“Do you have any idea where we are?” Eliran asked, apparently not even noticing his grip.
“None whatsoever. Just pretty sure we need to leave.”
“Everyone from the Academy would kill for a chance to study this place.”
“I’m afraid the current tenants might object to that.” Aric forced Eliran to look away from the statues and into his eyes. “We don’t have time for this.”
Eliran blinked. “No, of course not.” She nodded, disappointedly, probably as much to herself as to Aric. “Let’s go.”
With a quick glance out the door to check for unwanted presences, they left the statue-filled room and bolted towards a large, wooden double door, complex iron patterns covering it. They pushed it open just a sliver, but it was enough to make its old hinges wail. A great hall stood on the other side, and the door’s screeching echoed violently beneath its vaulted ceilings. Heart pounding, Aric and Eliran rushed to kneel in the shadow of one the talon shaped columns sprouting from the flagstone floor. Unlike the halls below, there were no runes on the walls here. Instead, they were covered in row upon row of low relief carvings shaped in a pattern that resembled the joints of bones, except much sharper than any bone in a human body.
“Look,” Eliran said, a finger shooting up.
At the other end of the hall stood a granite statue of a creature that reached up to the ceiling. The creature was humanoid in shape but had the wings of a dragon. Its skull-like head had long, curved horns like those of an old goat, and its chin stretched downwards like a long goatee. At the statue’s feet was an altar shaped like a bundle of intertwined human arms desperately clasping and clawing at each other as if competing to reach the top, where, like the canopy of a tree, they spread out to support a thick, opened tome. Behind the altar, between the creature’s legs, was a heavy curtain.
“If this place is built anything like a Dawnmother temple, those curtains will be hiding a tunnel that leads somewhere outside.”
“Why would a temple to Kallax be built anything like a temple to Ava?”
Eliran parted her lips to reply but was interrupted by the rough, deep clang of a bell. Aric could feel the sound digging into his skull as if it planned to never leave. The resonating echo hung in the air like a tainted pall, the vastness of the great hall making it impossible to tell where the bell was located.
As the sound finally began to fade, and just before silence took over once again, it rang once again, and then a third time. What had first been a mild discomfort grew into a pounding headache and Aric pressed his fingertips to his temples, finding little relief. Beside him, Eliran clutched her head as if it was about to explode, her eyes squeezing shut in a painful grimace. When it seemed the bell would not toll again, Aric and Eliran exchanged a glance, the same questioning look etched upon their faces.
What was happening?
The answer, once more, came in the form of sound, the floor vibrating beneath their feet with the loud rumble of a thousand steps converging on them.
* * *
“There it is,” Clea said in a low voice.
The tall ship stood in the middle of the bay, the waters surrounding it so calm they could be mistaken for a dark mirror. Kneeling next to Clea, Leth studied the ship, then the small skiff on the beach and the two guards flanking the small vessel.
“How many men aboard the frigate, do you reckon?” Leth asked.
Clea shrugged. “I counted no more than ten when I first spotted it. It’s a skeleton crew, no doubt.”
“So Astoreth isn’t worried we’ll just come and take her ship?” Dothea whispered, kneeling slightly behind the pair, the three of them forming a triangle. Dragon hunters didn’t know how to be around each other without getting into formation.
“Why would she be? She probably doesn’t even know we lost our ship.”
“Or maybe she isn’t interested in getting off this island, in the first place,” Leth offered. “Besides, you’re assuming those are common sailors. If there are spell throwers aboard that ship, we don’t stand a chance.”
“How do we find out, then?” Dothea asked, her head swinging around, covering their rear.
Leth lowered his spyglass. “We attack them.”
“Just the three of us?” Clea hissed skeptically.
“The sentinels around our camp are already spread too thin as it is,” Leth reasoned. “The three of us will have to do. Dothea, you see that cliff over there?” He indicated a tall, ragged slab of rock jutting out towards the sea at the mouth of the bay. Dothea nodded. “Dive from that position and swim to the ship. We’ll create a diversion from the opposite direction. Just climb aboard and do your thing.”
