“I doubt if one orc will be missed.” Jaylen said as he joined them.
Landis and Jaylen did there best to examine the walls. Their night vision was good enough to make out the faded watermark lines. They guessed that the well normally would have been dry, but that the persistent rain they had been experiencing must have replenished the mountain source where the water for this well once flowed from on a regular basis.
Eric felt along the side wall below the water level until he found what he was looking for: An opening leading into a tunnel. “We need to go through here.” He informed them.
“But that is almost completely submerged.” Natis protested.
“Only the entrance,” Eric explained, “Once through we should be able to stand again.” To prove his point the Prince of Birhirm dropped to his knees, lowering his head he crawled through the opening in the wall. On the other side he was able to stand. He could see absolutely nothing and had to feel his way around. He could tell that the place he stood was no more than three feet around. Using his hands to feel his way through Eric discovered a step on one side. He stepped up and out of the water and ran his hands along the stone wall until locating another opening and a second step. He took it and dared go no farther.
Landis followed Eric through. “Eric?” He whispered.”
“Up here Landis, follow my voice.” Eric responded.
Landis was glad to hear Eric’s directions, for even his night-vision was useless in this complete darkness. Fortunately he had brought one of their wrapped torches and a flint with him.
Weslocke entered just as Landis was striking the flint attempting to light the torch. Even with the care they had taken the torch had become damp and took much longer to light than desired. But soon the half-elf had it lit, just as Konik stumbled through the opening, nearly knocking Weslocke over in the process. As the others followed, Landis and Eric examined the narrow passageway. The floor, walls and ceiling were all solid stone. It was seven feet tall and four feet wide and allowed for ample room while walking in single file.
Once everyone was in and had shaken off as much of the cold water as possible they began exploring the passageway. It curved ahead of them for several feet before coming to a set of stone steps leading up.
“A trap.” Weslocke thought out loud.
Everyone reached for their weapons at the dwarf’s supposed warning.
“I am sorry,” he continued. “Not that kind of a trap. This was designed to prevent the water from rising and flooding the passageway—a water trap—it was built so that the top of these steps is well above the highest water line of the well. Once we top these steps we will probably find the way descending deeper without any concern of any more water.”
“Thank god.” Jordan spoke for everyone present.
They climbed the stone staircase finding an open doorway at the top. A rotted wooden door lay on the floor of the hallway before them. They walked through with Weslocke in the lead, followed closely by Eric, and found a second door. This one was a rusted iron door that was open, allowing them free access to another staircase that was—as Weslocke had predicted—going back down into the depths below the city. The steps lowered much farther than the ones they had climbed previously before leveling off into another passage equal to the one they had first been in. They followed this in a direction that Weslocke determined to be taking them towards where the tower ruins should be. The traversed this passageway for quite some distance before reaching another staircase leading them farther down. At the bottom of this one they found the corridor becoming narrower. Konik was forced to lower his head as he walked to keep from scraping the ceiling.
“Keep an eye on the torches?” Weslocke reminded everyone as they walked. “They will turn blue as we climb deeper. If you see them turning red again point it out, we’ll be close to fresh air. And if they start to turn any other color speak up at once. It may be a sign of some kind of fumes that could be dangerous.”
They continued along the cramped passageway, casually descending deeper and deeper below ground until it came to an end with two openings. The first was a squared opening in the lower portion of the wall at their left leading into a darkened room. The second was in the wall directly before them and appeared to have been caused by a breaking of the stones in the wall, perhaps during the building’s collapse. As it was, much of the wall around them at this point looked damaged.
Weslocke waved the torch into the opening at their feet. It was easily large enough for them to crawl through and was obviously man made.
“It looks like a room.” He informed them.
“This one looks like an air shaft.” Jaylen said after examining the broken portion of the wall at the dead end. “It still provides fresh air from somewhere up above and goes down below us.”
“I would suggest we try the room then.” Eric suggested.
Weslocke crawled through the opening into the room first and began looking around as the others followed. “This looks like a magician’s lair.” He said as he spied the jars, books and other items that lay on the floor where they had fallen from the many bookshelves that had become dislodged during the collapse of the tower above them. A few shelves still hung on the wall, each filled with items that Natis wished he had time to peruse. About the room there were a few tables and chairs. Dust and cobwebs were everywhere.
“The way we entered was once a hidden doorway,” Jaylen said, pointing out the construction pattern and what remained of the hidden door that had once covered the entrance. “This was probably where Bytorron was headed when he got pinned down by Aaron. Either he was going to regroup here and stand his ground, or else he planned to escape through the tunnel and flee.”
Jordan looked about the room at what was left of Bytorron’s magical belongings and spell books, “But why is his den below ground? I thought that wizards built their lairs at the top of towers?”
“Do you really think that we want to climb up and down those stairs every day?” Natis asked the Squire, “The top of a tower is useful—and necessary—for many things. But it is a misconception that the most important room for a wizard would be at the top. It is more common to find it down here below ground, where it is safer and you can have multiple entrances and exits.”
