by Alex Lang
The pressure of staying in the Gloom pushed at him, as well, which an analytical part of his mind found interesting. He’d never been expelled from the Gloom before, like objects were. He’d never been in the Gloom long enough on account of the wraiths.
With slow, deliberate movements, he set himself into a crouch, all the while his eyes fixed on the wraiths that were closest.
A wraith dropped from above upon black wings of smoke, flaring as it dove for him. Kyris threw himself to the side, narrowly escaping a sweeping talon.
He just needed to get out of sight of Rexam and the guards, out of this chamber. He ran, the wraiths surging forward in pursuit, losing whatever reluctance they’d had. Hands, claws, and jaws all reached out for him.
The doors leading to the hallway were hazy from recent use. If he could get beyond them, he could escape. Kyris made a mad dash across the room, bags bouncing, staff and spear swinging wildly. A pace away from his goal, something raked down his back, the incorporeal attack passing through bag, relic-shield, and clothing. The intense pain caused his muscles to seize, and he stumbled forward through the door.
The sense of relief at making it out of the chamber was quickly extinguished as shadow-forms of guardsmen, four of them, stood at the intersection of the hallways where none had been earlier. It was clear either Lord Rexam or Gilvys did not take the content of his note lightly.
He swung blindly behind him with the broken spear, which still glowed and leaked… light? Another appalling scream, and the closest wraith retreated. Taking the opening, he pumped his legs but realized he wouldn’t make it to the courtyard of pillars before being overrun, so at the intersection he darted right, coming to a small hall with four doors, two on each side. Three of the doors were vivid and solid, but a fourth, the last one on the left, was blurred. Kyris barreled towards it, but it was too late. Wraiths appeared all around him. This was by far the longest he’d ever been in the Gloom. Black mist swirled, and a cacophony of shrieks, snarls, hisses, and wails drowned out all sense. A clawed hand shot out for his face. He flinched back just out of reach. Another wraith lunged out of the murky black on his left, trying to bite him, and he swung with the staff. It passed through the thing without effect. Something unseen flew by, and a deep pain radiated from his arm. The red light of the broken spear was the only thing that kept the wraiths at bay, but it seemed they had overcome their apprehension of it now.
This was it. He would deal with the artificer guards and the Boneclad and whatever else, but he would not die by these things. Kyris brought forth the portal that would take him back to the world of flesh and warmth, but as he did so, the light from the relic-spear flared, and the wraiths recoiled and shrieked.
Kyris watched as the broken blade became completely aglow, and from the jagged end a strange substance seeped out, like thin strands of molten metal drifting upwards. Before he could contemplate this phenomenon, a black claw shot at him from the side, and he swung at it with the red blade. The weapon flared brighter. The wraith screeched in agony as the spear’s blade passed through it. A ribbon of the light-substance was created from his swing, and it hung in the air. The wraith swam upward in escape.
All the other wraiths shrieked anew, the sound of pain and outrage battering at him.
He couldn’t believe the spear had truly injured one. This wasn’t within the realm of possibility for Kyris. Nothing had ever worked against them. One could not fight the wraiths, just as one could not fight the wind. And yet…
Kyris was staring at the weapon in his right hand in awe when a swirl of the liquid red light drifted onto his forearm, and he cried out in pain. It burned through his shirt in an instant, and he swatted at it.
Kyris jumped as the shadow-form walked through him from behind, oblivious both to him and the deadly conflict in the passageway.
The black mist gathered and roiled. Bloodied but not defeated, Kyris thought, as the wraiths surged forward.
The door. Kyris whirled. Using the spear to clear the way, he took two long strides, then dove through. Landing on the floor, he didn’t bother to survey his surroundings.
He dropped the staff, ripped off his satchel along with the attached relic bag, and shifted. The oppressive darkness was gone. The rush of relief was a gulp of cold stream water to a man dying of thirst. He was safe, and yet it seemed his body hadn’t gotten the message yet, as tremors ran through him and he found he couldn’t quite move.
When he was finally able to compose himself, he eased up and almost fell back to the ground, pain radiating across his back in waves from where the wraith had touched him. Teeth clenched, he managed to settle into a chair, only now taking in his surroundings. Book-filled cabinets lined the small room. A quartz lamp upon a simple table lit the space. A small library or archive.
He was surprised to see he had the spear still in his hand. He hadn’t let go of it. That and the shield were the only relics he had brought out. The rest would come in time.
Kyris forced himself up to set one of the two chairs in the room against the door, not so much as a barrier but as an advance warning of anyone entering. If they found him now, things would get bloody, but there was nothing to be done. There was no using the Gloom anytime soon.
Settling back into the other seat, Kyris studied the spear as though its secrets were written on the surface. Perhaps they were, but the inscribed runes on the handle meant nothing to him. The spear was inert now, as it had been when he’d first picked it up. He considered trying somehow to activate it again but didn’t know how or what to try, and there was the fear that the red substance would burn him or the books within the small library.
This relic had caused the wraiths pain, had injured one, or so it seemed; the monsters were afraid of it. The implications were hard to fathom. The bag of relics and the wooden staff reappeared, materializing on the floor. Lost in thought, he barely noticed.
