by Alex Lang
“Do the temples from the same construction period share the same layout?” Kyris asked as they passed through the entrance into a large courtyard.
“Yes, indeed they do. Let me show you.”
“Please do,” Kyris smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The large wooden portal closed behind the last few workers as they trudged out of the artificer compound, their long day’s labor complete. Kyris entered the Gloom and ran through the gates towards the burnt-out portion of the warehouse, passing into the interior through an open section of wall. Once hidden behind a partition, he shifted back.
The warehouse was much changed from his last visit. It was empty; all the tools and the subjects of such had been removed. All traces of the activities that occurred within were gone, leaving the structure just a cavernous shell. When the tenth bell had rung, there was no migration of laborers to the dormitory for they, too, had gone, having nothing to labor on. Only the guards remained.
Kyris found a spot under the table where quartz lamps had been constructed and settled in to wait.
There was often a lot of waiting involved in thievery, and he generally had no difficulties with it, but this night, it felt unending. It was only a single hour and one half between bells, but Kyris became convinced that at least that much time, probably more, had passed. The eleventh bell should have tolled long ago. Something had already gone wrong. Could the ringer for the nearby tower have been robbed or murdered en route to his duty? But what of the rest of the city? Could all the ringers throughout the city been simultaneously murdered, and eleventh bell would never toll? He chuckled at the crazed thought and tried to compose himself.
When the bell did toll, Kyris rejoiced at the sound, as though it were a personal victory. He crawled out from his hiding place and crept his way towards the damaged outer wall of the factory. He settled again in a location where he had a view of the front gates.
This time, he didn’t have long to wait. Kyris watched as a guardsman opened the small hatch in the wicket door. A scroll was shoved through into his hands. The guardsman unfurled the scroll and read its content. Alarmed, he shouted up to his fellows in the watchtower who looked down onto the street, peering both ways. After a brief moment, they shook their heads at him. The guardsman, agitated and distressed, appeared to be deliberating.
“Come on, you cursed son-of-a-goat,” Kyris muttered, watching the scene play out.
Finally, the man rushed towards the dormitory. Could the relics be stored there, he wondered. Should he follow the guardsman now?
Several slow minutes passed where Kyris questioned everything about this ill-conceived venture and what could be done to salvage it when the gate guardsman emerged from the dorm, accompanied by another man. Older, stern, and seemingly a superior, judging by his bearing.
The original guardsman resumed his position at the gate, and the older man headed for the temple with the scroll in hand.
This was the moment he had waited for. Shifting to the Gloom, he dashed out in pursuit. The senior guard was closer by half to the temple, but Kyris quickly reached, then passed him. However, once at the entrance, he was unable to proceed. With fretful glances, he waited, standing next to the two shadow-forms of the guardsmen that flanked the temple entrance.
The man arrived and exchanged a few words with them, then a guardsman opened the gate. The moment the heavy, metal portal swung a fraction, thus becoming insubstantial, Kyris ran through it and into the courtyard. Stone pillars of all sizes and designs populated the space, but he took no notice of any of them, running straight towards the farthest column from the walkway. Once safely concealed, he shifted again, and the world jolted back into vibrancy. The sound of boots upon the stone floor echoed within the courtyard but faded into the temple interior. Peeking out ever so slightly, Kyris could see the senior guard standing in the middle of the walkway that cut through the courtyard. One of the guardsman must have gone inside. The man looked uncomfortable among the towering stone pillars. The courtyard was filled with all types; fluted, smooth, ornately carved, some more statue and work of art than simple pillar. All superfluous, as there was no roof to support. This was the temple’s demonstration courtyard, as he’d learned from Nivus, and it said much about the Loddan if this was what they considered a garden. However, the similarity gave him confidence that the rest of the building was likely of the same construct and layout as the one within the Pavilion.
It wasn’t long before several new footsteps could be heard entering the courtyard.
“Captain Fentel, what is the meaning of this?” asked a deep voice.
“Lord Rexam, one of my men at the front gate just received this from a messenger. I… well, perhaps it’s best you read it yourself.”
Kyris imagined Lord Rexam taking the scroll and reading its content, but it was someone else who replied. “Nonsense. Utter nonsense. Impossible. This has to be some kind of trick.”
Neither Captain Fentel nor Lord Rexam made a reply.
There was a long silence, then Lord Rexam said, “Captain, rouse all the guards. I want patrols along the walls, around and in all the buildings. Send guards to the factory entrance.”
“I already have two stationed there.”
“Send more. And I want men patrolling the streets outside.”
“Yes, Lord Rexam.”
“And send for the seers from the Ivot facility.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Notify me as soon as they arrive.”
“Of course.”
From his angle, Kyris briefly saw Captain Fentel, along with one of his subordinates, exit out the temple gates.
Kyris risked a peek to spy on those who remained in the courtyard. Columns obstructed most of his view, but he saw enough of a skeletal-armored body to know that it was the same warrior from his previous visit. A Boneclad. Caldir had informed him of this after he’d related what he had seen during their escape. Kyris leaned out, trying to get a look of the man’s face, but the warrior wore his skull helm. He got a glance of the other man, pacing back and forth in obvious agitation. It was Gilvys.