Eric was rubbing his arms as he looked around the room, “Well I for one want to get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
“What is that?” Jandelie pointed to a large stone oval structure against the far wall. Unlike everything else in the room it was free of all dust, cobwebs or any other debris. It looked virtually new as if someone had recently placed it where it stood. It seemed to be some sort of an archway that was meant to be placed at the entrance of a hall standing seven feet tall and five feet wide at its widest point. But the opening inside of the archway was blocked by a cross-like formation in the center with one stone crossbeam going from the upper left to the lower right and another one intersecting it going from the upper right to the lower left. At the point where each stone beam met the outer arch there was an odd shaped indentation with no two of the four being alike. Other than those there were no other markings anywhere on the front of the archway.
“Do not touch it.” Natis warned. “In fact, do not touch anything in this room. We have no way of knowing what wards may still be in effect in this chamber.”
While everyone else viewed the large structure with interest Eric stood staring at the opposite wall. Jaylen turned to observe the Prince. Something did not feel right to the elf, he glanced back and forth about the room but could not see anything unusual—any more so than what one would expect to find in a three hundred year old den belonging to a dead wizard—but he sensed that something was peculiar. He turned to ask Natis for his opinion but saw that the same look of concern on the face of the mage and realized that something was indeed very wrong.
Jordan jumped without provocation, drawing his sword as he did so. The young man held his sword before him as if preparing to strike at some
unseen enemy. Jaylen could feel a cloud of confusion creeping over him as he watched the others in the room begin to move oddly about.
“A spell!” Natis warned, seeing and sensing the same thing as the elf, but realizing that his words had come too late.
Chapter 8
Jordan shook his head, trying to get his bearings. A moment ago he had been standing with his companions in the chambers of the wizard Bytorron, below the fallen Tower of Sedau, when he had become enveloped in a cloud of smoke. When the smoke had cleared Jordan found himself standing alone in some vast darkened room.
“Magic.” He spat with no small amount of distaste.
Jordan drew his sword just as his eyes caught movement coming from the darkened corners of the room. The figures came into view causing the squire to gasp in fear as he saw what was approaching. Dozens of skeletons slowly spread out to surround him, each carrying a blood drenched sword in its bony hand. Jordan looked behind him, only to see several more approaching from his rear. He turned back to face the skeletons that came from the front of the room, only to notice something even more horrifying. Lying on the floor behind them was the slaughtered remains of his brother Alek, chopped to pieces by the undead creatures that were now advancing on him. Anger overcame his fear as Jordan readied his sword for battle then gave a cry for his brother’s vengeance as he charged into the advancing skeletons.
Jordan was able to block the first blows of the creatures as he sliced at them with his sword. Many of the undead beings were felled by his skillful blows. But instead of their numbers decreasing the skeletons were multiplying. Where one fell, another appeared. And worse yet, those that fell slowly rose back to their feet to take up arms against the young squire again. He fought valiantly but the struggle was in vain as the foul creatures began to surround him on all sides and their swords were beginning to make their mark. Jordan was cut and bleeding in several places and he knew that he had to push his way to one of the walls in order to protect his back if he was going to stand any chance at all against the skeletons. He was well aware that his odds of survival were slipping away with every second, but he had to fight on. At least with his back to the wall he would stand a better chance. And if he did not survive then the least he could do was to make this fight as difficult for the undead creatures as possible.
He lunged forward, smashing his way through the skeletons and managing to reach the wall, but not without taking more damage. Blood ran freely down his back, arms and legs. He hit the wall head long and rotated about, securing safety for his backside as he faced the oncoming hoard of skeletons. He knew that this would be his last stand. With a final cry of anger he gripped his sword with both hands, and charged into the skeletons once more. If he was going to die, then he was going to die on the offensive and not cowering in the corner like a frightened child...
* * * * *
Weslocke jerked his head about with a start. He had just turned to see what had spooked Jordan, but before he had turned all the way around the dwarf found that he was standing alone in a dark, tangled forest.
“Hades! Where am I?” He said with alarm, his battle axe held ready.
The dwarf detected motion in the trees above him. Looking up he spotted dozens of bird-like creatures descending upon him. Their dusty red feathers, yellow eyes and long sharp beaks identified them at once to the dwarf.
“Stirges!” He cried, recognizing the swarm of rare, blood drinking, birds that swooped down from above. He gave up on any idea of fighting and decided to make a run for it, hoping that he could find some sanctuary from the attacking birds. As he ran his feet had became tangled in the weed-like growth beneath him, causing the dwarf to tumble forward and fall hard against the ground. The first of the birds struck, its beak stabbing into an exposed section of flesh on the dwarf’s arm to begin sucking his blood. Weslocke knocked the bird away with his left hand, but already others were attacking and doing the same. Weslocke cried out in pain as his massive hands covered his face to protect it from the stirges. He could feel their beaks stabbing at his flesh along his arms, legs and the backs of his hands. He tried to roll free of them, managing to knock a few of the blood-sucking creatures away only to have them replaced by others as soon as they fell...
