by Chad Corrie
“Thoth ron heen ackleen. Lore ulter-bak ulter-bak . . .” His voice was drowned out by the Transducer’s rising hum. As he continued, the runes on the column flared into new life. Blazing-hot purple light singed the chamber walls, forcing the hobgoblins to squint. The Celetor let out a few cries, but they were muted and muffled, as if he was willing himself to remain silent.
The humming grew stronger, as did the light, until the room was completely swallowed in the eerie illumination, totally obscuring the view of the column’s interior. Valan escalated the incantation, taking it to the next level of power—higher than he’d dared so far. It was time to push himself to the limit—and then beyond—in order to find the missing answers. He pressed as far as he could before finally letting the spell complete its course.
The purple light grew dimmer and dimmer, until only the glow of the runes scrawled across the column remained. The opening in the column finally stopped glowing. Valan took a deep breath before making his way through the gate. As he ventured near the column’s opening, he strained his ears in the overpowering silence, focusing on what might lay inside.
“No!” His voice became a low growl upon seeing the smooth, curved walls of the Transducer’s interior splattered with blood and innards. Small chunks of anatomy hung on the walls in sticky globs, while a great pile of ruined mess congealed in its center. This molten mound of flesh lay like a pile of butcher’s refuse, sinew and bone crossed in a macabre sculpture.
“I was so close.” He took special note of the skull crowning the cooling flesh. There was something very awkward about its appearance, as though it were looking inside itself. It was then he realized with growing rage that the skull, and the rest of what had been the Celetor, had been turned completely inside out.
“So close. How could this happen?” He departed the cooling remains and ran to his tome, wildly tearing through it like a man possessed. After a few frantic pages, he fell silent, raising his gaze to the hobgoblins, who continued staring stupidly at the column.
Taking a calming breath, he asked, “How many more do you have?”
“About two score.”
He slowly nodded. “Clean up that mess,” he said, pointing at the column. “I want it ready for another test in an hour.”
Timidly, the hobgoblins obeyed. Valan focused again on his tome, muttering to himself as he searched for answers. “I will master you!”
Chapter 10
Aerotripton has given me a vision: one elven nation
under unified rule. And it all starts with the information
we’ll find hidden in some ruins on Talatheal.
—Barius Leonicus Marro, current emperor of the Republic of Colloni
Reign: 714 PV–present
Alara manned the rudder, wiping fresh sweat from her brow. The warm sun would wring out more soon enough. The sloop she steered was a simple affair: large enough to allow some comfort while they traveled, but small enough to keep from being seen as a threat or of interest to anyone they might meet. It flew no flag and bore no markings, a nondescript vessel hopefully keeping under the notice of all it passed. And so far it had worked. She prayed it would continue working until the mission was over. She didn’t want any more surprises.
Thinking of surprises had her checking on Dugan. She’d placed him across from her, having him rest perpendicular to her present location. Close enough to keep an eye on but still far enough out of the way. She’d washed the minor wounds, content they’d eventually heal into new scars, and bound the one at his side with light cloth torn from her blanket. The simple bindings were stained a deep red but held firm.
She also made sure his swords were free of his person. She’d taken the sheaths along with the blades, keeping them to her right. She could have hid them from him but wanted to display a sign of trust—measured trust, anyway. She wasn’t disarming him outright, as in theory the swords were still in reach, while he’d proved he didn’t need them on hand for the voyage. While there was a logic to this, she didn’t know how well he’d take it, and she wouldn’t know until he finally woke. And given the last few hours, that didn’t seem a likely event anytime soon. Confident she’d continue enjoying some more peace and quiet, she was startled when Dugan suddenly jerked against the deck.
“Sit back,” she ordered. “You’ll break the bandages.”
Dugan eyed her with a groggy expression. “Where are we?” His voice was hoarse.
“On the boat. You passed out shortly after getting onboard. I thought you’d be out for days.”