Kyris eased back. He was careful not to move too fast, lest the motion give him away. If Gilvys were to spot him, then the artificers would know that all had been a grand scheme against them.
“It seems our adversary has intimate knowledge of us,” Lord Rexam said.
“You think this connected to the prisoner escape?” Gilvys asked. Sir Rexam made no audible reply, and Gilvys continued, “This is not possible. I was in the vault not three hours ago. And why the note? This is some ill-conceived jest. Do you think they know of… everything?”
“Silence, you fool,” Lord Rexam snapped.
“Yes, of course. My apologies, lord.”
“Come, let us see if there is any validity to this claim,” Lord Rexam said, and the pair walked into the temple.
Kyris followed, darting from pillar to pillar. This would be the crucial part; timing was everything. When he reached the doorway leading deeper into the building proper where Gilvys and Rexam had gone, he saw the silhouettes of the two men at the far end of the chamber. Gilvys, thin and tall. Lord Rexam, tall as well, and a solid mound of metal. Baluras’s death flashed in his mind.
Kyris was intimately familiar with fear. The Gloom and the wraiths had made him an apt student of it over the many years. Not many things rattled him anymore. The Boneclad, however, gave him pause. It wasn’t the armor. That was spectacle. Yes, the man was big and strong, but he’d fought his fair share of those. The man was a mender, and as Kyris’ recent encounter with Sandamar illustrated, that was not to be taken lightly. The seeming ease with which the warrior had killed Baluras was beyond concerning. But what bothered Kyris most about the Boneclad was what Caldir had explained about the order to which Rexam belonged. That level of fanatical dedication was… disturbing.
The pair passed through a set of doors, disappearing further into the temple.
Kyris crept after the
m as fast as he dared. The chamber was wide with high ceilings. This would be the main worship and tribute chamber in the temple at the Pavilion, but here, all furnishings had been removed, leaving a large, empty space. When he reached the door, Kyris debated about whether it would be better to open it, or to enter the Gloom first before following. If he moved too early, he might find himself in an awkward position later, caught between Rexam and the wraiths. If too late, he might lose the pair and not discover the location of the vault.
There was no absolute guarantee. All he could do was guess as to the proper timing.
Kyris imagined Gilvys and Rexam walking in haste to the end of the building. One of them would pull a sconce that was a secret latch and a section of wall would slide away to reveal the hidden vault door. He then pictured Gilvys going through a series of complex motions of inserting keys and twisting handles to unlock the door and expose the trove of relics. The man would then sigh in relief at finding them present and unmolested. Giving one last look of confirmation, he’d close the door.
That seemed as likely a scenario as any to Kyris. Shar smile upon me, he prayed, then shifted to theGloom. He took a moment to adjust, then ran through the door, entering a hallway. There was no sign of Gilvys or Rexam so he continued forward, coming upon a cross-section of hallways, but he didn’t spare the other paths a glance. His earlier scouting of the other temple of Lodd had only gotten him this far, as everything beyond was private to the scions.
Passing through another set of double doors brought him to a room where the walls were lined with shelves full of scrolls. A long table ran down the center, upon which sat more parchments and books.
At the far end of the large chamber, the shadow-forms of Gilvys and Rexam emerged and closed a blurred door behind them.
Wasting no time, he ran forward around the large table, through the Boneclad—which gave him a strange thrill—then straight into the hazy portal.
Kyris found himself in total darkness. He pulled out the light crystal and jerked back in surprise. He stood at the edge of descending stone stairs. Had he gone another step farther, he would have gone tumbling down two flights.
Within his mind, he brought forth the familiar warm presence of the proper world and touched it, escaping the Gloom.
Taking in his surroundings, he smiled at the similarity of the steps to those he had descended two nights ago. Newly constructed and of the same distance to the bottom. The prison cells and what lay below here were most likely connected, he thought. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to go out the same way he had come in.
He turned to inspect the door he had passed through. It had no handle or lock from the inside. It was made of stone, solid, but within the Gloom, it had been gossamer. With every passing moment, however, it regained a little of its solidity.
Kyris drew his shortsword and rushed down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom, he found himself in a small chamber flanked by shelves. Spread out on the shelves were varied objects; a round shield, an orb, a figurine of a spider, gauntlets, a dagger, a staff, an amulet, a flute, a circlet, and a rod of some sort. They all shared the similar characteristics of godscrafted relics that Caldir had explained to him. They all had some depiction of runes, some completely covered while others only a few symbols. The runes were not etched in but smooth, one with the surface. The objects appeared as though carved from a single material—whether black, silver, or white, it was relic-ore, Caldir had said. The relics were fluid in design, like the structures built by the Tesrini gods, all swoops and curves, some looking more organic than something crafted and assembled.