“Got it,” Dothea said, caressing the hilt of one of her daggers. Without another word, she got up and dashed away, disappearing through a gray thicket.
Once more, Leth raised the spyglass to his eye and inspected the frigate. There was minimal damage to a couple of sails, and some of the rigging had come loose, but overall it was in good shape; more than enough to carry them back to the mainland of Arkhemia.
Leth let out a long sigh.
“What is it?” Clea asked, breaking the silence.
Leth lowered the spyglass and looked at her questioningly.
“What’s on your mind?” Clea clarified.
Leth shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Don’t nothing me. I can tell when something’s up in that big head of yours.”
Leth took a deep breath and looked out at sea. “That ship,” he said after a moment.
“What about it?”
“Well… where are we taking it? You know, assuming we make it out of here?”
“Ah…”
“Doesn’t matter.” Leth put his spyglass away. “We probably won’t even make it out of this place alive, anyway.”
“Were you planning on discussing this with me any time in the future?”
“Of course I was!” Leth snapped. “It’s not like I’ve made any decisions. I’ve just… I’ve been thinking about home, is all.”
“You’re not the only one with unfinished business, you know.”
“Oh, trust me, I know.”
Clea sent a flustered glance downwards but quickly lifted her head once more. “I’m not just talking about myself.”
Leth didn’t reply. He stared at the mouth of the cove, beyond the calm waters of the bay, where the waves clashed into each other, spraying foam in every direction. “Dothea will be in position soon. We should get ready.”
* * *
Aric watched in horror as several sets of double doors on each side of the great hall opened, dozens of archons and kallaxians flooding through them.
Eliran’s telepathic message rang inside Aric’s skull as if they were both inside an iron barrel.
Whatever happens, don’t move.
He heard her. Understood her. But when the crowd of archons stepped towards them, Aric’s legs simply disobeyed and he jumped in surprise. Eliran’s arm shot up and grabbed him by the collar of his cuirass, dragging him back down.
I’m keeping us both invisible, Eliran’s voice hissed through his mind, sweat breaking out on her temples. But I don’t know how long I can keep it up. Don’t. Move.
Shrinking and stilling against the column, Aric held his breath as two archons walked past. Neither even glanced in their direction. Another group walked past them, this time three kallaxians, their gray robes distinguishing them from their darker brethren. More and more archons and kallaxians passed as if the two of them were nothing more than an extension of the stone pillar, forming a crowd in front of the altar, as perfectly lined up as legionaries on parade. The bell tolled once more, this time just a quick clang, and the curtains behind the altar flew open. The kallaxi Reverend Mother emerged, the skirt of her gray robes trailing several feet behind her over the flagstone floor. A few moments later, Astoreth came through the threshold and joined the Reverend Mother at the altar.
“If we keep the world from burning
,” the Reverend Mother began, spreading her arms.
“All that will be left is darkness,” her audience replied in unison.
A chill ran down Aric’s spine. What in the mother’s name is happening?
I think we’re about to witness a religious ceremony to Kallax, Eliran replied. Or Fyr. Or both.
We have to get out of here.
There was no answer. Eliran was fixated on the proceedings. The reverend mother flipped through the pages of the tome held in the clasp of the altar’s stone hands. After finding the page she was looking for, her fingers stretched toward the ceiling and she began to chant: “Hallowed be Kallax, lord of the Threshold.”
“Through death, you call us with whispers cold,” the crowd replied.
“Praised be Kallax, in his slumber deep,” the Reverend mother continued.
“Beyond the veil our souls you keep.”
“Sacred be Kallax, beyond the dark.”
“Your great return our sacrifices mark.”
