by Wulf, Rich
“Wait,” Seren called out.
Shaimin looked back over one shoulder. He lifted one blond eyebrow expectantly. “Yes?” he asked.
“We need your help,” she said. The words left a sour taste in her mouth.
“And I need yours,” he said, turning and striding swiftly back toward them. “There. Was that really so difficult?”
SIXTEEN
All that Zed could see was flame.
All around him, fire consumed the once proud temples of Vathirond. The bodies of the dead and dying lay strewn about the square. Most of the knights had moved on, pushing toward the next objective. Zed had arrived late, returning from delivering a message to the rear guard. He arrived only in time to see the last of the temples put to the torch. Now he stood in the center of the square. His massive sword hung limp in one hand, blade dragging across the paving stones.
At first he thought it was the Cyrans, and he cursed them for their cruelty. Then he saw a band of his fellow knights emerge from the temple of Kol Korran, still holding flaming brands and swords drenched in blood. He stared at them in silent horror, but they paid him no mind, marching out of the square. He stood, numb and confused, unable to comprehend what he had seen.
If he had been here earlier, could he have prevented this? Or would he have been swept up in the bloodlust of his comrades and done the same? He knew the charisma with which Kalaven commanded her soldiers; he had felt it personally. He just never imagined that she could be so brutal.
It was the scream that snapped him back to reality. A woman’s scream from the shadowed alley between two ruined temples. He ran toward the sound, only to find two of his comrades, Airik and Daiven, dragging a girl through the ash-strewn alley. Her scorched robes bore the octogram of the Sovereign Host, now stained with blood.
“What are you doing?” Zed shouted to them. “Where are you taking her?”
“Just following orders, Arthen,” Daiven said with a wicked grin. “Go find your own.”
Arthen’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. The flames that coursed through the temple district now seemed to seethe through him as well. He charged, lifting the heavy steel blade high and screaming in inarticulate rage. Airik and Daiven barely had time to defend themselves, not that it would have mattered, for they had always been poor examples of knights. Two strokes of his blade and the men lay dead. The priestess offered no thanks. Seeing the Silver Flame on Zed’s breastplate, she shrieked in terror and crawled away through the debris.
Zed slumped against the wall, tears streaming down his face. Around him, he could hear stone walls crack and crumble under their own weight. The flames consumed this once holy place. He felt weak, but his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. It was the only thing that still seemed real. He would have prayed for the fire to topple the buildings upon him, but he could not bring himself to pray.
He closed his eyes.
A sharp pain in his calf made him wince. He reached for his leg with one hand but felt nothing. He felt another pain in his lower back, and it grew difficult to breathe. Zed peered about in confusion. The city of Vathirond became a blur.
And then he awakened, thrashing in a pool of stagnant, frigid water. He was in total darkness. Finding the ground beneath them, he lurched for the surface. He gasped for breath, the smell of smoke searing his nostrils. Debris pelted his face, driving him under the surface again. Somewhere, far above, he could see the crackling light of distant green fire. He dared to surface again, taking another breath. He could barely feel his arms and legs in the freezing water.
“Eraina?” he called out desperately. The darkness did not answer.
Zed reached into his coat and took out his smoking pouch, quickly drawing out the waterproof box of tindertwigs. He struck one, filling the collapsing cavern with just enough light to see. Amid the falling rocks and shattered wood, he saw a narrow tunnel leading away to his right. He also saw the gleam of polished armor before the light went out—it was Eraina, floating face down in the water.
Zed waded toward her, finding her arm and pulling it across her shoulders. He stumbled over a thin wooden shaft which he quickly realized was her spear. He grabbed it as he pushed on. Eraina’s body was limp and heavy. Praying she was alive, he kept moving, hoping he could swim out of the tunnel before the entire chapel collapsed on them. Fortunately the water was shallow enough to let him push along the bottom with his feet. A surging wave suddenly shoved him forward. A roaring crash filled the tunnel as tons of stone plummeted behind them. Zed kept swimming as fast as he could, letting the shockwave carry him and not looking back.
