“That might have been a good idea!” hissed Lodren. “Just a minute… an onion? Where did you get an onion from? You’ve been in my supplies again haven’t you, Grubb?”
“I was hungry. Ye wouldn’t want your best friend to starve to death now, would ye?”
“No, I wouldn’t, but next time, ask. You don’t have to steal.”
“Oh, shut it, stinky,” Grubb sniggered. “Come on, we’ve fallen behind.”
They seemed to travel for an age before Faylore eventually called them to a halt. The light ahead was slightly brighter, but all it showed was more bare rock. She gathered everyone close to her, “You probably noticed we came a different way,” she said, “But it was for good reason.”
“To avoid the caged zingaard?” suggested Hannock.
“Yes, and no,” she replied. “We needed to avoid those ones but… oh, never mind, just follow me. There’s someone I’d like you to meet but keep quiet.”
Although her behaviour was mysterious, they followed. As they moved deeper into the cavern, they could distinctly see that the light was being produced by flames, causing faint shadows to dance on the damp walls. Their route suddenly took a sharp turn, unveiling far more than they had expected. The cavern was huge, seemingly endless as it stretched into the distance and at least a thousand yards wide. Torches burned, driven into the ground on tall poles and sconces adorned the walls, revealing the shocking scene before them. They were horrified. There were massive cages everywhere, each one housing a single zingaard. Some lay dormant on prison floors that were barely wide enough to hold them. Others, more recently captured they suspected, roared and shook the bars believing they had strength enough to break free. It was obvious to the companions that they were wrong.
Faylore again beckoned for them to follow as she moved closer to one of the cages.
“Faylore, move away!” hissed Lodren, “A few more steps and that thing will be able to reach you through the bars! Move back!”
Faylore placed her index finger to her lips and smiled, “It’s alright,” she whispered. “Come and say ‘hello’.” As she reached the cage, the zingaard did indeed put its arm through the bars, but it showed no sign of aggression. In fact, it looked sad.
Leaning its head against the bars, it gazed deep into Faylore’s eyes, “Bogg… good,” it said wearily, “Bogg… no hurt. You… me out?”
Not one member of the companions could believe what they had just witnessed. One of the most ferocious beasts they had ever encountered, had asked them for help!
Faylore held Bogg’s hand, a hand that was actually three times the size of her head. “He’s just a child,” she informed them. “They learn their savagery from one another as they mature. Bogg has been in this cage for as long as he can remember, he has never been outside nor seen daylight. He needs our help to escape.”
“Are you forgetting, Your Majesty…” snorted Lodren, “… that one of those things nearly killed you, and would have if it hadn’t been for Grubb?”
“Perhaps,” replied Faylore. “But it wasn’t this one.”
“If it’s never been outside…” asked Hannock, dubiously, “… how did it learn to speak? I mean, speak our native tongue.”
“Well, in all fairness, Captain,” said Emnor, “it does seem to have a somewhat limited vocabulary.”
“I understand that,” replied Hannock. “But how did it learn the words that it does know?”
Bogg pushed his face to the bars, “Learn words from man… pretty man in pretty things. Man get new shiny things. Bogg show… show you. You… me out?”
Lorzic’s ears pricked up, “New shiny things?” he exclaimed. “It must mean the relics! Set it free immediately! No time to waste if it can show us where they are.”
Bogg heard every word and began to plead with Faylore, “Yes, yes! You… me out. Bogg no be dead thing…” he pointed through the other side of his cage, “… like they.”
They all looked passed Bogg’s cage. They had not noticed it before… the body pile. Dismembered carcasses of dozens of zingaard were piled high against the cavern wall. Arms, legs and torsos were strewn about, lying on a thick oozing carpet comprising their own blood and offal. Many of the bodies were still intact, but they appeared to be the results of deranged experiments. They were twisted, misshapen and disfigured, whilst others had been burnt to a crisp or desiccated.
“Who did this, Bogg?” exclaimed Faylore, pointing at the gruesome scene.
“Pretty man,” replied Bogg. “You… me out?”