Dugan tried pushing himself upward but fell back onto the deck with a thud and a groan. “How long have I been asleep?”
“We’ve been at sea for half a day.” She set her eyes on the full sails billowing out from the single mast toward the sloop’s bow. “I’d wager we’ll dock on Altorbia by evening tomorrow if the wind continues favoring us.” Once more she brought her gaze his way. “Then we’ll be off to our final destination.”
“Which is?” Dugan half whispered, closing his eyes.
“Talatheal. You should be safe there.” She observed Dugan’s eyelids flutter as he tried staying conscious.
“This isn’t a normal wound.”
“I was told some hunters use a drug on their swords to keep the wounds bleeding and make their victims dizzy.”
“Told by who?” Dugan turned his head as he cracked one eye partially open.
“The drug will run its course, but only if you remain still and asleep. Get some more rest and you’ll feel better when we make landfall. Of course,” she couldn’t resist adding, “we wouldn’t be in such a mess if you hadn’t been so stupid back on the docks.”
“What do you mean?” Both his eyelids shot open.
“You know full well what I mean. Why, in the name of the Abyss, did you start swinging your swords about and making a spectacle of yourself? You gave away our cover just when we were within sight of the boat.”
He hesitated before answering. “I saw something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know, but it started to attack me.” From what she could tell, Dugan really believed what he was saying. “You didn’t see it?”
“No. Just the hunters and others you brought down on us.”
“You bound the wound well enough.” He inspected his stomach with modest satisfaction.
“I’ve had plenty of practice,” she replied.
“You a healer too?”
“No, but I’ve had my fair share of cuts and bruises.” She stared ahead at the modest cabin in the middle of the sloop. Part of her longed for the simple cot inside. Getting out of this constant sun would be nice too, but she needed to keep the ship on course until they reached the others. Until then, she needed to press on, and hoped Dugan would remain cooperative. There weren’t a lot of alternatives available in the open water.
“Your father was a warrior?” Dugan reeled Alara’s thoughts back into the conversation.
“He’s an artist, actually—a sculptor. I’ve seen him craft some amazing things out of simple stone and wood. My brothers were the ones who joined the army.” Speaking of her family had her imagining their shock at the sight of her sailing alone on a boat in the middle of the Cerulean Sea with an escaped gladiator. Of course, they wouldn’t know this wasn’t the first adventure she’d undertaken.
“Still full of surprises.” Dugan offered a weak smile.
“When my brothers spent time in the yard training, I’d watch them while tending the goats and sheep. Then, when I was alone, I mimicked their movements and learned how to fight on my own.”
“It’s quite a jump from simple practice to doing it for real.” Dugan winced again as he shifted his back.
“I did more than just mimic their moves,” said Alara. “I found ways to put what I learned into practice. And there were plenty of thieves and brigands to help.”
Dugan let loose a rough laugh that made her fear he might actually harm himself. This was especially true when his mirth
quickly ended with another wince and tightly scrunched eyes. “Must have surprised your family.” When Alara didn’t respond, Dugan smirked. “They don’t know, do they?”
“I wasn’t going to be content keeping sheep and goats all my life.”
“And why’s that?”
“You should get some rest. You’ll need your strength if—”
“If I decide to join you,” Dugan interrupted. “I haven’t yet.”
“No.” Alara gave a small sigh. “You haven’t yet.” She was hoping they could avoid that part until after they were back on land—open water and fewer options and all that.
“And you still think I will.” There was only a hint of mockery in the Telborian’s voice.
“I wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of finding you if I didn’t.”
Dugan started saying something but instead began to shudder, holding back a muffled groan through clenched teeth.
“Rest now.” Alara took on a maternal tone. “All that matters right now is that we got out alive.”
“You . . . never told me,” he grunted through a stiff jaw, “how you knew my name.”
“Later. Just rest.” And though Dugan fought it for a time, slumber came over him once more. She leaned back and let her mind drift as her hands aptly worked the rudder.
