“What if he can’t wait that long?”
“I’d prefer not to think in those terms,” Nellise whispered. Criosa touched her arm reassuringly as they approached the large door to the keep itself. The two guards stationed there recognised the princess instantly and opened the way for them.
The inside of the keep was dark and dreary, with precious little light coming through narrow windows set in the grey stone walls. Torches helped to provide a bit of illumination in the long hallway, but did nothing to dispel the oppressive mood. Having spent months wondering what the place was actually like, Fort Highmarch turned out to be something of a disappointment.
Their footsteps echoed along the empty hall as Criosa led them towards their destination. They ascended a narrow set of stairs and emerged on the upper level, where another guard waved them through without question. Finally, they arrived at a metal-rimmed oak door with a solemn-looking guardsman of advancing years on watch.
“Hello Sir Leonard,” Criosa greeted the guard sadly. Aiden found it curious that this man standing watch like a common soldier was in fact a knight of the realm.
“Your Highness,” the knight replied, creaking as he bowed low before her. “As always, your presence sheds light on our grim existence.”
“I believe you are almost due for retirement, Sir Knight,” Criosa mused. “Perhaps I could find a nice little fiefdom in warmer lands as payment for your long years of service.”
“You couldn’t drag me away from His Lordship’s service with a dozen horses,” Sir Leonard answered firmly. “My place is here, until the walls of this place crash down around me.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that, my friend,” Criosa suggested, then glanced at the door before them. “Is he in there?”
“My Lord grieves for the loss of his beloved, as anyone would. He hardly eats, and sleeps most of the day. He has ordered me to turn away all visitors, though I suspect you’re about to overrule him.”
“I most certainly am,” Criosa nodded resolutely. “Would you be so kind?” The knight bowed his head slightly and leaned forward to open the door.
The room before them was as austere as the rest of the fort, but it had a woman’s touch to it. Thick blue carpets covered the entire floor, and numerous vases filled with flowers of varying colours dotted the room. Several large paintings, depicting brightly coloured scenes of the countryside in spring were hanging on the walls.
Criosa quietly led them into the room, towards a man whose back was turned. He stood before a crackling fireplace, richly attired, and appeared to be gazing at one of the portraits hanging above the mantle. One of them was of an older man dressed in regal garb, which Aiden recognized from the history books as Alaric Roebec I, first king of Aielund.
Aiden suspected the man’s attention was focused on the portrait of a beautiful, winsome lady with dark hair and innocent eyes, wearing a green dress. Several candles were arrayed before it, shedding a soft, warm light over the painting,
“Alastair?” Criosa said quietly, catching the man’s attention at last. He was of average height, with pale green eyes, fair skin, and a regal bearing.
“Princess, I had not expected to see you again so soon,” the baron mumbled, inclining his head ever so slightly.
“You have my deepest condolences over the passing of Saffron,” Criosa said, stepping forward and taking his hand in hers. “She was a charming lady, beloved by everyone, and she will be missed.”
“Thank you for your kind words,” the baron replied without emotion. Aiden had seen some distraught people in his time, but nothing like this. “Why have you returned?”
“My father will be here soon and he wanted the place prepared for a fight,” Criosa explained softly. “Allow me to introduce three friends — Sir Aiden Wainwright, Dame Nellise Sannemann and Sayana Arai. They’re here to assist with the defence of the fort.”
“I see. Carry on then,” Alastair replied, drawing a curious glance from Criosa.
“They are here to assist you sir, for it is your duty to oversee the smooth running of this place and protect it in times of war.”
“My head agrees with you Highness, but my heart can find no strength for such a task,” the baron sighed, rubbing his unshaven chin listlessly.
“I’m deeply sorry for your loss, but more lives than ours are at stake,’ Criosa said, putting it as delicately as she could. “If you cannot put aside your feelings and perform your duty, I will have to appoint somebody else to do so.”
“Do as you wish, I care not,” the baron muttered. “The light in my heart has perished along with my love, and nothing will change that.”
“I understand,” Criosa nodded sympathetically. “Get some rest, and I’ll see to the daily tasks of the fort while you mourn.”
“I appreciate that Criosa, you always know what to do,” Alastair mumbled as she stroked his hand.
“If I may ask something before we depart,” Nellise interrupted delicately. “Your wife… I find it strange that your priest was unable to heal her illness. If it’s not too much for you to answer, I’d very much like to know how she died.” Lord Alastair seemed to stare right through Nellise for a long moment before he finally replied in an empty voice.
“Saffron was always frail of health, the one flaw in a lady whose temperament, grace and charm were always there for people to see. She stole my heart, years ago, so I married her and brought her here to live with me. She was from Bracksford, you know… not the best climate to dwell in but far warmer than this cold, cold place.”
“Living here did nothing to help her strength,” Nellise remarked. “Still, it would not have been difficult for a half-way competent priest to mitigate the effects of a cold climate such as this.”
“Saffron was doted over by Earnest, the fort’s ranking priest, and she survived the winters well enough. We would usually try to get away for a few weeks where possible, but this year we never had the chance. She just… wasted away, and nothing Earnest did could change that. Perhaps God didn’t want her to live?”