Faylore looked pleadingly into Jared’s eyes. He approached the cage and leaned forward, staring at Bogg, “I warn you now, beast,” he snarled, “one wrong move and I swear it will be your last.” He held out his hand and conjured a fireball. “Do you understand?”
Bogg reeled back as far as the bars would allow him, “Bogg… good, Bogg… good. Bogg no… dead thing!”
Faylore reached into the cage and took his hand, “Bogg, where are the other things? Things not like you, snake things,” she made a motion across his hand, trying her best to imitate the writhing movement of the hissthaar.
Bogg nodded in understanding, “With shiny things,” he replied, pointing into the distance, “Bogg show, you… me out?”
“We don’t have time for this,” said Hannock, tersely. “This is all very noble, but how are we supposed to remain hidden whilst we have this hulking great beast leading the way? That is of course if it doesn’t turn on us as soon as that cage door is open.”
Emnor smiled, “There are eight of us, Captain! How did you think we would remain hidden? It’s a good thing Poom and Lawton elected to remain on guard at the entrance, at least we know nothing will attack us from the rear.”
“I know I’ll probably regret this,” sighed Jared, stretching out his hand. Strange that the blue flame that appeared to free the incarcerated zingaard was last seen torturing another. It sliced through the lock in seconds. The cage door swung open slowly and noisily, the grinding of the hinges a clue to how long it had been since the door was first closed.
Bogg stretched out his arm, stroking the air in disbelief. His whole life, or what he could remember of it, had been spent within the confines of the cage. Unsure of what to do next, he crept warily through the open door. He stood upright, something he had never been able to do before, and the companions cringed as they heard his bones cracking as he stretched to his full height. Hannock instinctively reached for his sword, and the flame in Jared’s hand had not yet been extinguished. Bogg faced Jared and Faylore and lowered himself to his knees, “You… good things,” he said gently. “You… me out,” he continued, glancing back at the cage. “Bogg… good thing. Bogg… show shiny things. You… with me,” he finished, turning and heading away. Pausing briefly to check that they were following, he moved rapidly, but surprisingly quietly, ahead.
***
Cautiously, the companions hurried after him. Occasionally, Bogg would stop and hide behind one of the many cages. The first time he hid, it confused the companions, but they knew it was probably for good reason. He had spotted a lone hissthaar. Luckily however, it had not seen him. All it saw was a mass of iron cages and matted fur. Bogg, hiding directly behind another zingaard who lay sleeping in its cage, had discovered the perfect camouflage.
Hannock could not believe what he had just witnessed, the beast was five times the size of the hissthaar above it, but it was hiding like a frightened child. It could have torn the guard to pieces but instead crouched quivering in terror. He sneaked as closely as he could to Bogg’s hiding place and raised the crossbow. Seconds later, the hissthaar was dead, sliding from the craggy outcropping that had been its vantage point and hitting the ground with a dull thud. Hannock moved closer to Bogg. He recoiled slightly, “My word!” he exclaimed. “Has anyone ever told you your name really suits you? You stink!”
They eventually reached the end of the cages and, studying the scene ahead, realised just what they were up against. The hissthaar camp wa
s not as well lit as the area in which the zingaard were caged. Being nocturnal, they had no real need of illumination.
The companions suspected that they may be nearing the exit. The floor rose gently, the walls smattered with many tiered ledges, all of which held varying numbers of hissthaar who slithered about aimlessly.
“How are we supposed to get past that lot?” hissed Drake, “Let alone find his precious artefacts,” he added, flicking his thumb at Lorzic.
Fortunately, the solution to their problem was presented to them quite by accident. They watched the hissthaar, each companion trying to formulate a favourable solution to their predicament. It was then that they noticed that two of their foe seemed to be having a heated disagreement. It was only seconds before their petty squabble escalated and they began writhing around on the ledge above them, slashing with their claws, snapping their fangs and hissing loudly. Their battle became frantic, neither feeling any sense of danger other than that of their opponent. Thrashing around they rolled off the edge, still snapping at one another as they tumbled down the sloping wall.