Coming back to himself, he dug through his satchel and pulled out an hourglass framed in wood that measured a quarter hour. He’d often thought about getting a pocket watch as a replacement, but he never did. There was a reassuring reliability to the flow of sand that a device of gears and cogs just could not replicate.
He would flip it four times before it would be safe to enter the Gloom again. It wasn’t a precise figure, but an hour had always been enough time for the wraiths to… he didn’t know what occurred. Perhaps the monsters dispersed or retreated back to whatever dark realm they spawned from. Regardless, given enough time, they would be gone, only to reappear when he returned. They could somehow detect his presence within the Gloom, but they’d never anticipated him or lay in ambush. Because of this, Kyris had always thought the wraiths to be mindless things with no ability to reason, that they were controlled solely by rage or hunger. But they had showed fear and caution tonight.
Kyris turned his attention to the bags of relics. Maybe there was something else in there that could be used against the wraiths. It was only then that the realization struck him. He had used a relic. An object of power crafted by the Tesrini gods, but he was certainly no scion of theirs. Caldir’s remarks concerning his ignorance of relics echoed. It seemed the man was right, but Kyris was determined to learn the truth of it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When a suitable amount of time had passed and Kyris was certain that the wraiths had dispersed, he made his way to the courtyard of pillars by way of the Gloom, the four guardsmen at the intersection having remained the whole time he’d rested.
Hidden behind the pillars, he waited for someone to use the temple gates, for someone, anyone, to open them so that he could make his escape. But as the night dragged, the gates remained stubbornly still. The patrol route of the guardsmen within the temple brought them into the courtyard but not beyond the gates.
Losing patience and fearing sunrise would soon come, Kyris sought another way out.
He considered climbing a pillar, some of which he could stand atop. If he climbed the one nearest the wall, he
could leap over, but if he fell, he would likely break a foot, twist an ankle, or worse. Spreading his arms out wide between the closest pillar and wall, he cursed himself a fool, for he was able to reach both quite easily.
Kyris entered the Gloom, then hurled the staff over the courtyard wall. Spinning and swinging the bags of relics, he tossed them over. Next went the shield. Every movement caused a spike of pain from the wraith wound.He wasn’t willing to throw the broken spear, however, so he secured it to his back with straps.
With his right leg and hand pressed against a pillar and his left leg and hand pressed against the wall, he proceeded to climb, and again his back protested every upward motion with a pulse of excruciating agony. Kyris had felt the touch of the wraiths three times now, but this last one was the worst of them. His skin burned as usual, but there was a deeper ache within his chest. The implications were concerning, but he banished the thought and focused on the edge of the wall, almost within reach. His left hand gripped the top of the wall and, letting out a desperate howl, he swung his right hand over. It was not a difficult climb under normal circumstances, but the injury and the dread of the Gloom had caused him to rush. He tried to pull himself up before his hand was secure and it slipped off, as if rejected by the stone of the wall. Kyris cried out, both in pain and distress, as he held on with only his left arm. He got his right hand back up to relieve the weight, and he hung there, motionless except for his thumping heart. He reined in his fear and breathing, then pulled again, shouting in pain and defiance as loud as he could as he surmounted and straddled the top of the wall.
Kyris felt as though he’d just scaled the sheer cliff of the Bluff. He took a quick glance around from his new vantage. Two guardsmen stood on the platform within the watchtower, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they knew what had happened to their predecessors. More shadow-forms of guardsmen or laborers were working on something nearby, but he didn’t bother to inspect further.
Kyris lowered himself, extending his arms fully and grimacing the whole time. He hung for a moment, then dropped to the ground in a stretch of space between the facility walls and that of the temple courtyard. Retrieving the staff, shield and bags, he charged towards the factory workshop. He made it to the large building and found the table, his original hiding spot earlier in the night, and slid underneath, dropping the relics. Shifting out, he cut off the first shriek of a newly arrived wraith.
Kyris shivered and tried to settle his breathing. This night was wearing on him.
Since stealing the relics, it had taken him hours to get from the temple to where he was now. An easy stroll of some fifty yards became a long disjointed path of waiting, climbing, and running through the Gloom. But he was determined not to encounter another wraith tonight. Despite his newfound weapon, he was in no hurry to test it further. Now wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place. Successfully completing the task was the only thing that mattered.
On his way to the factory, he had run past many shadow-forms moving about but hadn’t spared them any attention. Now, having rested for one flip of the hourglass, he crept out from underneath his table and snuck to the wall for a glimpse of what was occurring. The compound had not been idle while he escaped the temple. A covered wagon had arrived, along with more guardsmen. These new arrivals moved about the facility grounds erecting wooden posts, seemingly under the supervision of two heavily robed figures. The end results of the labor were wooden posts with an off-centered cross beam, like smaller versions of a gibbet frame. This must have been what he had seen near the temple.
Kyris settled back under the table and looked at his hourglass. He was so close. One last dash and he would be free, and with the delivery of the relics, his agreement with Caldir complete. Would Caldir have the information he needed or would he have to deal with the Whisperer directly?