They want to bring Kallax back, Eliran said. Why does that not surprise me… Eliran studied the Cup of Kallax in Aric’s hands. First, they tried Fyr in the Frostbound. Now they came for Kallax, here. They aren’t prodding our defenses… they’re finishing us off.
Aric’s gaze flicked her way, brow creasing. What do you mean?
I mean this game of Lagaht began long before the Academy even realized, Eliran met Aric’s eyes, and the Circle is making their final moves. How else would they have made all these discoveries, all these breakthroughs, in such a short amount of time? They’ve probably been sitting on them for decades, maybe centuries, waiting for the right moment to strike.
The right moment? Aric’s eyes widened. Like the Purge…
Eliran nodded.
Well, something tells me they can’t bring back Kallax without this. Aric twitched the Chalice in his hand. We need to get out of here. Can you keep us invisible while we walk?
Both of us? I don’t think so. She paused for a moment. But I could get you out.
What are you talking about? I’m not going without you.
These people are going to stay here praying for Goddess knows how long, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to keep us both invisible for the duration. It’s either one of us or none of us.
Aric frowned. Alright, then you go.
The two stared at each other fiercely, neither willing to concede.
I’m a mage, Eliran eventually added. If I stay behind, I still have a chance to make it out.
You’ve blown yourself up, gotten stabbed in the gut, and bled nearly to death in just the last few hours, Aric argued. If you looked any closer to death, you’d be able to impersonate Astoreth herself. How are you going to fight an angry mob of archons?
I’ll think of something. Eliran looked away from Aric and gazed upon the kallaxi leader, now reciting some strange passage from her sacred book. Eliran caught only the words “death eternal” and “blood offering”. Remember, we did not come here expecting to make it out alive. All that matters is that they don’t get the Chalice.
I’m not leaving without you.
Goddess damn it, Aric! Eliran made sure the message stung in Aric’s skull and watched him wince. I shouldn’t have even brought us here. Don’t you understand? They needed the dagger. The Chalice doesn’t work without it, and I brought it straight to their hands.
How could you have known?
Because that’s my job! Once again, Eliran saw Aric grimace, except this time, she hadn’t done it on purpose. She sighed. Persea’s right… I should research more. Be better. This is all my fault. She looked into Aric’s eyes. I need you to get the chalice away from here. Please…
Aric clenched his teeth and looked away from her. I’ll come back for you.
No! You’ll find a way off this island and you won’t stop until you reach Ragara. The council of Arch-Mages is there. They’ll know how to destroy the Chalice. She grabbed Aric’s arm and squeezed until the skin beneath her fingers went white. Promise me.
Aric hesitated.
Promise me!
Unable to look at her, Aric nodded.
* * *
Leth ambled across the main deck, the ship barely swaying in the calm waters of the bay. A dozen corpses dotted the deck, dark pools of blood spreading around them. “No spell throwers, I see,” he noted.
“Goddess, Dothea…” Clea muttered, unable to take her eyes off the carnage. “Did you at least offer them the chance to surrender?”
“Would you feel better if I said yes?” the redhead replied, wiping blood from one of her blades on the shirt of a dead sailor.
Clea simply sighed, shaking her head.
“We don’t have the manpower to guard prisoners,” Leth said matter-of-factly. “But now we have a ride home. That’s all that matters.”
Sighing, Clea knelt next to a dead woman. The sailor’s dark eyes were gazing at infinity in horror. “Not to them… These aren’t members of the Circle, Leth.”
“How do you know?” Leth approached her and squeezed her shoulder. “We have our own people to worry about.”
“Yeah…” Clea said, then turned to Leth. “Home, huh?”
“Yes,” Leth agreed, low enough that Dothea could no longer hear him. “First yours, then mine.”
Clea glanced at the mouth of the bay, at the raging ocean beyond the cliffs. “I’m not sure I can do it, Leth. Face those people, I mean. Just picturing their faces, I—”
Leth gripped her arms and helped her to her feet. “I’ll be right there with you.”