To his amazement, there was light ahead. He emerged into a much larger cavern, suffused with a subtle orange radiance. Large, shimmering runes marked the walls and ceiling. The smallest of them were the size of a man’s hand outstretched. The largest were the size of a door. Zed understood little of what they said, though he recognized them as Draconic.
“Khyber,” Zed swore, staring up at the shining symbols. “It’s the Prophecy.”
A small stone island rose from the water in the center of the cave. Zed climbed onto it, dragging Eraina behind him with all the care he could. He laid her upon the rocks to study her injuries, dropping her spear and his sword beside her. She appeared unharmed, though her face was ashen and her breathing shallow. Her lips were pale blue. Perhaps it was just the shock of the fall and the numbing cold water that knocked her unconscious. Zed pulled off his coat and wrapped it into a ball, then lifted her head to tuck it underneath as a pillow.
His hand came away drenched with blood.
“No,” he whispered, lifting her head to check her injuries. “No,” he repeated weakly.
Eraina had landed badly, the back of her skull cracking on the rocks. Her blond hair was now streaked with blood. She was bleeding profusely. Even if Zed could stop it, there was likely nothing he could do to save her.
“No!” he cried, his voice echoing through the underground tunnels. His hands shook from cold and anger.
It made no sense. It could just as well have been him that had been injured in the fall, or both of them. It was like Vathirond all over again. The innocent suffered while he was spared. Where was Eraina’s goddess to save her? Boldrei had abandoned Eraina just as the Flame had abandoned him. If he could call upon his god, even once more, he could save her.
“Why?” Zed whispered hoarsely, clasping her hands in his. “Why can’t I hear it?”
“Because you are not listening,” he remembered Eraina saying.
Zed’s eyes opened and fixed on a flicker of something on the ground. The Silver Flame amulet he had taken in the woods now poked from the corner of Eraina’s bloody pillow. It was an impossible coincidence. Was this a second chance, or another test? Did it matter, if he might save her life?
This, Zed realized as he closed one hand over the amulet, was faith.
He placed the other hand behind her head and closed his eyes again. He concentrated, picturing Eraina whole and strong and well. He held the amulet against his chest, over his heart, and prayed.
“Please,” he whispered. “I know I’ve failed you, and I don’t like asking for help. But … do this for her. This world still needs heroes like Eraina. Flame, help me. Help her.”
Zed felt no different at all. Nothing seemed to happen, though he felt a strange sense that he was no longer alone. That was all.
He pulled his hand away from her and sighed, still clutching the amulet, and wondered how he had fallen so far.
Eraina’s eyes opened weakly.
“Zed?” she whispered. “Where are we?”
Zed stared in astonishment. “Careful,” he said to her. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
She sat up and peered around, gingerly touching the back of her head. The wound was still there, but it didn’t look nearly as bad as it had before. Had he truly healed her, Zed wondered, or had he imagined it? Her gaze flicked toward his fist, noticing the amulet chain that dangled between his fingers. Sh
e smiled but said nothing more on it. He tucked the holy symbol into his pocket. The paladin closed her eyes and called upon her goddess, summoning Boldrei’s healing magic to close her wound.
“Where is Shaimin?” Eraina said, opening her eyes again and staring at the shimmering runes above them.
“Vanished into the shadows before the chapel even collapsed,” Zed said with a sigh. He dipped his coat into the water and scrubbed it against a rock, trying to wash out the blood. “Should have known better than to trust that elf.”
“We really shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, plucking up her spear. She seemed to be quickly regaining her strength. “He lived up to his promise. He stuck by us until we endangered his life.”
“Still doesn’t make me feel any better about it,” Zed said. “Even Dalan wouldn’t have abandoned us like that.”
“Dalan would have remained behind on the airship,” Eraina replied.
