

  Kaescis trotted ahead of the army, guiding them to a slope that led to the war camp. Everything was tilted at an angle that made it feel like the war camp was going to slide off the plateau.

  Soldiers hurried down the slope, accompanying the grand marshals. Where were Krindal and Mister Dol’shir? Surely the soldiers would have roused them from their slumber.

  “Your Imperial Grace,” Hezidex said, saluting Kaescis. “We have ill news.”

  Kaescis pulled on his reins, stopping his horse. “What?”

  “As you can undoubtedly see, we experienced an earthquake,” Galiur said.

  “As did we,” Kaescis said.

  “We lost some Sorothians,” Hezidex said solemnly. “Mister Dol’shir is missing, presumed buried. We think he spotted a spy and gave chase. We found a corpse, half of it. But it wasn’t Dol’shir.”

  “The Sapphire Guard?” Kaescis asked.

  “We think so,” Galiur said. “It looked elven.”

  “We also lost a few others,” Hezidex said. “Nordal took Krindal and the Sorothian adventurers to Klindil—”

  “Into the ruins…?” Kaescis demanded.

  “The places where Dol’shir and the others disappeared,” Hezidex said, pointing to the forest behind Kaescis. “There were pits there, caused by the earthquake. Nordal and his band went into the ruins to access the tunnels so they could get to the collapsed parts. To check for survivors, Your Imperial Grace.”

  “And you didn’t stop him?!” Kaescis shouted.

  “No… Your Imperial Grace,” Hezidex muttered. “Nordal was… determined.”

  Kaescis growled and dismounted, grabbing his helmet. He waved for a soldier to take the steed, who was undoubtedly exhausted from the ride. Kaescis glared at the grand marshals for a moment.

  “You’re telling me,” Kaescis said, “that the Sapphire Guard has been here for a day, and you let the one man they’re after go into a potential trap without Imperial escort?”

  Hezidex sucked in his breath. The grand marshal briefly averted his eyes and opened his mouth to speak but Galiur chimed an explanation. “We thought the Sapphire Guard behind us. With their scout dead they would have needed to send another. We set some of the mages about, casting dispels. They’ve seen nothing. We had—have time, Your Imperial Grace.”

  Kaescis shook his head, disgusted. What had happened in his absence? The Wildmen horns sounded again, from the base of the slope.

  “Mobilize the camp,” Kaescis said, turning around and taking his helmet in both hands. “Move everyone into that entrance to the tunnels Mister Dol’shir noted on the map.”

  “And where are you going, Your Imperial Grace?” Galiur called after him.

  Kaescis stopped mid-stride, glancing to the grand marshal. “I’m going to retrieve Krindal. He’s too valuable to lose now.” With that, Kaescis donned his helmet.

  * * * * *

  An hour or two had passed since Cornar’s rendezvous with the others. They chatted about their plight, and how they fell into the pit. Vargos was awestruck that Cornar hadn’t sustained any wounds. So was Cornar. He would have fallen the equivalent of twenty stories. It was like jumping off a towering cliff. How was he still alive?

&
nbsp; Eventually, they came to a fork in the tunnel. One side veered to the left while the other made an abrupt curve to the right.

  “Which way?” Solidin asked.

  “The left side,” Cornar said.

  They continued in that direction for what seemed half an hour. Then the tunnel opened into a massive space. Ledges lined both sides of the tunnel, a third of the way from the ground to the ceiling. It looked maybe four stories off the ground.

  “What is this place?” Gregan wondered aloud.

  “Why would the ancient Klindala people need such big tunnels under their city?” Igan posed the question. “What were they even used for?”

  Solidin eyed the men, but didn’t offer any speculation. The elf had been unusually quiet since Cornar met up with the others.

  “Who knows,” Vargos said. “Now they’re just death traps and—”

  Solidin stopped and held out his hand, signaling for everyone to halt. Cornar hovered his hands above his weapons and strained to hear anything through the eerie silence. Finally, faint scratching reached his ears. It sounded like claws scraping against stone. The noise grew louder.

