The Gems of EL - Separate Paths

by Bill Mays

  “Put away your weapon! Violence is not welcome nor allowed in Vool Hearth!” He spoke with an over-pronounced diction that vaguely reminded Tark of Dalia.

  “He is a priest of Nickadameous,” Herrin whispered.

  “We got that much,” Ado mumbled.

  “Are you the only one here, Mr. Priest?” Nivit asked politely.

  Tark slowly returned his trident to its harness on his back while keeping his eyes on this new arrival.

  “I am not alone. A traveling warrior and a sun fairy, now that is an interesting pair,” the priest mused, as he looked them over.

  “And a gremlin and a sage, there are four of us. You just can’t see them because they’re invisible,” Nivit whispered with a grin and a wink.

  “Stupid!” Ado hissed again.

  “Do tell,” the prim man smiled despite his best efforts to remain stoic.

  “We have come to do some research on a very important topic,” Tark stated bluntly. “May we use your library?”

  “As you can see it is all yours at the moment,” the priest gestured to the room as he smiled sadly.

  “We may need to …” Herrin realized the man could not see her as he scanned the general direction for the source of her voice. “Hmmm … Ado could you please lift your spell? It is very difficult to hold a conversation this way.”

  A snap of his fingers and there stood the old woman in her layers of rags and pouches, all of which were caked in dried mud. “A waste of a good spell,” Ado grumbled. “I blame you.” He directed the statement at Tark with a glare but since no one could see him, the effect was lost.

  “Oh my,” the priest gasped. “You people have come through the Acid Swamps.”

  Herrin smiled at the man and started again. “You are correct. It was a long and difficult journey, which brings me to my request. We may need access to the inner sanctum for the information we seek. Let us sit and talk over some tea. I’ll explain the situation we’re in and you can explain yours. Villinsk and this temple are much different than I remember.”

  “Fair enough,” the priest nodded. “Follow me. My office will be a better location for our discussion.” The robed man motioned them to follow then returned through the door to the adjoining tower. They all fell in line after the man, some more reluctantly than others.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  After what felt like an eternity Ado and Herrin had explained their situation to the man known as Thunaren. He was high priest to Nickadameous and the head of Vool Hearth.

  “Your tales ring of more importance than you may yet know. Events are transpiring across Pangias that have yet to be revealed. I received a message a few months past. The all-knowing Nickadameous blessed me with a visit during one of my daily prayers. He told me that the power of the ancients would come knocking on my doorstep. Now you are all here. Have no doubt that the artifact you carry is a lost power of the originators.” Thunaren looked skyward and whispered a quick prayer. “Anything I can do to aid you in your quest will be a privilege.”

  “Isn’t this nice for a change,” Ado giggled, “someone who doesn’t want us dead.”

  “Shhh!” Tark warned. He still had not learned what alliances if any the temple had and what they felt about the Dark Lord of Drackmoore.

  “Now you know our plight, so tell us yours. This is not the same Vool Hearth I recall, nor the same Villinsk for that matter,” Herrin’s tone was serious.

  “I regret that your arrival has come at a poor time. Our kingdom is under attack from without but more importantly from within. As the Three-Empire League has fallen, so have our defenses weakened considerably. As you may already know, Flaren and Kandair were the more military minded of the league. Villinsk is much more spiritual in its pursuits. We also have more arcane focus than the others and hold many secrets of magic from times long past. I tell you this because someone has released the reivers, an enemy of the land from a time long forgotten. They are a dangerous enemy not meant for this world. They were locked away over four hundred years ago by an old and powerful magic or so the sacred writings say.”

  “You see ‘not meant for this world’ just like I said,” Nivit beamed proudly. She realized she had just interrupted the priest and quickly apologized.

  “Yes, of course a fey creature would sense the presence. Anyway, Villinsk has its share of enemies, as does any thriving kingdom, which has stood for so long in prosper. This, however, is something more. The reivers are not some attack dog unleashed by idle hands. Someone went to great efforts to wound us and keep our forces contained during these troubled times.”