“True,” Zed said.
“But, all details aside, that elf had better hope I don’t see him again,” Eraina said.
“Agreed,” Zed replied, laughing with relief that Eraina was all right again.
“These must be the caverns Shaimin mentioned,” Eraina said.
“And the prophecy that led the original cultists to their doom,” Zed added darkly. “We’re probably better off that we don’t know what it says.”
“You don’t read Draconic?” Eraina asked, looking at him in surprise.
Zed blinked. “Well, a few words,” he said. “Why? Can you read it?”
“Of course,” she said, looking mildly offended. “I was formally educated by the Church of the Sovereign Host. It’s one of a dozen languages in which I am fluent. Granted, this is an extremely archaic dialect. It’s nothing like the form that mages use to transcribe their journals, but I can read much of it.”
“So what does it say?” Zed asked.
“Nothing of any use to us,” she said. “This part is a fairly standard introduction, warning that those who trifle with destiny will be crushed beneath it, dark assurances that one cannot flee fate, that sort of thing. There’s a lot of that in the Prophecy. It does indicate that there is more elsewhere in the cavern.”
Zed looked over his shoulder at the rubble-choked hallway behind them. “Let’s hope it’s not that way,” he said.
Eraina looked around the cavern in thought. Tunnels led to the north and west. She drew the small metal case from her cloak and flipped it open, revealing a small compass. “We ran east from Fort Ash,” she said. “That would mean the keep is that way.” She pointed west.
“You intend to go back toward Marth’s army?” he asked.
Eraina snapped the compass shut and looked at him. “Well, we know these caverns open into the fortress somewhere,” she said. “That at least guarantees that we’ll find a way out. If we’re looking for a more significant passage of the Prophecy, that’s more likely to be directly under the fort as well. We can find out what drew Marth here and escape these caves at the same time.”
“Assuming we survive,” Zed said.
“All we can do is stay together,” Eraina said. “That’s worked for us so far.” She slid down off the island into the shallow water, leading the way deeper into the cavern.
Zed followed her, shrugging back into his dripping coat and shouldering the strap of his heavy sword. The gleaming runes continued to illuminate the tunnel just enough to find their way. They walked for several minutes in silence. The water gradually grew shallower as the tunnel sloped upward, until finally they walked on dry stone.
“Thanks, Eraina,” Zed said.
She looked back at him in surprise. “For what?” she asked.
“For believing in me,” he said.
Eraina smiled, seeming to understand what had happened. “If you were not strong enough to question your faith, the Silver Flame would never have chosen you as a champion,” Eraina said. “You just had to allow yourself to listen again. I have faith in you, Zed, and I have no doubt the Silver Flame has faith in you as well.”
“If you say so,” Zed said.
“You’ve been in darkness for years,” Eraina said. “Adjust to the light gradually.”
Zed grumbled but said nothing more.
Beyond them, the cavern broadened into another large cave. The Draconic runes covered the walls and ceiling here, filling the chamber in an eerie crimson light. Eraina walked out into the middle of the chamber, staring upward in amazement. Zed stood just behind her, throwing his wet coat over one shoulder. He glanced from her face to the indecipherable runes.
“What does it say?” he asked.
“It’s a continuation of the prophecy Tristam found in Zul’nadn,” she said. “It says, ‘The conqueror finds all that he desires in the City of Towers. There, the Legacy begins to remake the world. The sky falls around those who have betrayed …’ ” She frowned. “There’s more but it’s very strange.”
“Strange?” Zed asked.
“It’s difficult to describe,” Eraina said. She winced, as if reading the words brought her physical discomfort. “You know that Boldrei has gifted me with a heightened sense of the truth.”
Zed nodded.
“That is what bothers me now,” she said. “I read the words of the Prophecy … and all that I see are lies.”
“How is that possible?” Zed asked.