Clea looked into Leth’s eyes. “And I’ll be right there with you.”
“Good. Let’s just finish saving the world, first.” Leth winked playfully.
Vestiges of a smile surfaced on Clea’s face. She nodded, then leaned in for a kiss.
* * *
The Reverend Mother began to chant. There were no words to the hymn, just a series of deep, throaty sounds, and her audience started chanting along with her, the entire congregation seemingly entranced.
Slowly, Eliran stood up. Aric imitated her.
On the count of three, Eliran said in his thoughts, make a run for the curtains. They won’t be able to see you.
And you?
Eliran glanced at him. One…
No, wait. I’ve changed my mind.
Two…
Goddess, Eliran…
The mage turned, blue tendrils of power spreading from her arms, her red hair blowing in every direction as if a storm had just invaded the temple. Aric noticed the Reverend Mother stopped chanting, realizing something was wrong. Her audience, however, kept going, completely oblivious.
The world vanished in a flash of blue and Aric was forced to cover his eyes.
Run!
As Aric’s vision recovered, shouts and screams sprouted everywhere, the crowd of kallaxians and archons scrambling to face their attacker. Many had fallen, their smoldering bodies scattered across the flagstone floor, but many more still stood, a rainbow of auras beginning to glow around them as they prepared magic of their own.
Aric, run!
He obeyed, forcing his own mind blank. With the Chalice tightly in his grip, Aric swerved between the mob of angry sorcerers, none taking notice of his presence. He even tackled a couple by accident, but even those didn’t seem able to detect him.
Climbing up on the pedestal, Aric saw the Reverend Mother and Astoreth, rage seething through their features. If they couldn’t see him, this would be the perfect opportunity to strike them both down. Aric’s free hand reached for a blade but brushed over nothing but empty spaces, the kallaxians having stripped him of all his blades when they had captured him.
He raced past the pedestal, and when he reached the curtains, he glanced over his shoulder. Smoke and fire and blue explosions erupted throughout the temple’s nave, and even though he knew Eliran was in the middle of the battle, he was unable to spot her.
Merciful mother… Aric thought, unsure whether Eliran
had heard him.
He walked through the thick curtains and a dark tunnel enveloped him, the chaotic sounds of battle taking on a muffled quality. The change slowed his steps until he stopped, looking back. A sliver of light shone between the curtains leading back to the temple. Shrill screams reached him, and Aric would’ve sworn one of them belonged to Eliran.
What am I doing?
The weight of the Chalice in his hand reminded him.
Promise me, Aric! Eliran had said.
So he did as he had told her he would. He ran. He ran as fast as his legs would allow him. Later, he wouldn’t even remember how he had navigated the pitch-black passageway, but he ran, and he did not stop until the faint light of dusk welcomed him back to the surface and out of that tunnel. Just as he stepped out, his foot caught on a root or a rock and he stumbled and fell.
Kneeling on the muddy ground, Aric felt his stomach twist into a knot and he puked. He choked, but whether that was from the running, the vomiting, or the island’s uncanny properties he did not now.
Fighting to steady himself, he looked back at the tunnel entrance through watery eyes. There were no more screams or explosions. Just dead silence.
22
Fog of War
“Phaedra won’t be able to help us this time,” was all that Fadan had to offer Vardrada.
The General gave the Wizardess a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
Fadan handed her the parchment with Persea’s message and the General read in silence.
“I see…”
“I’m not sure you do,” Fadan said. “I won’t be able to deflect the catapult projectiles. I’m simply not that powerful.”
“I’m sure I could teach you if we had time,” Phaedra said.
“Time is exactly what we don’t have, right now,” Vardrada replied. “We won’t hold out long if Intila keeps raining fire over us. And I’m not sure your mud trick will work this time either. Intila has plenty of combat engineers. I’m sure they’ll have figured out a solution by now.”
The Shadow Of Fallen Gods Page 32