  “From the left,” Solidin whispered, guiding his lightstone in that direction. He aimed it toward the ledge. The light barely illuminated the edge, and the scratching noises stopped.

  “Is that our breakfast?” Gregan asked, snickering. He glanced to Cornar with a smile. Cornar had recounted his conversation with Solidin about eating a mages’ parasite.

  “Vargos, cast some barsion,” Cornar ordered and stepped ahead of the others.

  The barsionist complied and soon everyone was veiled with a thin layer of protective blue magic. They lit the surrounding area, shining from the glow of the barsion.

  Cornar eyed the ledge uneasily. “Let’s continue,” he said, stepping farther into the tunnel.

  They continued for a moment. Then the scratching resumed. This time the sounds were on both sides. Igan and Solidin directed their light to the ledges, but saw nothing.

  The wizard took his probing a step farther and guided his glowing orb to the ledge.

  A shrill resounded shortly thereafter, and then a ball of flame flew toward the orb, passing through it, and crashing into the opposite ledge.

  “Here we go…” Gregan said, sighing as everyone drew their weapons.

  The warriors’ blades sang as they left their scabbards. The weapons’ song was accompanied by howls and whooping.

  Cornar looked at both of his blades. He only needed one… “Solidin, catch!” Cornar cried, tossing the short-sword to the elf. Solidin caught it gracefully. He twirled the blade instinctively and settled into a battle stance, leading with his freehand.

  Igan began uttering an incantation, and so did Vargos.

  A cacophony echoed in the tunnel and crouching figures crowded around the edge of the ledge. They weren’t more Wildmen, were they? No, these looked different.

  Finally, one stepped into the light of Igan’s sphere, which was still atop the ledge. That was no Wildman up there… not a man at all. The thing was humanoid, but it had dark-purple skin. Ivory horns adorned the crown of its head. It shielded its eyes, but Cornar could see a bright red glow coming from beneath the creature’s twisted hand. Another horn protruded from the creature’s elbow. The thing edged through the light, showing its horned silhouette. More horns protruded from its joints.

  “Damovians,” Solidin whispered with disgust.

  “What?” Gregan asked. “That doesn’t sound Common.”

  “It’s Elvish,” Solidin said. “I don’t know what you call them in the Common tongue. Creatures twisted by dark magic.”

  “Like goblins?” Igan asked.

  “Worse…”

  The damovian leapt from the ledge, tumbling through the air. It was followed by dozens of others, leaping from both ledges and diving into the tunnel. Sounds of seething anger resounded as the damovians hit the ground. Then the entire tunnel lit up as flame appeared, blazing within the hands of the creatures. Each of the damovians clutched fireballs formed out of thin air.

  “They didn’t speak an incantation,” Aron muttered.

  “Attack!” Cornar commanded through clenched teeth. He leaned forward, ready to charge, but before Cornar could move, the creatures hurled their fireballs at him and his men.

  Cornar dodged and the fiery magic raced past him. He lunged, evading another flaming projectile. Cornar dodged another, and another, until one struck him. It erupted against his barsion, obscuring his vision in fire. Though he couldn’t see, Cornar continued forward. He could hear the others charging behind him, as well as a crackling of magic.

  The flames subsided as Cornar tackled one of the damovians. The creature swung an elbow at his face, but the horn at the end was stopped by Vargos’s barsion. The horn looked like a protrusion of sharp bone; like part of the elbow had grown out of the creature’s skin.

  Cornar stabbed his serrated dagger into the damovian’s ribs, angled toward its chest. He hoped that was where the heart was lodged. The damovian screamed and thrashed, trying to push itself away from Cornar, but it soon fell limp. Cornar withdrew his weapon and pale-pink blood dripped from the creature’s wound.

  Battle cries resounded nearby, and Cornar turned to see Kalder and Gregan slicing their foes in half. Kalder’s claymore afforded him great reach, as did Gregan’s fanisar. They mercilessly leveled their foes.

  Solidin danced awkwardly with one of the damovians, clumsily poking his borrowed short-sword at it. That struck Cornar as odd. Solidin had caught the weapon so gracefully…

  Movement caught his eye, and a damovian leaped through the air. It arced above Cornar, falling toward him with its claws outstretched; the claws looked like the horns.