Eraina looked at him, then instantly looked past him. Her body tensed at the sounds of approaching footsteps on stone. Zed pressed one finger over his lips and hurried back the way they had come, gesturing for Eraina to follow. They ducked back into the shadows of the tunnel just as a small man in copper robes entered the chamber. An escort of two Cyran soldiers followed him.
“Leave me,” the man said, waving dismissively.
“Do you wish us to inform you when the captain intends to launch, Brother Zamiel?” one of the guards asked.
Zed and Eraina looked at one another in surprise. The traitor, Marshal Killian, had been working for a man named Zamiel. Tristam had also mentioned a mysterious prophet, Zamiel, who set Marth upon his path. This was the first time they had seen him.
“No,” Zamiel said softly. “I will know.”
The guards bowed reverently and departed. Zamiel moved toward the eastern wall, toward a section where the Draconic runes were clustered thickly. He knelt upon the floor and folded his arms in his robes, tilting his head back to study the writings.
“Wait here,” Zed whispered to Eraina.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Possibly something stupid,” he said.
Zed dropped his coat on the ground and moved quietly across the room, slowly drawing his sword from its scabbard. He moved behind the prophet, approaching him slowly. He was standing just behind Zamiel before the little monk glanced back in surprise. Zed grabbed the man by the collar of his robes and lifted him with his right hand, shoving him back against the wall.
“Don’t call for help,” Zed said, holding his sword so the monk could see it.
The prophet laughed. “Very well,” he said. “You must be the inquisitive who has been lurking about. Zed Arthen, is it?”
“I’m not very interesting,” Zed said. “Let’s talk about you instead. Who are you, and why are you trying so hard to light up the war again?”
“You wish to know of destiny?” the prophet asked. His copper eyes gleamed with zealous madness. “Did you learn nothing in these caverns?”
Zamiel grasped Zed’s right wrist and twisted with a horrible snapping sound. Zed cried out and staggered backward, releasing the prophet. Zamiel lashed out again, delivering a powerful backhand that threw Zed a dozen feet across the floor. Zed sat up, cradling his injured arm and looking for his sword. The prophet advanced on him, but as he moved, his form shifted. By the time he reached Zed, the thin prophet had transformed into a massive copper beast, filling much of the cavern. Long horns curled from a sharp, triangular face. Broad wings stretched from muscular shoulders.
“Those who trifle with destiny,” Zamiel hissed, leaning over him and opening his fanged maw wide, “will be crushed beneath it.”
SEVENTEEN
Get that man off my ship immediately,” Pherris said. The gnome’s face was dark red with anger. His tiny hands were balled into fists at his sides.
Shaimin d’Thuranni looked down at Pherris with a polite smile as he climbed the rope ladder into the hold. He wasn’t really surprised. This sort of reaction was typical from those who had faced him and survived, few as they were.
“Don’t be so angry, Captain,” Shaimin said. “I apologize for my rudeness the last time we met, but circumstances deemed violence appropriate.”
The gnome glared at the elf, then turned toward Dalan as he climbed aboard the airship. “Dalan, this is outrageous,” Pherris said. “I’ve been quite willing to tolerate more than a fair share of your bizarre proposals in the past, but this is a danger to the ship that I cannot allow. This man is an assassin! He attempted to murder Tristam, Seren, and myself. How can you possibly invite his presence here?”
“I didn’t invite him,” Dalan said, turning to help Seren climb inside. “Tristam did.”
Pherris cast a wide-eyed gaze on Tristam as he followed her. “Master Xain, have you lost your mind?”
“I don’t like it either, Pherris, but we need his help,” Tristam said. “He says he isn’t trying to kill us anymore, and I believe him. He had ample opportunity down in Nathyrr.”
“I promise to be on my best behavior, Captain,” Shaimin said with an elegant bow.
“Shaimin has apparently had something of a change of heart,” Dalan explained. “He helped Zed and Eraina find Marth’s fortress in the Harrowcrowns. He has offered to do the same for us.”