by Ty Johnston
“Them,” Kron said, and turned to point at the top of the stairs in the center of the row of columns.
Adara and Randall looked up to see seven bald men, most looking old to the point of being ancient, standing there watching them. Each of the men wore a plain, gray toga around their bodies and had short, wool boots on their feet. Their arms were crossed, and their faces did not show emotion.
“Who are they?” Adara asked.
“Monks,” Kron said as he pulled his horse to a stone outcropping and tied the animal to it.
“Monks?” Adara said quizzically.
“My father used to tell me about them. They are just some old men,” Kron said heading up the steps toward the monks. “We will stay the night and be on our way in the morning.”
“I hope he knows what he’s talking about,” Adara said to Randall as she tied her horse.
“At least we haven’t seen Belgad since we left the forest,” the healer said.
Kron halted his climbing a dozen steps below the monks who had grayish skin, looking as if they too had been carved from stone.
Kron waved a hand at them. “Good day to you,” he said, then motioned toward his companions below. “We have traveled far and wish to partake of your hospitality this night if that would not be an intrusion.”
At first none of the seven men moved, then several looked at one another as if asking a question without words. Finally, all of them looked at Kron again. One of them stepped forward.
“We would be honored by your presence,” the monk in front of the others said with slow words as if it were difficult to speak. He stood to one side and pointed for Kron to go forward to the insides of the temple.
Kron glanced back at Adara and Randall. “We are welcomed.”
“Great,” Adara said as she climbed the stairs next to the healer. “These monks seem like just the group to liven our spirits.”
Once through a pair of tall stone doors, the travelers found a spacious room of stone with several open doorways leading off to either side and a gigantic bronze basin in the back of the room. Inside the bowl flickered a blue flame as tall as a man. Above the basin, suspended from the ceiling by rusted cables, hung another stone carving of a giant eagle, this one with wide cracks running through its wings. Several more of the gray monks, quiet in their simple clothes, stood near the basin. All of them were turned to face their visitors as if they had been waiting for them.
Kron counted a dozen of the monks altogether, including the seven still at the entrance behind them.
“You are welcome to any rooms you wish,” said the monk who had spoken with Kron as he stepped to the front of the three companions and motioned in the direction of the doorways to their left and right.
“I hope we are not interrupting,” Kron said. He did not feel disturbed by the monks’ presence, but something did not feel right. Something felt foreign about the atmosphere in the temple, but not necessarily wrong or evil.
“We were simply finishing our rituals for the evening,” the monk said. “My name is Stonetalker. I will be your translator. The others do not speak your tongue.”
“I am Kron Darkbow,” Kron said, then pointed at his associates. “This is Adara Corvus and Randall Tendbones.”
Stonetalker turned to Adara and, with his arms at his sides, gave a short bow. “You are welcome, lady of the East,” then he turned to Randall, “as are you, son of Kobalos.”
Randall glanced at Kron, then looked back at the talking monk. “How did you know where we are from?” he asked.
“Your voices,” Stonetalker said, then turned to Kron and bowed, “as it is apparent you are from the West, and most welcome.”
“We do not want to interrupt your ceremony,” Kron said. “If you have a stable, we will see to our horses, then seek a bed for the night.”
“To the right of the temple is a small barn,” Stonetalker said, pointing out through the front entrance. “You will find beds in any of the rooms. If you wish, we can bring you food and drink.”
“It would be most appreciated,” Kron said.
As the three travelers unsaddled their steeds in the barn of stone, Randall turned to Kron and said, “Something feels out of place here.”
“I agree,” Adara said while feeding her horse oats from the bottom of her saddle bags. “Something is not right.”
“I sense it, too,” Kron said. “I suggest we take them up on their hospitality, but keep an eye out for trouble. It could be they mean us harm, but I do not sense such.”
“It might just be that they spend all their time alone in the mountains,” Adara said with a grin. “Loneliness and cold could make a man go crazy, especially if he doesn’t have a woman to warm himself.”
“We will try to keep their monkish hands from you,” Kron said, returning her grin.
“What do you know of these monks?” Randall asked.
“Not much,” Kron said.
“Are these the mountain people you spoke of?” Adara said.
“No, the mountain folk are a mix of Ursian and Jorsican stock,” Kron answered. “I do not recognize these pale faces.”
“Their dress is Truscan,” Adara noted.
“Which makes some sense considering they worship the old gods,” Kron said. Trusca was widely known to be the oldest of nations.
“Will we set up watches?” Randall asked.
Kron nodded in the affirmative, then continued to ready his horse for the night.
When they entered the temple, they found most of the monks had withdrawn, only a few of them remaining near the giant basin and stoking its eerie blue flames with dry, gray wood. Kron wondered from where the wood had come because he had seen no more than mere scrub since they had entered the mountains, but the thought went out of his head as they proceeded into the nearest of the rooms Stonetalker had mentioned.
There were four beds in the windowless room, all large stone blocks that reminded Randall of the mausoleum in the Bond cemetery, but each was covered with a thick quilt stuffed with down and heavy, fluffed pillows. To one side of the room was a long, black marble table covered with stone trays. Upon the trays were foods of variety, including fish, duck, steamed vegetables and several different breads. At one end of the table were two bottles of dark glass.
