by Dan Zangari
“Are there creatures living down here?” asked a warrior named Sharn.
They hadn’t passed anything thus far. The tunnels were empty and quiet.
“Wildmen tales,” Krindal said warily. “No scholar has ever seen anything, though.”
The men held up lightstone lanterns, aiming the light into every darkened hole or crevice in the tunnel.
Nordal looked about, but was drawn by Grensil shouting, “There!” He turned, following the direction of Grensil’s outstretched arm. A hunched figure crept along a ledge and then stopped. The scraping sounds became faint as whatever was on the ledge came to a halt.
Two of the warriors shone their light toward the ledge, illuminating the thing that perched there. It had purple skin that shimmered, like a moist layer. It took one look at the men then hurried off.
“What was that thing?” Sharon asked, stepping beside Nordal.
“Beats me…”
Midar’s group returned shortly thereafter. They had nothing to report. Nordal sat for a moment and waited for Ordreth to return.
He soon appeared with news. “We found a junction,” Ordreth said. “It leads to another tunnel.” He looked at the map surrounding Krindal. “I think we should search it. Kalder and the others might be there.”
“Let’s split up,” Midar suggested. “We haven’t encountered anything dangerous thus far. We can meet back at the junction when we can’t go any farther.” Several of the other warriors agreed with Midar. Nordal didn’t like the idea of splitting up further… but they could cover more ground, and that meant finding the wounded quicker. Yet, they only had one arpranist with them…
Nordal looked to the Mindolarn mage, who seemed nervous to be down in these cavernous tunnels. Did he know something that Nordal didn’t?
“Midar,” Nordal spoke up, “take Brendar, Markin, Grensil, and Shen’s groups. The rest of you will be with me.”
“The Unspoken One will ascend from the void, fueled with eternal splendor.”
- Prophecy of Soron Thahan
The damovian meat wasn’t the worst thing Cornar had ever tasted. It was filling, but so were most distasteful things when one hungered. He walked over to a half-sphere of barsion magic holding water. Igan had used a basic fire spell to boil the water, and it had finally cooled to a decent temperature. Though Igan was a wizard who specialized in nonelemental magics, he knew a few elemental spells—taught to him by his wife, Baekal.
“This stuff is gross,” Gregan complained, chewing the meat.
Igan had also cooked the meat Kalder had butchered. The wizard had roasted muscles of the creature on Kalder’s claymore.
“Don’t complain about my cooking,” Igan said, shaking his head. He looked at Gregan with a serious gaze.
“At least he’s not Amendal,” Vargos said, “conjuring something for you to eat.”
“When did he do that?” Igan asked, appalled at the idea.
Vargos laughed and told a tale from his youth. It ended with him, old Amendal, and some others eating a bird that Amendal had conjured.
Amid the tale, Cornar cupped the water in his hands and drank. The water wasn’t any better than the meat…
“We should get moving,” Solidin suggested. “Which way should we go, Cornar?”
Cornar pointed at the large tunnel. “Down that way. We need to get to the center of Klindil before we can descend farther.” He studied the others. Kalder had just finished eating, and so had Solidin. The mages were talking and chewing on the meat while Aron lay on the ground; he had passed out after devouring half of what Igan had cooked.
“We’ll let Aron rest for a little longer,” Cornar said, settling down on the ground.
A short while passed before they moved again. Their trek through the rest of the enormous tunnel was uneventful. The tunnel was mostly straight, from what Cornar could tell. Perhaps there was a curve, but it wasn’t discernible. They walked for several hours until arriving at a sudden drop. The tunnel ended at the edge of a pit. It looked to be a massive room, but for what Cornar didn’t know. A set of descending stairs lined the wall to their right.
That’s convenient, Cornar mused. He warily approached the steps, which had no railing. Don’t look down, he thought, remembering that odd sensation when ascending to the Fortress of Anigar. Cornar descended the stairs but soon stopped at a break between several steps. They would have to jump across it.
“Great,” Gregan grumbled behind Cornar.
“Uh, Vargos,” Cornar called as he reached the break in the staircase, “why don’t you put up some barsion as we jump across.”