“That’s a terrible thing to suggest,” Nellise admonished. “I cannot explain what happened, but I assure you, God loves all of us and wants only the best for us.”
“I don’t really see it that way, so please, keep your proselytizing to yourself, dear lady,” Alastair said politely but firmly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I would be alone for a while.” Sayana put her hand on Nellise’s arm to stop her from saying anything further, while Criosa watched the downcast man slump off toward his bedchamber.
“The poor man,” Criosa sighed after the door had closed. “It could not have come at a worse time, either.”
“His faith is faltering,” Nellise added. “I suspect that if the truth of what happened to his wife is not resolved, he will be forever lost.” Aiden sauntered over to the mantelpiece and looked up at the painting of Saffron. Up close, the individual brush strokes could be seen upon the canvas, and the skill of the artist was obvious even to Aiden’s uncultured eyes.
Sayana appeared by his side and joined him in appreciating the painting. She barely had a chance to examine the work when a startled look crossed her features, and a familiar eldritch light appeared from underneath her clothes.
“What are you doing?” Aiden hissed.
“I’m not causing this,” she protested, holding her hands up before her in disbelief as energy crackled and discharged from her skin.
“If you can’t control it, you’d better get out of here,” Aiden advised cautiously, slowing backing away from her. Sayana turned and made for the door with the sounds of snapping electricity crackling over the carpet with each step. Before she reached the door however, the display subsided and she paused and looked down at her body as if it were not her own.
“What’s going on with you?” Criosa asked, as cautious as Aiden had been.
“I have no idea,” Sayana whispered. “I just went over there to look at the painting up close, and all of that happened.”
&nb
sp; Come back over to the mantelpiece, Salinder voiced, speaking for the first time in days. Sayana reluctantly did as she was bid, and once more power began to erupt from her body wherever it could. She backed off, and it vanished as quickly as it came.
As I suspected, the dragon spirit mused. There is something on the mantelpiece causing this occurrence. Curious, Aiden looked at the wooden shelf above the fire and saw a few flowers, a number of candles, and a small amulet on a fine chain coiled up at the bottom of the painting.
A small golden gemstone was set in the heart of the amulet, sparkling brightly even in the dim light of the room. Adjusting his vision slightly, Aiden could see a blue aura of power suffusing the amulet, the intensity of which he had only seen when he had first set eyes upon his blade after Salinder’s spirit had entered it.
He reached over and picked up the amulet, and immediately saw some familiar runes etched upon its surface. They were the same kind that could be found in the Lexicon and upon his gauntlet, and he stifled a curse as he realized the source of the problem.
“This device was made by our ancient friends,” Aiden muttered, turning it over in his hands. “It carries with it an aura of great power, though what it does, I cannot say without taking some time to study it.”
“It was placed at the foot of Saffron’s portrait,” Criosa remarked. “Perhaps it was hers? Some sort of arcane, protective talisman?”
The aura is pernicious in nature, Salinder hissed. Its mere presence is enough to cause harm to those without appropriate protection. Aiden immediately dropped it back down on the mantelpiece and stepped away.
“If Saffron was wearing that thing for long periods of time,” he said, “I suspect it had something to do with her ill-health.” Criosa walked over to the baron’s chamber door and knocked twice.
“Forgive my intrusion, Alastair, but where did you come by the amulet sitting upon the mantle?”
“It was a gift from a man in Trinity, to the south,” Lord Alastair replied from within his room. “I had settled a land dispute in his favour, and he bestowed that talisman upon me as recompense. I found it to be rather ostentatious, but Saffron was rather taken with it so I gave it to her for her last birthday.”
Aiden glanced at Criosa meaningfully, but kept his silence. Whatever the true nature of this relic was, it had surely brought about the untimely demise of Lady Saffron.
“My associate tells me that it carries an ill-omen upon it, and wishes to study it further,” Criosa explained to the baron.
“Ill-omened?” he asked with mild interest.
“It is possible this was responsible for your wife’s death,” Aiden called into the room. “Just to be safe, I would like to remove it from here and study it further.”
“Do so,” Lord Alastair replied with heavy emotion, “but let me know your findings. If it was the cause of my beloved’s death, I shall have to pay a visit to the man who sent it to me.”
“Indeed,” Aiden said as he gingerly picked up the talisman once more. “Sal, can you protect me from the effects of this thing?” A globe of faint green energy appeared around the amulet, which Aiden held by its chain as if it were a snake.
“Do you have somewhere I could study it privately, My Lord?”
“There is a library on the eastern side of the keep, just down the hall,” the baron replied.
“That’s where I’ll be,” Aiden said to the ladies as he carefully walked away, dangling the dangerous relic before him.
“We shall remain here and speak further with His Lordship,” Nellise advised as she began to take off her heavy armour, with Sayana’s assistance.
Sir Leonard directed him to the library, taking care to keep his distance from the glowing artifact. A couple of minutes later, Aiden found the keep’s small library. Shelves of musty-smelling books lined the walls, and a large desk sat opposite the doorway, complete with a lantern and writing implements. A thin layer of dust had settled over the room, indicating it had not been used in some time.