The next day found her still stationed at her post, watching the setting sun sinking into a bank of red clouds. A lone seagull circled above them, having done so for the past hour. It was a good sign they were getting closer to land. Dugan still rested where she’d placed him. She didn’t dare move him, just gave him some water from time to time and made sure he was as covered from the sun as possible.
It appeared he’d made it through the worst of it, which was a relief given all she’d gone through to get him onboard. The hardest part was learning to take short naps while also being ready for instant action upon waking. There was a latch to help keep the rudder fixed in place, but adjustments still had to be made if they wanted to stay on course. It might not have been ideal, but the momentary breaks helped keep her strength up and sped their journey.
As the day aged, she noticed a faint haze outlined on the multicolored horizon. It was small and fleeting at first, the waves blocking it from view with their crests only to reveal it once more, but it was there nonetheless. Altorbia. They’d nearly made it. She speculated they’d reach the island well under the cover of darkness, which would help her disembark and reach the others without any undue attention.
Elyellium populated more than half of the tiny isle, while the rest of the inhabitants were Telborian merchants getting fat off the rich commerce passing through the ports every day. Although Altorbia was somewhat diverse in terms of its racial makeup, it was still considered part of the Republic of Colloni. This meant there could still be some hunters, especially given how many seemed to have been stirred up like a hornet’s nest back on Colloni. Their visit would need to be brief and their departure well before dawn. The harbors and docks were watched very closely on Altorbia. If she was going to run into any trouble, this is where it would happen. And given the unexpected encounter back in Argis, she wanted to be extra careful.
Night fell as the boat silently coasted into Altorbia’s sleepy western harbor. The cobblestone wharfs were dimly washed in the orange glow flowing from lampposts lining the docks. These lampposts were a unique feature of the island, having thick, square bases jutting out about five feet from the ground and capped in fat glass domes overlaid with metal netting. Their wicks went all the way down the interior of the posts, into the bases where the oil was stored. The posts had been crafted to withstand heavy wind, storms, and turbulent waves. The tiny fire behind their globes emitted just enough light to outline the docks, preventing ships from ramming into the wharfs—though the docks were supposed to be closed to night traffic—and keeping guards from losing their footing in the darkness.
Most of the docks rested on a beach stretching for some twenty feet inland before transforming into rocky earth. Dark trees a short distance from this stony ground swayed in the moonlit wind, carrying the off-key notes and banter of sailors spending their evening in the taverns beyond. Alara noted the sounds and terrain as she quietly maneuvered her sloop to a secluded section of dock about fifty feet from the island’s end. She’d made arrangements for this portion of the dock to be empty and ready for her arrival. Once she got close, she moored the boat to a slab of granite jutting out of the platform. Apart from the sounds of the drunken sailors, all was silent. Not a guard in sight. Even so, it was best to remain cautious.
Taking stock of Dugan, she weighed her options. She’d put a fresh dressing on the wound a few hours ago, and was pleased to note it was still clean, but worried he’d be too weak from the blood loss to undertake any activity. Even so, she wasn’t going to just leave him to wake up in a strange harbor in the middle of the night, either. It could easily cause more problems she’d rather not have.
She crouched at his side and softly slapped Dugan’s cheek.
“Wh—”
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Be still. The poison’s gone, but you’re still weak. We made it to Altorbia, but I don’t want us to be discovered. How are you feeling?”
Dugan struggled to sit up. “Fine. Just tell me where we’re going.”
“I’m going to a tavern to get the others, then—”
“We’re going.” Dugan managed to remain sitting and clutched his bandaged side. “I won’t stay here.”
“You’re in no condition to come with me. You need rest and food. I’ll bring you back some meat from the tavern when I return with the others.”
“I need the food, but I’ve had enough sleep.” Alara noted his eyes gaining an inner flame. “If I slept any more, I’d be dead.”
“You almost were, so don’t go risking your life doubting my integrity.” She nervously shifted her eyes back to the harbor before circling back on Dugan. It was still empty. “Gilban was right about you. You are stubborn beyond all reasoning.”
