The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith

by Douglas Van Dyke

  The human youth perked up at a knocking sound from the end of the hall. The small peephole squeaked open, so the guard could see who wanted entry. A woman’s voice spoke past the muffling door. “My superiors sent me to deliver this meal to the stowaway, and inquire as to her disposition.”

  Montanya would have liked to see who was talking, but the bars of her cell would not allow her a view of the door to the brig. Nevertheless, she heard the guard grunt in acknowledgement as he threw aside the locking latch. The chiaso guessed she would see the unknown visitor soon enough. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of a decent meal. She hoped the server would just give her the food and then leave her to her isolated thoughts. Montanya’s mood ran sour enough; being captured and held in the brig for a day didn’t help her attitude. She seemed to accomplish very little towards her goals or even stay out of trouble. The more she tried to accomplish, the more she dug a hole for herself. Now, she they labeled her a criminal for her efforts.

  Footsteps whisked down the hall, but she cast her glance towards the wall opposite of the bars. Initial curiosity about the visitor melted away into a feeling of avoidance. A narrow slit existed under the bottom of the bars for a meal tray to pass back and forth. Hopefully the woman would just push it through and leave the discouraged chiaso alone. Montanya kept her attention diverted from the bars as she heard a solitary person approach. The server came to a sudden stop outside the cell. Montanya could see the woman’s boots pause hesitantly outside the bars. Out of her peripheral vision the chiaso watched the robed visitor take a few cautious steps forward. The stowaway got the impression the visitor was leering at her like a sideshow animal. Montanya wanted to offer some witty rebuke, but nothing came to mind. Instead, she ignored the person.

  It was hard place the voice, but she recognized the tone as being familiar when the unknown woman spoke. “This is the second time I have seen you in a mess of trouble.”

  Montanya glanced up at the bars in puzzlement, though her expression quickly turned to her customary sneer as she saw who provided for her. Sondra Oskires, the young cleric of Ganden who had healed her poison wound, stared back at her in a less than complimentary manner. The visitor wore her familiar clerical vestments instead of the ceremonial ones adorned when she had come aboard. Although a similar gray color to her ceremonial garb, her current robe and pantaloons were used on a more practical day-to-day basis. It bore little decoration aside from a symbol of Ganden. Another symbol of Ganden, on her belt buckle, formed the image of a shield with two open palms on it. The young cleric seemed to have forgotten the tray of food she carried as she scrutinized the locked up stowaway.

  “Don’t expect me to fall to my knees and beg for your guidance,” Montanya snapped. “I’ve known a lot of clerics and they never impress me; least of all one who happens to be the rudest representative of a god that I have ever seen before.”

  A storm flared in Sondra’s eyes. “And you happen to be one of the most spoiled brats ever to have dripped blood across my sanctuary. I do remind you, we only met because you were dying and I helped save your life!”

  “Is there a problem?” The guard down the hallway shifted his seat so he could get a better view down the hall.

  Montanya called back as she glowered. “Only that they let some haughty slip of a girl who doesn’t know the first thing about manners bring me a meal.” The redhead turned her attention directly at Sondra. “What have you brought me anyway…more gruel from a petty copper pen?”

  Sondra didn’t know what to be more indignant about. First, the young woman in the cell was obviously a few years younger than her, and yet called the cleric a ‘haughty slip of a girl’. The youth had the audacity to call the meals at the sanctuaries ‘gruel’ even though it was the best they could offer for the meager budget from which those houses operated. The fact that Sondra had put a little extra care and effort into preparing a good meal for the unknown stowaway only to have it blatantly unappreciated did not sit well with her either.

  Failing to keep her temper out of her voice, Sondra yelled out to the guard even though her blue eyes glared at the chiaso. “I’m just dealing with an ungrateful street whelp who seeks to keep biting the hands that feed her.”

  While the two women continued their loathing stares, they were unaware that the guard simply shifted his seat again to a position by which he could watch the entertainment better. The man despised being stuck below decks and missing out on the mages’ spell show, but at least he would get some entertainment between two sparring women.

  Montanya spoke in a huff, “I’ve had years of clerics trying to shelter me, feed me scraps, and put all sorts of nonsense in my ears about complacent forgiveness for all the cruelties put into my life. I have nay wishes to get help from supposed sanctuaries that legally rob the poor of a copper a day just to get basics like food and shelter.”