* * * * *
Eric clutched at the pole that held him in the air with both hands. Looking down at the floor some fifty feet below where he was hanging, Eric shuddered at the sight of the rows of spikes lining the floor beneath him. He cried out for help, but there was no one to help him. He was alone and clinging frantically to the thin pole that hung down from the ceiling, about fifteen feet above him. Realizing that he was already at the bottom of the pole the Prince of Birhirm climbed higher, hoping to reach the ceiling. Perhaps there is a way out. He thought as he scanned the ceiling above him, unable to see any visible means of escape. He was too frightened to think about how he had come to be in this predicament. All he wanted to do was to climb higher. But try as he might, the pole was too slick and his arms were growing too weak for him to do so. The prince would climb a few feet only to slowly slide back down the pole again and again.
How long could he hang on before his hands gave out? Once that happened he would fall to the shiny spikes that waited below. Eric wrapped his legs around the pole, but found that they offered little help on the slick metal rod. He could see no hope. Unless someone came to his rescue soon he was certain to fall to his death.
He slid another inch or two before regaining his grip once more. The pole got thinner the farther down he went. He slipped again. There was no more than a foot left before he was at the end and he now had no strength to pull himself up higher. Eric’s hands ached as he squeezed as tightly as possible around the slick rod. He could already feel them growing too weak to hold him. His grip was about to give out completely...
* * * * *
Konik spun about wondering what had just happened. The towering warrior had backed up a step or two as the mysterious cloud had engulfed him, clearing just as quickly as it had appeared. Instead of being underground with Trevor and the others he was now standing outside in an open field. He held his large two-handed sword ready while trying to make out what had happened.
The plainsman had little time to consider his surrounding as a large shadow past overhead. Konik looked skyward and felt his stomach sink at the sight above him.
“Dragon.” He spoke in disbelief at the giant winged creature that sailed effortlessly through the sky. It turned its scaled neck to face Konik, than swooped down in his direction. Konik would have fled, but there was no place to run and no way for him to outdistance the dragon on foot. He raised his sword and screamed a heroic battle cry as he prepared to fight this being out of ancient history. The dragon sailed closely over Konik’s head. He struck at its clawed foot with his sword, doing no damage. The dragon’s scales were like armor and deflected the blow of his sword as if he had struck it with a feather. The dragon swooped down on him twice more. Konik stabbed at it each time to no avail, feeling like a mouse trapped between the paws of a cat as the dragon toyed with him.
“What are you waiting for?” Konik bellowed at the archaic beast.
The dragon roared as if accepting the human’s challenge. It flew high into the air then turned and descended rapidly towards Konik. Its mighty jaws opened wide as the dragon prepared to engulf the human with a blast of fire that would leave Konik’s bones burned to a cinder. Konik yelled in defiance as if accepting this fateful end. He readied his sword for one more strike, which he knew full well to be an act of folly. The dragon roared once more and released a blast of fire at him.
Konik grinned as he prepared to die…
* * * * *
Jandelie opened her eyes and saw a face from the past standing before her. “Diabolis.” She said; surprised at the appearance of the Eastlander she had not seen in several years. “What are you doing here?”
Diabolis stared at the female thief. His dark brown eyes remained fixed on her without ever movin
g. He was a handsome man with a natural tanned complexion, short black hair and a slender body. Jandelie then noticed the crossbow in his hands. It was loaded and aimed at her.
“What are you doing, Di?” She asked, slowly backing away from the trained assassin that had once been her traveling partner, friend, and lover.
“I see you are with him again.” Diabolis accused.
Jandelie knew that he was referring to Landis. The three of them had traveled to the Westland together after becoming entangled in a web of complicated issues back in the city of Roole many years earlier. Jandelie had become involved with both Landis and Diabolis, and had believed that she could balance the two. The duel relationships created a serious strain between the two men. Jandelie did not help matters by confiding in each that they were her true love and that she was only entertaining herself with the other. Truth be told, Jandelie was using both men for her own desires and gain.
Eventually things came to a boiling point and she had to make a decision. Jandelie left with Diabolis, at first, believing that she would do better with someone from her own homeland, especially since he was a full human as she was. She quickly became disillusioned with her relationship with the assassin and left him to return to Landis. She had not told Diabolis her plans when she had left, and had not seen him since, until now.
“I should have known that you would choose him over me.” Diabolis spoke bitterly. “But now I will rectify all of the wrongs caused by you.”
Jandelie’s heel struck against something as she backed up. She looked down and froze at the sight of Landis lying behind her; a crossbow bolt buried in his chest.
“Landis!” She cried as she dropped to her knees beside the dead half-elf. She looked at Diabolis with anger and fear welling up inside her, “Why?”
“Because I can.” Was the only answer the assassin gave her as he leveled off his crossbow, taking careful aim at the thief, “Now it is time for you to join your lover in death.” He said as his finger squeezed the trigger…
Elf Lords: 01 - Pearls of the Elf Lords Page 7