Aiden suddenly remembered the task Desmond had set for him before the journey to the fort had begun. Taking out a small pouch of powder, he began tracing the personal sigil of the wizard upon the floor at the far side of the room, so that he would have a marker to teleport to when the time came. After that was complete, he took off his encumbering breastplate and sat down at the desk, taking out the Lexicon so he could begin his examination.
“Is maintaining that shield going to tax your strength?” Aiden asked Salinder as he stared at the amulet’s markings.
That hardly seems relevant now, the sword replied grimly.
“You sound stronger anyway.”
My remaining time is counted in hours, Aiden. I am close enough to sense the presence of the Ironlord however, and it will be here within that span of time. If I am careful, my remaining energies will last long enough to join the fight, for what it’s worth.
Aiden had nothing to say about the prospect of facing the indestructible monster without a means to finish it off once and for all, so he set his mind to the task before him. The runes upon the amulet’s surface were tiny, but clearly visible upon the slightly worn metal it was made from.
Flipping through the ephemeral pages of the Lexicon, he eventually managed to locate the same symbols, though the real trick with this language was understanding the context and arrangement they were used in.
Time passed without notice as Aiden delved into the mystery of the amulet, slowly connecting the runes together in order to decipher their meaning. It was when he stumbled across a related diagram that he suddenly put it all together.
“It’s a power source,” he mumbled absently, “one that is highly toxic to living creatures. There’s no doubt anymore this thing slowly destroyed the Baroness’ health, for according to this diagram, it was supposed to be encased in something larger.”
To what are you referring? Where am I? Salinder asked in a weak voice, distracting Aiden momentarily with its ongoing deterioration.
“Never mind, just rest,” Aiden advised tiredly. The glowing green sphere vanished from around the device, so he decided to put it at the far end of the desk while he continued his study.
His best guess was that this was a smaller, more portable form of the arcane generators he had come across in his travels, though what it was supposed to power was still a mystery. All he had to go on was a diagram of a staff, atop which was depicted the image of the amulet, surrounded by a circular brace that apparently kept the amulet from harming anyone.
Curious about the staff, Aiden followed the references to it on the side of the page and found another diagram, depicting various arcane devices linked to it somehow. His eyes widened as he saw a sketch of the Ironlord, a hulking construct of alien design. The staff was somehow connected to it, though the nature of this connection was not clear.
Aiden spent the next few hours scouring the Lexicon for more information about this, but in the end, found little more concerning the connection between the two. His eyes were becoming blurry and his stomach had been rumbling for some time, so he dismissed the glowing pages of the Lexicon and leaned back in his chair, uncertain of what he had found yet knowing, deep down, it was significant.
A faint rush of air swept over him, and Aiden turned around to see a figure dressed from head to toe in a black robe, the hood pulled low over its face and a staff held in gloved hands. It was standing upon the sigil Aiden had traced out on the floor, and for a moment, he thought it might have been Desmond. As the figure turned around to face him, however, he knew he was looking at a complete stranger.
Although he couldn’t see the person’s features, Aiden knew he was being scrutinized closely, and suddenly the figure raised his staff and without warning, a glowing green sphere encapsulated Aiden and the desk he sat at.
“You will tell me your name, why you are here, and how you came by the cursed device you bear, or I shall end your life,” the figure demanded in a rasping voice.
Chapter Fourteen
Aiden stared at his captor through the green-tinged field of energy. The last time he had seen a black-robed figure, it had been a death cultist determined to eliminate a dozen senators. If this stranger was a cultist, Aiden was certain he’d be dead by now.
“I am Sir Aiden Wainwright, of the Order of the Rose Eagle,” he said, using his full title to impress upon the man exactly who he had encased within the arcane shield.
“The recently knighted man whom Criosa vouched for,” the robed man remarked, seeming to relax a little. “I assume the relic on the table is yours?”
“It belonged to the baron’s deceased wife, actually,” Aiden replied, glancing at the amulet. “Evidently you can sense its nature, something which I was investigating this very evening. Who are you, anyway?”
“Terinus, the University’s representative to His Majesty, King Seamus Roebec,” the wizard explained. A light appeared on the end of his staff, fully illuminating the room, though it yielded little information about the man himself. He was of thin, below average height and a number of pouches were strapped to belts around his body. A layer of rust-coloured dirt stained the robe, and his black hood covered most of his face.
“I’ve heard your name mentioned at the tower,” Aiden said, relieved that he was an ally, although the shimmering green barrier remained in place. “This sigil was meant for Desm- Dean Foster, not you.”
“I am familiar with the sigils of all the Deans at the University, and I am not above using them for my own purposes.”
“… The deans, or their sigils?” Aiden asked hesitantly. When no reply was forthcoming, Aiden fidgeted a little and continued to speak. “I wasn’t expecting to meet you yet, as your place is by the king’s side is it not?”
“I have been sent ahead to oversee the preparations of the fort,” Terinus explained. “But to the matter at hand. Where did Lord Alastair come by such a dangerous relic?”
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