  “Meiron!” Tark hissed.

  “There is no question in my mind that the Dark Lord’s hand has played a part in this. It makes sense to distract us while he spreads across Kandair unchecked. Without our inner turmoil, we would surely rush to aid our comrades. Of course, there is no proof. Instead, we battle with the orcs of the Solemn Peaks and internally with the secret sect of the reivers. Coincidentally, they decided to coordinate their attacks. The king has called for all loyal to the crown to gather in one of the fortified cities. With the sect hidden among us, there is no way to defend every settlement. Thus we few have remained behind to watch over the hearth. Hopefully, Nickadameous will see fit to allow this temple to stand his test of time.” There was a profound sadness in the priest’s eyes, eyes that held wisdom far beyond the man’s apparent years.

  “The sect of the reivers?” Herrin questioned. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Nor should you have,” Thunaren replied. “It is from a time long before either of us. They call themselves The Order of Four.”

  “What about that symbol on the buckler we found,” Tark offered.

  “Was it a long arm with a misshapen blue hand?” Thunaren asked and the gladiator nodded. “According to the sacred scrolls, they were a secret group formed upon the arrival of the reivers a millennia ago. They worshipped the dark creatures as gods, but they are little more than powerful demons as best I can tell. The sect rose up to help their deities conquer these lands. It was a dark period in Villinsk’s history that spans more than five hundred years. When the reivers were sealed away by the good wizards of the land, their faithful went into hiding. Eventually, they were able to blend back into our society awaiting the return of their idols. Evidently, there were more of them still around than anyone ever expected. We were foolish to think them gone. The sect is still strong. Their faith may even have grown over the years. The worshippers have risen up as near suicidal fanatics to aid their gods’ return. They induct new members daily and sacrifice or enslave those who deny them. With assistance of the orcs, they are a more than formidable force. Rumors have already spread of sightings of the reivers. They say where a reiver passes the land is sucked dry. “

  “Then those rumors are true I fear. Keilly is no more,” Herrin announced sadly.

  “That is where we found the buckler with those markings,” Tark clarified.

  “So near,” the priest sighed. “No wonder I have seen few visitors as of late.”

  “I say we hurry up with this research and get out of here before another war erupts around us,” Ado squeaked. He did not like the sound of this whole “reiver” thing. Tark shot a glare towards his insensitive companion. Ado as usual ignored him.

  “Is there anything we can do to help, Mr. Thunaren?” Nivit asked.

  “I am afraid your little friend is correct. You have something very important to attend to. Your own quest is where you should be focusing your efforts. Come, I will show you what I can. The inner sanctum holds much even I am ignorant of.”

  The priest led them from his office to a different tower. They passed another priest upon entering the chamber, which led to the inner sanctum. The man looked hopeful upon seeing the companions, but Thunaren quickly informed him of Keilly and dashed those hopes.

  “Keep watch over this passage,” Thunaren bade his fellow priest. “None are to interrupt us. Our work is of the utmost importance. The
se are the travelers that were prophesized. I’m certain of it.”

  The other man’s eyes went wide at the news. He chanced a slight smile then whispered a quick prayer and moved back to the chamber entrance to guard the tower from any possible intrusions. Thunaren moved to a section of wall covered by a mural of his God, Nickadameous, writing in the tome of knowledge. The prim man whispered a few words in a language no one else present understood. The mural began to glow. All of the colors of the god image’s robes began to shine brightly. Then the section of wall simply vanished. The now open passageway continued on to stairs spiraling down. The companions followed on the heels of the high priest. After four flights of steps, they were deposited into another full library. This library was nowhere near the size of the main temple but it was still huge, and this library was old indeed. Dust sat thick on most of the vast collection of scrolls and tomes. The few tapestries contained here were on the verge of deterioration.