The flaming sconce exploded as they smashed through it, sparks and embers showering them as they crashed through the barrels stacked on the level below. They screeched as the barrels split, the powdery contents suddenly strewn around them. Multi-coloured sparks flew in all directions, a veritable rainbow illuminating the cavern until it was as bright as a mid-summer’s day. Every hissthaar now joined the chorus of screeching, attempting unsuccessfully to shield their eyes from the blinding light as they fled in terror. Within moments, the hissthaar were gone. The impromptu light-show continued, the sound of popping and fizzing echoing around the cavern. The companions were unsure of how long their good fortune would last, realising they must quickly make the most of this opportunity!
“Scatter,” urged Jared, “Find the artefacts, but hurry.”
They scampered in various directions, hunting fervently but making sure to stay in the light.
“Here!” called Emnor, suddenly. “They’re over here,” The others joined him. He had already snatched up the amulet and the helm. The hammer, however, was proving to be a little more difficult. “I can’t lift it!” he panted. “Lodren, I think this calls for your strength.”
Lodren pushed his way through and reached down without thinking… then he saw it. A hammer even larger than his own lay at his feet. It shimmered as he gazed upon its magnificence and he shuddered slightly when it hummed melodiously at his slightest touch. Made from solid silver with gold inlays, its oak handle seeming to mould to his grip as he raised it. It was undoubtedly the most glorious weapon he had ever seen. He stroked it, caressing it as if it were a long-lost friend. The voices of his companions were muffled, background noise to the hammer’s song.
“Lodren… Lodren,” begged Faylore. “We have to go, come on now, hurry!”
Lodren blinked and smiled up at her, “What?” he asked, dreamily, “Oh, oh yes. Let’s go! Lead the way, Your Majesty.”
Faylore looked about frantically, “Where’s Bogg?”
“Who cares?” growled Hannock. “Let’s run before the light show stops!”
Charging forward, they followed the slope uphill. They did not look back but, after twenty minutes and still finding no exit, decided that it would be safe to lessen their pace.
They walked in silence for the next few minutes. Some were breathless, others trying to understand how something had gone right for a change.
“When this is all over…” chuckled Drake, “… I’ll have to find out what was in those barrels. That was brilliant!”
“Well at least we all made it out in one piece,” said Emnor. “Although some of us aren’t as enthusiastic about explosions as you are, Master Drake.”
“None of us have escaped yet,” Faylore corrected him, “And we aren’t all here, we have no idea what happened to Bogg.”
“He probably ran the other way when the commotion started,” suggested Grubb. “He’ll just keep goin’ until he finds the way out. Same way as we came in.”
“Oh dear!” said Faylore, “That means that he’ll have to pass our Gerrowlien friends.”
“Give ‘em some credit, Faylore! It’s not as if they’re goin’ to attack a zingaard when there’s only the two of ‘em!”
Faylore looked down at Grubb, “We’re talking about Poom, Grubb. Lawton would simply ignore Bogg, but Poom wouldn’t hesitate at the chance to battle a zingaard.”
Grubb raised his eyebrows. He knew, as did everyone else, that she was right.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about that now, we’ll just have to hope for the best,” smiled Emnor. “Would anyone mind if we take a minute? I’m not as young as the rest of you. Let’s have a look at these artefacts,” he suggested.
“Now you, you b-be careful with those!” spluttered Lorzic, “They’re very valuable… and they’re mine!”
Grubb tilted his head to the side as he studied his cousin, “Yours?” he asked, quizzically, “I thought they belonged to the whole village.”
“You know what I mean, Grubb,” spat Lorzic, “I am responsible for them. They’re in my care.”
“Oh really?” said Grubb, “Well, as far as I can see, they’re in our care now! If it wasn’t for us they’d still be back there, covered in snake slime or whatever else.”
The companions sniggered.
“Lodren,” called Emnor, “Let’s have a look at that hammer. It looks most impressive.”
Lodren looked across at him nervously, “Yes, okay… erm, in a minute. I just wanted to… you know, hold it a bit longer…” His voice tailed off. There was a gleam in his eye that had never existed before. He held the hammer closer to him than he ever had his own, nursing it, stroking its head like a new-born’s cheek.”