  “You think we charge it just to get rich?” Sondra exclaimed, appalled. “The city does not pay us to keep beggars off the streets. Many is the time we forgo the payment and offer our services for free, so that a poor soul may get what can be obtained by the donations we receive from the common man. We close our doors to none.”

  “I seem to recall a self-righteous cleric slamming the door behind me when I chose to leave.”

  Sondra had no immediate comment in the face of Montanya’s heated glare. The cleric inwardly calmed herself from all the insults and accusations that were thrown her way. A tumult of anger built up in response to the verbal harassment hurled at her, and yet the cleric felt she had done nothing to deserve such poor treatment. Staring into the greenish-blue eyes scowling from the dark cell, Sondra found the teachings of her mentor restraining any further unsympathetic words. Mother Evine would have chided Sondra for speaking harshly at the woman, despite the disrespect shown. She served under the tenets of Honor, Duty and Service, which bound her to treat people respectfully even if the attitude was not returned. Sondra took in a deep breath as she softened her glare. It would not do to provoke the anger of this youth further.

  Sondra spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. “In retrospect, maybe we both got off on the wrong foot. Though I wish you nay harm, you obviously have some reason to be angered at the church. We serve the people, as best we can, and that is why I came down here to serve you with food I personally prepared. My name is Sondra Oskires, acolyte of Ganden. I don’t believe I caught your name last time.”

  Montanya found Sondra’s abrupt change in nature amusing. Though she normally went by just her first name, she introduced herself with a self-important lilt as she used her entire name. “I am Montanya su Troyeal bara Westenhout. It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

  The last comment dripped with sarcasm and insincerity, but Sondra forced a smile to her dark red lips anyway. At least they weren’t shouting anymore.

  * * * * *

  The others crowded around Revwar as he meticulously examined the designs marked on the floor of their shared cabin. Savannah, Jentan and Kemora were armed and ready for a confrontation. The abbess of DeLaris wore in her religious armor, carrying the flail by her side. In her arms she held her skull-helm, absently caressing its features as she waited for the wizard to finish his examination. Jentan had little with which to arm himself, carrying only his dirk and the wand at his belt. The mentalist relied on his charm and powers of the mind when confronted with problems. Kemora fidgeted with her sword while sitting on the edge of the large bed. The disguise mask peeked over her belt. Her brown hair was braided up and out of the way for the business yet to come, and though her stiletto remained in its sheath she had already disregarded several temptations to coat it with poison just in case it was needed. All their supplies were either on them or packed next to the circle inscribed on the floor. The three others simply waited with barely restrained patience as Revwar cast a critical eye over the spell laid out in a pattern of glyphs and runes. The elf wizard would not be rushed, considering that a mistake in scribing the spell circle cou
ld very well end up being the death of them.

  Finally, the elf mage seemed satisfied the spell was drawn perfectly. He used his staff to rise to a standing position. “The teleportation inscription is complete. Once we have the prizes we can get back here and make our escape.”

  The other three practically jumped forward in readiness to be on with their task. Revwar held up a restraining finger in warning. “Do not forget, once we get back our timing will be critical. In order to expedite our chance of escape, I tied the spell that sets off the surprise in the inner sanctum into my staff. Once we get back here, I will place fingers to the appropriate runes on it and…well, you know how dangerous that will be.”

  The other three nodded, half-listening to the hum of the mantra running through the ship from the clerics inside the inner sanctum. When Revwar activates his surprise, there would be an abrupt disturbance in that miraculous power.

  “We must be on this circle of runes when that happens, and I will combine the first spell with the words of transport that will take us off this vessel.”

  He didn’t have to remind the others of the gravity of their situation, but to the elf a little reinforcement never hurt. Savannah donned her skull helm in preparation for their upcoming foray. Her cold, blue eyes stared out from within the hollow sockets of the DeLaris helm.

  She spoke, “We have waited long enough to reclaim the holy relics. Let us go forth.”

  The band of four moved out into the hallway, heading for the chamber that displayed the two powerful stones.

  CHAPTER 15 “An Unexpected Showdown”

  An almost inaudible click sounded as the lock gave way and the door guarding the entrance of the exhibit chamber swung open. Magical globes lit the chamber, shedding light on the two figures peering in from the hall. One of them, the half-elf infiltrator, bundled up her collection of slim lock picks and tucked them away. The other tentatively reached a hand past the doorway, almost expecting a lightning bolt to lash out at them both. Noting that no one else was among the exhibits, the two cautiously entered and slid the door shut behind them.