  “Welcome to the inner sanctum of Vool Hearth. Be aware this is an honor few within our order have attained. There are writings here that date back to the beginning of recorded time, some say to the day of the originators.”

  “We are most appreciative,” Herrin assured him. The old woman was drinking the room in with the thirst only a sage could possess. This was a dream come true for the old woman.

  “Is it everything you had expected? You wanted to see this chamber on one of your previous visits, if I recall correctly. Something about a way to undo a formula, was it not?” Thunaren looked at the old woman with a hint of a smile in his eyes.

  The sage looked shocked. “How do you know that? How could you know that?”

  “I am the head of the hearth. There is much I know. Plus, I distinctly remember how adamant you were. We had to escort you out. That is a rarity here. I thought I might have to call on the removal charm,” he chuckled.

  “That was over twenty-five years ago. How could you remember that?”

  “I am the head of this temple. I gave the order myself. You were a feisty one.” The priest looked to be around forty years of age. The companions were all studying the man closely now.

  “So you were the head of this temple way back then?” Nivit gasped.

  “That’s a nice trick for a human,” Ado giggled.

  “A simple gift of faith,” Thunaren smiled. Herrin seemed a little ashamed now. “Do you still intend to search for your salvation Herrin, sage of Merintz’s high courts?”

  “I am that woman no more. I must admit, I did originally come here with that intention,” Herrin replied reluctantly. She quickly turned to Tark. “But, I have found a more important cause. We will uncover the mystery fate has dropped in your hands my dear boy, I promise.”

  Bits of their original introductions came back to him. The gladiator remembered stories of a poison she had created. It was the reason behind her self-imposed exile. Tark took in the revelation and nodded. He had come to trust the woman even if she had originally only agreed to join him in hopes of furthering her own ends.

  “Let’s get to digging,” Ado giggled greedily. Magic radiated from all around the room. He could not wait to start stuffing things into his special pouch when the priest was not looking.

  Thunaren seemed as if he could tell what Ado was thinking. “Be careful where you stray, tremlin. There is much that can do harm here to those who are ill prepared,” the priest warned.

  Ado’s mischievous grin faded; and it was replaced by an apprehensive annoyance. Thunaren led them to a table where he began to pile tomes and scrolls he selected carefully from around the large room. Often he whispered strange chants before claiming an item from a shelf.

  “These will be a good place to start,” he announced.

  Herrin rubbed her hands together and dove into the pile with that thirst only a sage would hold. The priest was quick to join her, though he was much more orderly in his search. Nivit, too, darted to the table and propped open a smaller book. She quickly looked disappointed. All of the markings in the tome were unreadable to the tiny girl.

  “Hey, I can’t make this out,” the fairy whined.

  “Oh, yes, I forgot. Most of these writings will be in old languages. I’m afraid none of you will be able to help in this part of the process.” The sage stated the news without even looking up from her book.

  “What should we do?” Nivit asked a little sad.

  “Sorry,” Herrin looked up. “I hadn’t thought about that. I guess I just assumed you’d be busy with the goings on of the hearth.”

  “There is a dining area in the first tower to the right of this one as soon as you exit the door. Tell the priest attending it that I sent you. Enjoy a meal and have a look about the main library. There is something for all here. The mural passage will allow you an easy exit. I will send for you when we have more to share.” Thunaren was already burying his nose in an old scroll before he finished his statement.

  Tark and Nivit accepted the offer graciously, only Ado held any reservations. The mage hated to leave so much undefined magic behind. He had been closely eyeing a small chest that radiated strongly. Remembering the priest’s warning and the mention of food, he tore himself away and landed on Tark’s far shoulder. The fairy had seated herself on the big man as well in Ado’s usual seat.

  “I’m sure we can scrounge up something of interest,” the gremlin grumbled.