The old barsionist hummed and cast a spell. Blue light zipped past Cornar, forming a bridge across the gap.
“Or I could just do that so we don’t have to jump,” Vargos said, sounding pleased with himself.
“That was clever,” Solidin observed.
“That’s what happens when you get old, son,” Vargos said.
Cornar glanced over his shoulder to glimpse Solidin raising an eyebrow at Vargos. The elf’s expression said, “I’m probably older than you.” Intrigued, Cornar wondered about Solidin’s age. How old was the elf? Most elves stopped aging after thirty—that was, until they were around four or five hundred years old.
The stairs continued on for what seemed forever. They descended at least the equivalent of ten flights of stairs, but it was so dark in that massive room that Cornar couldn’t tell for certain. Eventually they reached a level spot that stretched beyond the party’s sources of light.
“Two hundred and three steps,” Gregan said, “not including those missing ones we had to bypass.”
“Wow, that’s deep,” Kalder said, sounding impressed.
Cornar looked around for something that he could use to keep their bearings while crossing the room. “Any of you still have a compass?” he asked. Cornar wasn’t hopeful. They all answered in the negative, except Solidin. The elf removed a pointed oval compass from his pack. It was domed, with a flowery design beveled upon its surface.
That’s fancy, Cornar thought as Solidin handed him the compass. It had strange letters for the four cardinal directions, undoubtedly Elvish characters. The letters and the spindle were glowing a pale-blue hue. Was this compass some sort of tevisral?
“That one is north,” Solidin said, pointing to the top letter. It was a curved letter, arcing outward to the left.
“Thank you,” Cornar said, and took the proper heading for the direction he intended to travel. It was roughly a north-by-northeast heading. “Let’s go.”
As they crossed the enormous room, their sources of light lit the occasional pillar, but nothing else. That was, until they came across a skeleton.
The remains looked humanoid, but the joints had extra lengths of bone on them. Damovian remains? They approached the skeleton only to find more lying beyond the first. Other bones looked human, except that their fingers were thicker and their skulls had thick ridges and protruding snouts.
Cornar knelt beside the first skeleton, examining the skull. It had horns protruding from its crown, like the damovians they had encountered earlier. There was no doubt that these were the remains of one of those creatures.
“This looks like a Wildman,” Kalder called out, kneeling beside the other type of skeleton. The warrior grabbed a broken sword beside the remains. The blade was cut in half but it otherwise looked in good condition.
“It looks like a battlefield,” Igan said, picking his way through the skeletons.
“Let’s keep moving,” Cornar said, and followed Igan.
The two of them led the party across the boneyard. From what Cornar could tell, the deceased Wildman forces had pressed their way toward where he intended to travel. Did they know about the temple? Or was this room home to a congregation of damovians? Solidin had briefly explained a legend about a conflict between the Wildmen and the damovians.
“Whoa,” Igan paused, holding out a hand. His glowing ball illuminated a massive rock barring their way.
Well… not quite. It looked humanoid, like a towering statue strewn across the ground.
“Is that… an elemental?” Gregan asked.
Cornar stepped to the side, attempting a better view at the stone heap before them.
“It looks like cooled magma,” Igan said, following Cornar. “Do you think it’s a magma elemental?”
Possibly… But Cornar had never seen an elemental without it having first been summoned by a conjurer. Were the damovians able to summon such a creature? He suddenly wished old Amendal were here. Amendal would probably have some insight about this, though his theories might be a tad crazy.
“Where’s that crazy old codger when you need him,” Gregan said.
“Look.” Solidin pointed to their right. “There’s another.”
The second elemental lay on its back and was missing an arm. The creatures were obviously used in the battle. When had it happened? The bones of the Wildmen weren’t brittle, but there wasn’t much airflow down here. If Iltar had been with them, he could have guessed when this battle had taken place.
They continued across the boneyard in silence. Cornar wondered about the battle and why it occurred here, of all places—deep beneath the city.
Soon, they were across the massive room. A hole marred the wall, leading to a roughly hewn cave. Cornar hadn’t remembered a cavern on the map at this point. There were caverns between the tunnels and the temple, but it was too soon to be encountering anything like that.