“Gilban?” Dugan demanded. “Who’s he?”
“The one who told me where I’d be able to find you.”
“Another elf?”
“Yes. He’s Patrious, like me.”
“What does he want from me?” Dugan struggled to stand, failing in his attempt with a groan.
“We’re wasting time. Gilban can tell you himself once I return with him and the others. Please understand, you have nothing to fear.” Alara turned to leave, but was stopped short by Dugan’s firm grip around her ankle.
“Let go, you big ox!” she whispered, trying to shake her leg free. “We’ve wasted too much time already.”
“Both of us go,” Dugan grunted.
“Let go, or you’ll ruin my timing!” Alara kicked at him more brutally.
Dugan abruptly released her ankle and quickly rose to his full height. She was about to rebuke the thoughtless gladiator, but he stood defiant, eyes blazing fiercely in the dim lamplight. She also noticed he’d regained a sword, holding it firmly in his clenched fist.
“Haven’t I gained any trust from you?”
The two stared at each other for a few heartbeats before Dugan broke the silence. “I’m going with you.”
“Fine.” Alara reached down onto the deck where she’d placed her bow and quiver, and pulled a second hunter’s cloak from a sack of supplies. “Take this—the one you have on soaked up too much blood.”
“Three then, huh?” Dugan said as he swapped the bloodstained cloak for the newer one, letting the soiled garment fall in a clump at his feet.
“What?” Alara slipped her quiver over her shoulder, followed by her bow.
“This cloak’s newer than the last one.” Somehow he managed retrieving the two sheaths and other sword when she wasn’t looking, strapping both across his waist as they’d been before. “You must have killed more than one hunter. The cloak back at Argis, this one, and another for your new cloak . . .” Dugan grinned. “Unless you washed it
on the way.”
Alara gestured for him to follow then jumped nimbly onto the dock. After making sure the sword belts were firmly in place, he did the same.
“If you fall over from your wounds, I’m not stopping to pick you up!” She drew her hood as she started on her way through the night. Wrapping the scented cloth tightly around his body, Dugan followed her onto the sandy streets.
“Even after you dragged me through the forest and bound my wound?” The question was more tweaking barb than simple inquiry. But he did have a point—it was a pretty foolish threat.
She cocked her head to one side, whispering, “So what more have I got to do to prove to you you’re safe?”
“Show me this Gilban for a start.” Dugan brought up his hood.
“You won’t have to wait long.”
The two of them reached the Musky Otter without incident. From the noise emanating from the tavern, it seemed as if the entire island’s population had migrated into the alehouse. The simple structure was of aged timber with a few open windows here and there and a nondescript door a few steps from the main street. Above the door a placard sporting a comical image of an otter holding a mug of foamy ale told all who couldn’t read the Telboros and Elonum beneath that this was indeed the Musky Otter.
“Are you sure you want to go inside?” she whispered, watching Dugan draw up behind her. “There’s still time to go back to the boat.”
“I need some ale.” He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. When he next spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper. “Mutton and ale.”
“Just don’t talk if you don’t have to, and if you do, speak in Elonum. We can’t afford another fight if anyone notices us here.”
He made for the tavern door. “My stomach may be sliced, but I’m still hungry.”
Alara couldn’t blame him. After two days at sea her own stomach leapt at the prospect of getting filled, even groaning a bit at the smells of roasted meat wafting her way.
Looking hesitantly about before advancing farther into the light leaking out the tavern’s windows, she waited for Dugan to reach the doorway, then followed. A curtain of smoke and grease greeted their entrance. Once through, Alara studied the patrons seated at the large barrel tables and shabby stools. Benches lined the walls and key traffic locations, allowing those who simply wanted a tankard of ale a place to rest their feet. It was a good-sized tavern and the ideal setting for those wishing to stay hidden from prying eyes, and so suited their needs perfectly.