Emnor squinted as he watched the Nibby, “Lodren?” he said gently, “Lodren?”
The Nibby looked up, “Hm?” he said.
“The hammer?” said Emnor.
“Magnificent, isn’t it,” answered Lodren.
Emnor smiled again, “Yes, it is. But it doesn’t belong to you, you must give it back to its rightful owner.”
“Mr Emnor!” protested Lodren, “I do hope you’re not suggesting that I would steal it!”
“Of course not,” replied Emnor. “Now bring it over here and let me have a look at it.”
Lodren idled his way toward Emnor, shuffling his feet like a child who knew they were about to be scolded. With arms outstretched, he held the hammer in front of Emnor’s intrigued eyes.
“I must say, the craftsmanship is beautiful… in a blunt, violent way of course. Whomever crafted this weapon definitely had a passion for their art.” Emnor glanced up at Lodren, “It looks incredibly heavy.” Lodren shrugged. “As heavy as yours?” he asked.
“No,” replied Lodren, quietly. “It’s a lot lighter actually, even though it’s a bit bigger.”
“Curious,” said Emnor, “Probably due to the density of the metal,” he suggested. “But who would forge such a thing? And more so, why?”
Lodren shrugged again.
“I think we should move,” suggested Hannock. “The hissthaar move quietly, remember. I’m not sure that they’re actually giving chase, but let’s not run the risk, eh?”
Following his recommendation, they moved quickly on. It was far darker as they proceeded, an issue that was easily dealt with as Emnor conjured a ball of light to illuminate their path. The cavern floor was a lot smoother than it had been, a blessing for Emnor’s weary old legs. Although they remained in the cave for far longer than they had anticipated, their passing through yielded no more surprises. Leaving the caverns, they lowered themselves onto the moss-covered rocky ground, taking a moment to enjoy the pale sunlight.
Lodren nursed the hammer as Lorzic insisted on reminding him that he would eventually have to return it. They squabbled like children over a favourite toy, under the concerned, watchful eye of Emnor. Why had Lodren become so possessive of it? He wasn’t
the type to covet another’s property. Something didn’t fit in this tale. Emnor was unsure of what it was, but he intended to find out. On discovering the artefacts, Emnor had hurriedly concealed both the helm and the amulet within his robes. Unseen, he ran his hand over the, still hidden, helm. Far larger than one would expect, he thought. He cast his eyes to Lodren once more. Best keep that hidden for now. He drew out the amulet, holding it close to his face and peering at it. Runes! And ancient ones, he thought as he studied it. He seemed to remember having seen something similar before, but he couldn’t bring to mind when, or where. Having lived as long as he had, it was hardly surprising that he would forget things occasionally.
“What does it say?” Emnor gave a start. He was so deep in thought that he had not even noticed Faylore as she sat next to him. “Oh, I’m so terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump,” she giggled.
“That’s alright,” laughed Emnor, “My fault. My mind had drifted somewhat, I was miles away.”
“The amulet?” Faylore repeated, “What does it say?”
“I have no idea,” replied Emnor. “I’ve seen runes like these before, but for the life of me I cannot place them.”
“May I see?” asked Faylore, politely.
“Of course,” replied Emnor, handing it to her.
She looked at it briefly, rubbing her thumb across it before lowering her voice and leaning over to Emnor, “You have never visited my homelands have you, Emnor?” she asked.
“Strangely enough, no,” he replied, “I’ve never had that pleasure.”
“I thought not,” she continued, “You would have recognised the speech on the amulet if you had.”
Emnor shook his head questioningly.
“It is an ancient form, I’ll admit that, but this amulet… hails from Thedar. It was made by my people.”
“Are you sure?” he whispered, “Oh what am I saying? Of course you’re sure. Can you read it?”
“There are words I have never seen before, unfortunately. However, it hints at a tale involving fire, doom… oh, dear. It is the tale of the dragon rider!” As they looked to Lodren, they were interrupted by Hannock.
The Cessation of Karrak: Ascension III (The Karrak Trilogy Part Three Book 3) Page 23