  Cornar dashed forward, evading the damovian by sliding beneath it. He threw himself sideways; the jolt turning him toward his foe.

  In the distance, Igan hurled bright pink orbs at the damovians: arcane energy. As the word would otherwise imply, arcane magic was neither mysterious nor old. It happened to be the name for a type of destructive magic. The arcane orbs struck the damovians not engaged with him or his men and exploded upon impact.

  Cornar and the damovian who lunged at him both rebounded. They clashed once more, and Cornar stabbed the creature in the chest. It let out a shrill, and Cornar pushed the creature off his dagger.

  More fire erupted around him, striking Aron and Kalder. The warriors were unharmed, as the barsion protected them.

  Dagger ready, Cornar turned to engage another of the vile creatures, but the one in front of him darted away, scurrying across the tunnel. It yelped in a pattern of calls and climbed up the far wall. Others followed after the one who had called for a retreat, and they scaled the tunnel’s walls, disappearing into the darkness.

  Cornar and the other warriors relaxed. Igan, however, remained tense. The wizard was maintaining several of the pink-red orbs; they hovered about him.

  “What were those things?” Gregan asked, shifting his fanisar back and forth between his hands.

  Cornar looked at the corpse beneath him and was drawn to the creature’s pointed ears… they looked elven. The damovian’s face looked sharp, with angular features. The rest of its body was disproportionate, with arms almost as long as its legs.

  Creatures twisted by magic. Cornar thought on Solidin’s brief explanation. Weren’t the Wildmen twisted in a similar fashion? Cornar studied the corpse for a moment but was roused by an outburst from Aron.

  “I’m so hungry I could eat one of these raw!”

  “They don’t look tasty…” Gregan said, sounding disgusted.

  Cornar stepped toward his men but eyed Solidin. The elf had a blank expression across his face. Solidin regarded the corpses with indifference.

  “Dare we eat these, Cor?” Kalder asked. Cornar didn’t know the answer to that question. If these things were twisted by magic, could they pass that on to him and his men?

  “They should be fine to eat,” Solid
in said, approaching Cornar. He handled the short-sword with its hilt pointed toward Cornar. “Thank you.” Cornar nodded and took his weapon. The blade had some blood on its edge, but he flicked the pale-pink liquid off before sheathing the sword.

  “There’s probably water nearby,” Solidin said. “Shall we go look?” He gestured to Cornar and pointed to Sharon’s cloak. That speculation seemed sound. Where there was life there was bound to be water.

  “Kalder, Igan, start cooking up one of those corpses. Vargos, come with me. We don’t have anything to carry water, so your magic will have to do.”

  “That’s clever,” Solidin said, coming beside Cornar, “using barsion magic as a barrel.”

  * * * * *

  The damned tunnels were dark. Too dark.

  Where are you, Cor? Nordal wondered, shaking his head. Nordal and the others had searched nonstop for the missing members of their band. Eight hours had passed, or so Nordal thought. It had taken them three hours to reach the entrance to the tunnels.

  “I think we’re under the plain now,” Krindal said, holding the tevisral that made the illusionary map. Many of the other party members kept their distance from the necromancer-scholar, to keep the map undisturbed. Krindal stood in the center of it, so some parts weren’t discernible.

  “Ordreth, Midar, take your groups ahead,” Nordal commanded. “We’ll break here for a bit.” The others removed their packs and sat on the stony ground. Nordal, however, paced around the party.

  I hope we’re not lost, he thought, watching as Ordreth, Demsal, and Hem took off down the main tunnel. Midar led Cordel and Tinal another way, a side tunnel smaller than the main one. This place is like a maze…

  “We’re several hundred phineals away from a junction, I think,” Krindal said, humming with curiosity. “That leads to the southern tunnel—”

  Scratching sounds echoed into the tunnel. Many of the men stirred. They stood and drew their weapons. Krindal started, panicked at the noise.

  The scratching grew louder.

  What was that sound? Nordal thought, he turned toward the noise, which was in the direction from where they’d come. It sounded like claws scurrying across stone.