“Something wrong, Cor?” Aron asked.
“We need to find another tunnel,” Cornar answered, squinting his eyes. “And I don’t remember a cave like this on the map.”
“Maybe those things made it?” Gregan speculated, thumbing back to the boneyard. That was probably the truth.
“Igan, Kalder, come with me,” Cornar said. “The rest of you check that direction.” He pointed to their left. “We’ll meet back here after we search the wall. We’re looking for a small tunnel. Like a hallway.”
The others dispersed while Cornar lingered at the gaping hole. Igan guided his light to hover within the opening, illuminating part of the earthen cavern.
“Are you thinking this might be a shortcut?” Igan asked.
“Yeah,” Cornar said, “but we need to go down more. We’re definitely near the center of the ruins. Move your light farther into the cave.” Igan complied and the hovering ball drifted.
“There.” Cornar pointed to a rectangular opening along the right. “I think the tunnel we needed was here. That’s the hallway we need to take.”
“I wish I had your memory.” Igan grinned at Cornar. “I’m glad I’m not stuck down here with anyone other than you, Cor.” The compliment made Cornar smile.
“I’ll get the others,” Kalder said, and hurried away.
Cornar stepped into the earthen cavern, picking his way around boulders and stalagmites. The air was humid in here, as opposed to that massive room. He approached the hallway-tunnel just as the others neared the cave’s mouth.
“This way,” Cornar said, looking back to the others. “We should be beneath the city soon.”
“Beneath the city?” Solidin asked.
“The temple is within a cavern below the ruins,” Cornar said. “It’s deep below the surface of Kalda.”
* * * * *
Ordreth worried for his uncle. The longer they went without encountering someone, the worse he felt. Had Uncle Cor really perished in that earthquake? Oh, it hurt to think that…
“Don’t be gloomy, Ordreth,” Hem said cheerily. “We’ll find him. He’ll be sitting against some dirt pile, smiling. ‘You finally found me, boys’—that’s what he’ll say.” Hem imitated Cornar’s voice, trying to sound husky and firm.
“Cor doesn’t sound like that.” Demsal shook his head.
Ordreth said nothing. He thought of the others. Kalder. Gregan. Aron. Igan. Vargos. Were they… No, Ordreth couldn’t think that. They were still alive. They had to be…
Ordreth and the others continued down the tunnel until their lightstone lanterns shone against a slope of dirt—and something on the ground.
“No…” Demsal said, gasping.
Ordreth hesitated, but then moved his lantern toward that shape on the ground. It… it looked like a man. The brown armor. That scabbard. Oh, that pommel was unmistakable. His uncle lying there, face down in the dirt.
“Uncle…” Ordreth dropped to his knees, tears clouding his vision. He thought he glimpsed Demsal hurrying to the body, but Ordreth buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
“I was wrong,” Hem groaned.
“Hem, help me!” Demsal shouted. Shuffling sounds and grunts followed the command. Ordreth couldn’t bear to look.
“Damn it!” Demsal cursed. “It’s him.”
Those words struck Ordreth’s heart like a thousand daggers. Their pierce was agonizing. All he could do was cry. An eternity filled with tears seemed to pass until Ordreth felt the familiar touch of his lover. Sharon’s long fingers glided across his shoulders, interlocking across his chest. She felt warm, and that warmth was comforting.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered shakily. Then, Sharon sobbed too.
“Arpranist!” Nordal shouted. “Heal him now!”
“I-I can’t,” the Mindolarn mage stammered. “He… he’s dead. No magic can bring life back from beyond the grave.”
“Just cast the spell!” Nordal screamed, his words frothed with fury.
Sharon continued sobbing with Ordreth as the arpranist cast his spell. Ordreth heard the incantation, but didn’t dare open his eyes.
“I told you,” the arpranist said. “He’s gone.”
“Again!” Nordal screamed.
“Master Nordal, please,” Krindal said timidly, “we have to—”
“Have to what?!” Nordal blurted. “Get out of here because you’re such a coward?!”