His smile at the sight faded as he realized there were not twenty relics but only ten. Some must have been moved or smelted since the time the information was recorded in the ledger. Caldir would just have to accept what was here, Kyris resolved.
On the positive side, this lesser amount made his task more manageable, perhaps enough so to escape earlier, rather than the original plan of using the builder wagons and waiting for daylight.
A few of the objects were larger than he would have liked, but nothing would be beyond his limit to take into the Gloom, and most would fit in a single sack.
Kyris noted the outline of another stone door, opposite the stairs. Most likely the exit to the other portion of the underground facility, but like the one he’d entered, it had no handle.
Had it been opened? He wouldn’t know until he viewed it from within the Gloom. If so, this could be his escape.
He pulled a sack from his satchel and started throwing relics in. Kyris kept filling until the all but the shield, staff, and rod were in. He hefted, feeling the weight. Judging it acceptable, he shifted.
There was a limit to what he could take into and out of the Gloom. If he tried for more, the process would fail with a rather unpleasant and violent jolt. The same was true if he tried to shift out into a shadow-form. This was discovered by accident, as he had always feared doing so would cause him to stuck in a door or worse, in someone. It had taken many attempts before he’d had an estimate of the weight he could manage, roughly two stones above what he’d designated as his work attire—clothing, tools, and weapons.
Within the Gloom, he saw that the stone door was completely solid, meaning Gilvys and Rexam hadn’t opened it. He would have to use the upstairs exit and contend with the temple again.
He dropped the sack on the ground and shifted again, leaving the relics behind in the Gloom. This was one aspect of the Gloom, among many, that he didn’t understand. That objects that went in could be left and would, over time, reappear as if the objects could shift on their own.
Kyris wondered if Gilvys and Rexam were still in the room upstairs. It wouldn’t bode well for him. He realized then that his plan wasn’t much of one, outside of the trick to locate the vault. He'd hoped to find a safe space to gather the relics and to wait for the proper time to escape, but hope should never factor into a well-laid scheme. He had gotten sloppy, over-eager to complete this last task, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
Returning to the task at hand, he looked to the last three relics that wouldn’t fit in a bag. A staff, a round shield, and some kind of long-handled sword or short spear, the blade of which appeared broken.
The staff was six feet of what appeared to be smooth gray wood. It was topped with a bulbous sphere covered in runes, and it ended in a narrow, sharp taper.
The shield was silver with runes all along the inside. Thankfully, there was a leather strap which allowed for him to sling it over his back.
The last relic was half the length of the staff, and most of that was the black handle. It might have been a functional weapon at one time, but not anymore. Even so, it was like nothing Kyris had ever seen before. The blade was of some glossy material, like glass or crystal. Maybe that explained why it had snapped, leaving a bit more than a hand-span of length that ended in a jagged point. At the opposite end was a pommel, carved or shaped as the claw of some unknown creature clutching a rough, uncut gemstone.
He pulled himself from the examination. Time was running short and here he was, gawking at a broken spear.
Kyris grabbed the two relics, one in each hand, and gave the small chamber a last glance, then shifted.
In the Gloom, he set the staff and spear down, took a moment to center himself against the dread, then secured the bag to his satchel. Thus ladened like a pack mule, he retrieved the weapons and ran upstairs and through the door. It offered more resistance than he had anticipated, much more, as he had to struggle to get through. He had taken longer than he should have, which meant…
A dark blur flew at him as he emerged, accompanied by a shrill cry. Out of reflex he almost shifted out of the Gloom—it wouldn’t have worked given all that he was carrying—but instead, he brought his arms up and at the same time collapsed backwards, bending and dropping painfully to his knees. He felt a strange pulse run through his right arm. There was a flash of red, followed by an unearthly shriek.
He tried t
o roll away and did so clumsily, burdened as he was. He needed to shed some weight in order to escape. Kyris brought forth the doorway to the light and prepared to drop everything, but stopped.
He still held the staff and spear, the latter of which he was shocked to see emitting a soft, red glow from within the broken blade and the stone of the pommel. He felt power coming from the weapon… or was it the other way around? Kyris stared at it in bewilderment but only for a moment.
His situation demanded his full attention.
Not only were the wraiths a concern, but the shadow-forms of Lord Rexam and two guardsmen were standing in the chamber. The Gloom’s darkening and blurring effect transformed the Boneclad’s ghoulish appearance to something truly ghastly, as though a wraith had discovered weapon and armor.
Could he defeat them? After what he’d seen of Lord Rexam, he wasn’t eager to find out, but there was no fighting the wraiths. The choice was simple.
Kyris braced himself for the battle he would have to fight, but again he hesitated, glancing around.
With every breath it seemed another wraith would appear, clawing and ripping their way into existence. But the one that had swiped at him did not attempt to attack again, instead hovering at the other end of the room. The spectral monsters had always pursued Kyris with an unrelenting frenzy, but now this lone wraith loomed as if hesitant.
The obvious, sane choice was to escape the Gloom and attempt to run. It was madness to be this close to the wraiths, but something was clearly different this time. The need to know pulled at him.