Kron lifted one of the bottles to his nose and sniffed. “Wine,” he said.
“This is grand,” Adara said with a wide smile, “the best meal we’ve had in weeks.”
The three greedily dug into the spread before them. Weeks of dried meats, wild berries and hard rolls had made their stomachs hungry for a richer diet.
As they neared finishing their meal, a soft, sweet melody came to them from the main room.
“Music,” Adara said with an excited look and a stone goblet in her hand. She ran to the door of their room to see the source of the tune.
Three young female figures, all gray and in tunics like the monks, reclined on a stone bench in front of the giant basin. Two of the women were strumming and plucking at golden harps as tall as themselves. The third woman’s mouth was open and moving as if she were singing, but the noise that came from between her lips was more than music, it was as intoxicating as the wine Adara had been drinking.
Adara leaned against the frame of the doorway and watched the three women continue. The sounds seemed to float upon the air like a living thing, building and expanding, then drifting away softly only to rebuild again. The music tugged at the soul, making Adara yearn for the companionship of friends long gone and leaving her with a feeling of harmless regret. Adara had never heard anything like it and wondered if the tune was magical.
“It reminds me of a song I heard when I was a girl,” Adara said from the doorway, her back to her companions. “It makes me think of young love.”
Randall continued to place potatoes on his plate while Kron stepped behind Adara, peering over her shoulder to stare at the three gray women.
“I know nothing of young love,” Kron said.
&
nbsp; Adara turned to her side so her back was against the doorway’s frame. She looked into Kron’s eyes. “Don’t you remember the first girl you kissed?” she asked with eyes that seemed to see another place and time. “Or the first night you spent next to someone? Or the first time someone told you they loved you?”
Kron continued to watch the musicians for a few moments, then turned away from Adara. “I know of no such things,” he said.
Adara could tell the man was in pain. Whatever his memories of youth, they were not good ones. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Kron shook off the hand but did not move further away. “The only love I witnessed in the Prisonlands was that of the village whores who came around at pay time,” he said with bitterness in his throat.
“I am sorry for you,” Adara said.
Kron turned his head to see the woman out of the corner of his eye. “Do not pity me.”
“I can not help but feel what I feel,” Adara said, then shifted her eyes to the stone floor. “Have you ever –”
Kron broke off her words. “Yes,” he said.
“How do you know what I was going to ask?” she said looking into his face again.
“You were going to ask if I had ever been with a woman.”
“No, silly man,” Adara said with a slight grin. “I was going to ask if you had ever been in love.”
Adara’s words were not what Kron had expected, and his lack of an immediate response showed it. His silence also gave away his answer.
“I am sorry for you, again,” Adara said, her smile faltering and her eyes going to the floor once more.
“What of you?” Kron asked. “Have you loved any of the men you’ve known?”
Adara looked up again, this time with wetness in the corner of her eyes. “Not in a long while,” she said.
The woman’s tears surprised Kron further and he had to examine his own feelings. Adara was a beautiful woman, of that there was no doubt. Her long, dark hair often flowed behind her, along with her scent, which reminded Kron of spring flowers and the clean smell of a brook. Her body was that of a rapier fighter, thin but muscular, and it did have its appeals. He was glad Randall seemed to pay little attention to Adara’s physical attributes; Kron, as her teacher, often found it difficult to do so.
He was drawn to her sexually, but not in a raw, unpolished fashion. Adara’s physical presence could be intoxicating, but Kron was not a man who allowed his libido to get the best of him. He could look at a beautiful woman and enjoy the image of her without lusting. To be truthful with himself, he had to admit that he often found women a distraction, a hindrance. He hated thinking that of women, but he had not known many since his mother had been murdered before his eyes on the streets of Bond.
Kron’s look hardened and he turned away from Adara.
“Kron, please,” she said returning her light touch to his shoulder. “Talk to me.”
Thunder boomed from outside, making the stone floor quiver.
Across the room, Randall paused with a roll halfway to his mouth.
“What is it?” Kron asked, aware of the healers sudden inaction.
“Did you hear that?” Randall asked.
“It was but thunder,” Adara said. “The sky has been nothing but gloomy since we entered the mountains. I’m surprised a storm has not brewed before now.”
“I don’t think that was thunder,” the healer said lowering his roll to his plate.
“What else could it be?” Kron asked.
Randall shot up from the table and darted between his friends, racing through their room’s entrance and rushing for the closed doors at the front of the temple.
Adara noticed the musicians had stopped performing, their eyes following Randall.
Before the healer could reach the tall doors, Stonetalker and several monks appeared from a side room. They paid no attention to the healer or his companions, but yanked open the heavy doors.
Beyond was the blackness of night. That was all they could make out at first, then Randall spotted four sets of red, glowing eyes where the bottom of the steps would be if he could see them.
“We’re doomed,” the healer said.
Kron came up behind Randall and glanced over his shoulder in time to see the scarlet eyes begin to slowly dance their way up the stairs.