A coward… Is that what I am? Ordreth wondered. Am I a coward because I have my eyes shut? He feared losing his uncle. Uncle Cor had been like a father to Ordreth after his father passed away. Ordreth hadn’t know his father well, but Uncle Cor spoke fondly of him. Now, both his father and his uncle were gone. What would he do?
He had to do something.
Nordal continued shouting at Krindal and the arpranist. Others bemoaned the discovery. They had never dared to imagine such a loss. But now it stared them in the face.
Be brave, Ordreth, he heard his uncle’s voice say. Was that the whisper of his ghost? Ordreth slowly opened his eyes and touched Sharon’s hands. He had to stand and face his loss. He had to see his uncle. Ordreth recalled his uncle’s words about overcoming wounds on the battlefield. Embrace the pain. Don’t let it stop you. Make it fuel you, drive you to greatness.
“Sharon,” Ordreth said, turning to his lover. Tears stained her cheeks. She let go of him, allowing him to rise.
Ordreth stood and walked to the corpse, now turned face up. The others were gathered around, all somber and angry. His uncle’s face was frozen in a moment of agony.
Everything seemed to fade at that moment. Nordal’s shouts, Sharon’s sobbing, the frustrated sentiments of his fellow warriors. All that remained was Ordreth, and his uncle’s corpse.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Ordreth said, kneeling beside Cornar’s body. “I… I will miss you.” He paused. Everything felt empty. Ordreth had lost friends during past adventures, but this was his uncle, the man who survived everything. Now he was gone.
Ordreth looked at his uncle’s emerald eyes one last time and gently closed them.
“Things won’t be the same,” he said with a frown. “But, I’ll carry on. I’ll make sure Aunty Karenna is okay—” Aunty Karenna, how was he going to tell her? This was such a cruel thing for her to bear… She couldn’t realize her dreams with him. They would all be shattered. If you only had stayed, Ordreth lamented.
“Move!” A gauntleted hand grabbed Ordreth, yanking him from his reverie. Noise flooded over him. Nordal had stopped shouting, but everyon
e was in an uproar.
Ordreth turned to see the Mindolarn prince moving toward his uncle’s body. Where had he come from? Wasn’t Prince Kaescis out with the Wildmen tribal leaders? The prince was clad in his unique armor. Those thin plates were astonishing.
“What are you saying?” Nordal demanded. “That this was a trap?”
“Precisely,” Prince Kaescis said, his voice muffled beneath his helmet. “It’s exactly what they would do.” Ordreth was confused, who was the prince talking about?
“The Sapphire Guard is notorious for antics like this,” the prince said, running his hands over Uncle Cor’s corpse.
“So that’s who you’re afraid of.” Nordal looked to Krindal. The necromancer-scholar nodded timidly and looked over his shoulder, gazing down the darkened tunnel.
The Sapphire Guard… Ordreth had heard that name before, but he didn’t know what it meant or represented. “Who are they?” he asked.
“The deadliest elves in all the Kalishir Ocean,” the prince said, continuing to examine the body. That explained the Mindolarn army that Kaescis had brought.
“They’re from Keth,” Nordal said. “They work for the Elven Aristocracy of Merdan. The Sapphire Guard are their henchmen.”
“And they’re looking for the Keepers’ Temple as well,” Kaescis said.
Everything came together for Ordreth. Uncle Cor had told him that the Mindolarnians were holding back something of import, especially after the incident on the road. They were being secretive because they didn’t want Uncle Cor to know about the Sapphire Guard… but why?
Prince Kaescis ripped the short-sword from its sheath and held up the blade. He uttered an incantation, mustering a black mist. How did he know how to use that magic? Ordreth thought only Iltar could muster that power. The Darkness magic, he called it. And the prince was using an incantation… Iltar never did that when manifesting the Darkness.
The prince guided the mist to the blade. His spell cankered the sharp edge and soon eroded the entire shaft.
Everyone gasped.
That’s impossible, Ordreth thought. Uncle Cor’s weapons were able to hold onto magic—even the most corrosive—without succumbing to their effects. Then, was this not—