  “I’ll show you some fairy writings, Mr. Ado. Oh, and pictures, and I bet they even have some fairy songs here, too!” Nivit was getting excited.

  “Great,” Ado grumbled again. “Hurry up with that research you two!” Tark could not hold back a chuckle.

  - Chapter 12 -

  Forces Gathering

  Rugen stood before a decorated priest of Veth-Kar. The unholy man was in the process of communing magically with another lesser member of his order, a death priest who traveled with the main body of the Drackmoorian forces in Kandair. The knight general was growing impatient. It was bad enough he had been summoned from his rightful place on the battlefield to meet with some pitiful council of new allies they did not need, but now he had to listen to a full hour’s worth of reports on the events taking place in his absence. These were events he could be averting if he were there leading his army properly. Rugen was a warrior as were all knights of Trakarass. The battlefield was his temple and victory over the enemy, his offering. Now, he was forced to do his other duties, the duties of his station. Many minor skirmishes were detailed during the communication. Most of these details were tiresome. The one report, which struck him as odd, was the thwarted raid on a small logging community near the border to Merintz. It was a relatively unimportant settlement known as Timbre. One of the silver whistles had been sounded, signaling the raid’s failure. He was not sure why, but he took special interest in this topic. There was a voice in the back of his mind that told him this was more than it appeared. How had the reportedly unprotected settlement turned away an entire raiding party of over a hundred goblins with marguls to back them up? It would definitely require his personal investigation. To make his misery complete, worse news came about the fight to claim Talipax. The fortress city had been a thorn in his side since the beginning of the invasion. It simply refused to fall. The Duke of Talipax, Markston Waters, had managed to fortify his high walls and arm his soldiers to the teeth with fine Kandairian armor and weapons. Their tactics were wreaking havoc on his troops, especially their arrows enhanced by magic, which kept his men at bay. A wizard of no small ability led the duke’s tiny collection of priests and lesser mages. Altogether, it was really beginning to anger the general. Rugen almost wanted Meiron to level the place with his magic, if only to let him inside. The duke and his wizard were clever, but the general would break the turtle’s shell; and when he did, Rugen would be there to slice the duke and bothersome spell caster in two.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Markston Waters was known throughout Kandaire as a man with abilities of note. His was the mind of a tactical genius, an
d few on Pangias rivaled his skill with a bow. He was a natural leader who had gained much respect among the Kandairian people for his shrewdness in business and loyalty to the crown. He was the Duke of Talipax, a position not held lightly. Though he was cousin to King Airos, it was a title he had earned and was determined to live up to. Currently, he stalked back and forth in a small room of the central guard tower overlooking his city. Already, they had been forced to pull everyone back from the outer city and into the fortress’ protective walls.

  “Those Drackmoorians are tenacious, I’ll credit them with that if nothing else,” the duke sighed as he listened to his advisor and longtime friend’s reports.

  “We are cut off from our fields and the crops we did salvage before pulling inside the wall are running low. From the looks of things, they intend to wait us out,” Callivar guessed.

  “Is there any chance of us punching a hole through their forces to rejoin with the queen’s resistance?” Markston already knew the answer but he had to ask anyway.

  “None, unless they are suddenly stricken with the plague and it claims half their numbers. Basically, we are trapped like rats, that is until they starve us out of these walls,” the advisor and wizard stated in disgust.

  “Have you had any more contact from Vergehen?”

  “Not recently, but he warned us that the storms the Dark Lord has used against them can interfere with magical communication, much like tainted zones. I don’t take the lack of contact as a bad omen, necessarily. I know the old man is planning something that he just hasn’t shared with me. Typical of that addled one. He probably forgot to mention it.” Callivar sat in an overstuffed chair and rested his head in his hands. “I am at a loss, Markston. What else is there for us to do besides wait for the inevitable? We hold them off and deplete our supplies until what?” The wizard threw his hands up in the air. “Our men are tired. Hell, I’m tired!”