And there was the question of the broken spear. Was it a relic made by the Tesrini gods? He couldn’t believe or accept that he was a scion of any of the Tesrin Court. Then perhaps it was a lie that only their children could use the relics. Or could other gods have crafted such a thing? He had so many questions. Could Caldir, at a glance, answer it all for him? Perhaps, but he reminded himself all this was not what was important. Completing the task, getting the information needed came first, above all else. He could hand the relic over without disclosing that he had used it, and in so doing, give up the only weapon he’d discovered to work against the wraiths. Or… he could keep it.
As Kyris debated with himself, he heard the front gates opening. Checking his hourglass, he saw that not enough time had elapsed.
Kyris didn’t want to wait anymore. He wanted out from these damn walls and to never set eyes on an artificer compound again. He decided to go, but he would move as close to the gate as possible before shifting, minimizing his time in the Gloom. Watching the guards closely, he crept out of the workshop and moved along the outer wall. Moving from shadow to shadow, cover to cover, Kyris utilized all the traditional methods and tricks of thieves and sneaks everywhere. He would always think of the Gloom as a curse, but his disdain was lessened ever so slightly at times like these when true skulking and rogue-craft was called for.
Within the shadow of the factory, Kyris crept to the building corner closest to the gate. Intent on the movements of the patrolling guards, he scarcely took note as he brushed past one of the newly-erected posts. Catching movement, he whirled on it. Hanging from a sturdy metal chain attached to the cross beam on the post was a large glass jar. Shadows obscured the contents, but when something within stirred, Kyris flinched back.
“What in Mythaas?” Steeling himself, he stepped closer to the jar. He reached for his light crystal tucked in to his pocket, but the sound of approaching footsteps halted his movement. Forgetting about the strange glass container, Kyris took all the relics into the Gloom with two quick consecutive shifts. After the second of which he ran for the gates. He passed through and out onto the street, then into the alleyway across. Shifting out of the Gloom, he sagged to the ground. The relief overwhelmed him. He’d done it. After a very long night, he was out and free and, most importantly, he had succeeded.
A seer of Rumathil jolted from her meditative state, stunned.
“What’s wrong?” her sister-seer asked, looking up from the preparation of another viewing jar.
She had only just entered the trance and was not due to come out of it for many hours more. “I saw him. The Curunir assassin. He was here.” Still out of sorts from the altered state, her words came awkwardly.
“Here? Now? But we were told he had drowned.”
“Someone made a mistake,” she replied, the words sounding uncertain even to her ears.
“Several eyes witnessed it. Are you certain it was him?”
“Yes, it was him. With the imprint, I can’t help but to recognize him. He was mere steps from one of the viewing jars. I saw him with an owl’s eye and that of a cat, as clearly as I see you now. It was him,” she affirmed.
Her sister-seer frowned. “Where is he now? We need to notify the guard captain.”
“He’s gone. Vanished.”
“What do you mean, vanished?”
She hesitated. “Vanished. One moment he was there, the next, he was gone. Don’t look at me like that.”
“An apparition. Perhaps more testing is required of these new devices.” Her sister-seer gestured to the gathering of jars on the table in front of her, filled with the eyes of animals and men alike, connected through some amalgamation of flesh.
“Perhaps.” The viewing jars were new devices made in collaboration with the fleshshapers of the Artificers of Falduin. Could it have been an anomaly? “He was so clear.”
“We can’t go to the guards with this,” her sister-seer said, returning to her work.
“No, but I will share the viewing with High Seer Lyra. This is her project. She would want to know of this, and she can be the judge.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kyris had transferred the relic
s from his bags to a large wicker basket, which he now carried on his back. He leaned heavily on the rags-wrapped relic staff, as though requiring its aid to walk. Attired as a laborer, he blended in with the swarms of others within the Caneswell dock district.
Exhausted as he was, his mood was not dampened in the least. The night had been a success, albeit a long and tedious one, and unlike his previous tasks, he had managed it without discovery, the hallmark of proper roguery.
He came upon the building where he was to meet Caldir, a warehouse that backed onto the Ryles. Walking to a side entrance, he knocked as instructed. A worker opened the door and ushered him in without a word. He was led through a series of halls and rooms that seemed to avoid the activities of the main warehouse floor, arriving at another room no different from all the others, furnished with a lone table in the center.
The worker left and told him to wait. He’d barely gotten the basket unslung before Caldir entered with Adar close behind.
“Ah, Kyris. Everything went well?” Caldir asked. “A success?”
Kyris placed the staff on the table, then gestured to the wicker basket. “See for yourself.”
Caldir opened the basket and pulled the relics out one by one, giving each a brief inspection before placing them on the table with something akin to reverence. When everything was laid out and displayed, Caldir took a step back and surveyed the collection. He pulled a small notebook from within his jacket and opened it to a specific page before glancing between the book and relics.
Kyris felt a bead of sweat run down his back. Caldir had lied. The man had said he didn’t know what relics the artificers had in their possession, and yet here he was with a list.
“Nine relics. This was everything they had?”