“What is it?” Adara asked, still in the doorway to their room.
Randall and Kron both turned to face the woman, but before they could speak, Stonetalker interrupted.
“They are demons of old,” the ancient, gray man said without taking his eyes off the approaching creatures.
As Kron crossed the distance to Adara, Randall eyed the gray monks and was surprised by their apparent lack of fear. More of them poured into the room, but their faces remained stoic and showed no evidence of emotion. The three musicians moved away from the bronze basin and disappeared into one of the rooms, but even they did not show emotion.
“Weapons,” Kron said as Adara moved out of his way to allow him into their room.
Within seconds the man in black was armed with his sword and bow. As he exited the room, he handed Adara her weapons belt and tossed the healer his.
“What is happening?” Kron asked Randall as he walked up to the man, surprised the demons had not reached the entrance to the temple.
Randall pointed and Kron looked. The red, shining eyes had come to a halt at the top of the steps, just at the edge of the light coming from the temple’s torches and the blue flame. The flittering light showed the outline of four war demons, their spiked armor and giant wings glittering with moonlight. One of the four had a monstrous double-edged sword in his hands, a weapon as tall as Kron. The demons did not come forward, but stood their ground silently, watching with anticipation their prey and the gray monks inside the temple.
“They can come no further,” Stonetalker said. “This is hallowed ground by the old laws.”
“What old laws?” Kron asked without taking his eyes off the demons.
“The laws of the ancient ones, those who were gods before Ashal was born into this world,” Stonetalker said.
“Before the days of men,” the leader of the demons, Ybalik, hissed to his loathsome foes.
“It speaks,” Adara said with her rapier in hand as she came up behind Randall and Kron.
“Of course it does,” Randall said, sliding his weapon belt around his waist but not bothering to draw a weapon.
“What do we do now?” Adara asked looking from Kron to Randall to the gray monks.
“You die!” one of the demons roared.
“Not on this ground,” Stonetalker said, stepping slightly ahead of the others.
“Sooner or later they must come out,” Ybalik said. “Then we will have them.”
Kron stepped beside Stonetalker and drew his sword. “He’s right,” the man in black said. “Whether we leave in the morning or some other day, they’ll be waiting. We might as well fight now.”
“We can’t win,” Randall said, putting a hand on Kron’s shoulder, making the man turn to face him. “I can’t call them off like I did before. It won’t work this time. Verkain will have given them more specific orders, orders that will allow them to dishonor any order or threat I give.”
Stonetalker turned to face Kron and Randall and Adara. “You will not have to fight them,” he said stoically. “My brothers and I shall drive them forth, away from the Home of the Hammer and these mountains.”
“It’s insanity,” Randall said. “No mortal can stand against war demons and expect to triumph, let alone survive.”
“We are no mortal men” Stonetalker said, then slowly spun to face the demons again.
“My brothers, it is time to rid the world of these abominations,” the leader of the monks said as he stretched forth his arms and began a slow march toward the demons. “Join me in battle once again.”
The other monks raised their arms and began a stilted march out the front door, taking each step one by one.
/> “They’ll be destroyed,” Adara said.
“Watch and see,” Kron said as he drew closer to the exit, but remained just shy of going outside himself.
Stonetalker was the first of the monks to the demons. He lunged forward and grabbed Ybalik by the throat, but the other demons’ grasping claws pulled the gray monk away and shoved him down the stairs where he rolled into the darkness.
The other monks fared better, outnumbering the demons two to one. They too lunged forward, grappling with the war demons and matching the evil creatures’ strength hand to claw.
Nearly surrounded and his comrades busy with the monks, Ybalik screamed and lashed out with his sword, slashing through a monk’s arm.
Adara cried out, but her fears turned to wonder as she saw the wounded monk did not bleed. Where his arm had been cut away was no flesh or muscle, but what appeared to be a drab clay, and the monk did not yell out as if hurt. Instead, he glanced down at his fallen appendage, then smashed his good fist into the nearest demon.
The demons clashed against the monks, their claws raking at arms, chests and faces, but to no avail. The monks were scratched, sometimes clawed badly, but they did not appear to be seriously injured nor to suffer any pain.
Step by step, the monks forced the demons backward. Ybalik seemed to have the most luck of the demons, his long sword keeping the monks at bay, but the other demons were forced to wrestle with the monks and to throw them backward. Still, the monks came on in their slow manner, bounding forward as they neared the demons and punching or grappling with the evil things.
Near the bottom step, Stonetalker suddenly appeared again, rising out of the darkness and wrapping an arm around Ybalik’s neck.
The leader of the demons screamed out, more in shock than injury, then the air around him thundered, sending out an invisible wave that knocked the monks and the other demons to their feet.
When Kron, Randall and Adara looked again, the demons’ general had vanished.
Immediately three similar invisible explosions filled the air and the other demons disappeared.
The monks did not look surprised that their foes had fled, but neither did they look happy or sad. The monk who had lost an arm modestly picked the lost appendage from the ground and held it to his stub where it remained once he let go of it.