  “I’m surprised we got through that door without a magical trap frying us.” Trestan whispered.

  Cat shrugged, “We’re on a flying vessel, so where would a thief escape with stolen goods? The doors may not have been trapped, but the magical items here will surely be warded.”

  Cat led the way through the displays of arcane oddities. Trestan followed closely, one hand on the hilt of his elvish sword in case the need came to draw it quickly. A thumping noise caused them to pause, but both relaxed as they heard distant cheers and clapping.

  “Sounds like the show has started. Everyone must be on the decks enjoying it.”

  Cat flashed a sly smile back at Trestan. “Gives us more privacy. Also allows us to check the scroll without raising eyebrows from bystanders.”

  The companions navigated past several tables of items before they came to the holy relics. The stones sat undisturbed since the earlier visit, displayed under a case of thin glass. The leather scroll formed a backdrop of the exhibit, unfolded to display its letters to the curiosity of Orlaun’s royalty. Trestan stared at the stones as he recalled all the troubles they had faced in recovering them. As he did, Cat reached into a pouch and withdrew the rune block.

  Cat kneeled before the glass, staying a respectful distance away from its surface. “I’m sure Korrelothar and his wizards left some powerful magic on the case here to prevent tampering. It won’t prevent me from reading the writing on the scroll, if that is what this rune block does.”

  The adventuress went silent as she compared the block to the scroll. Trestan at first tried to look over her shoulder and try to read the scroll as well, but quickly gave up. Cat had taught him a good amount of Elvish, but verbal words only. Trestan still did not know how to read much of anything in that language. The young squire instead began to look about the room as he patiently waited for Cat to say something.

  “This works! I’m actually deciphering it!” Cat tried to keep her voice down, but she squealed in delight at solving a decades-old mystery.

  Trestan smiled, “I thought that is what you said in our room?”

  Cat shrugged, “Aye, but then I was only guessing. Now I know I was right!”

  Trestan thought he heard something in the room. His attention drew to the crystal ball emanating eerie noises. The crystal let off eerie howls and whistles, making it hard to discern other noises. He wanted to blame it on that object, but he believed he heard a slight jingling noise coming from a different direction.

  “I translated the first sentence…”

  “Shush.” Trestan hissed. “Sorry to interrupt, but I hear something.”

  Her head turned back to follow his gaze and tilted forward to concentrate on any sounds. Cat’s gifted hearing detected the unmistakable sound of a key entering the lock of one of the doors to the room.

  She pointed to a different door than the one they had entered. “Someone is coming in that door.”

  The door began to open even as she finished speaking. The agile infiltrator dove into a roll behind some exhibit tables, slipping the rune block back into a pouch. Trestan stood in the open, wearing too much armor to dive silently behind anything. The champion of Abriana stood mutely awaiting the unknown visitor to reveal himself.

  The first man in the door wasn’t anyone Trestan recognized. The middle-age human dressed in a way befitting a spellcaster, including a wand at his belt. Likely it was one of Korrelothar’s guildmates, which would leave the companions with only some explaining to do as long as the man didn’t cast first and ask questions later. A charming face looked up in surprise to see someone already inside the exhibit room looking back at him. The man paused in mid-motion while putting away the key to the door.

  The awkward silent moment did not last long. A small, female, humanoid, halfling by the looks of it, followed the caster into the room. When she spotted Trestan, she dove into a roll behind some tables much the same way Cat had done. Trestan looked back to assure himself Cat was there, but she was already missing from sight.

  Then Trestan felt the yellow eyes of the elf wizard across the room as Revwar walked in the door. The champion of Abriana went weak in the knees at this unexpected arrival. The elf wizard’s initial surprise turned into the most frighteningly evil of smiles. The first mage who had entered dropped the key where he stood, then side-stepped to give his companions room to enter. If Trestan had been afraid when Revwar had walked in, the appearance of the abbess Savannah in her dreadful black armor and skull helm set Trestan’s heart racing.

  There were no words of wit or bravery to be found as Trestan’s voice remained silent. He had traveled this far following his duty to his goddess and his home, and now he unexpectedly confronted his old enemies while unprepared. He wondered if his training with the sword would be enough to defeat these foes in straight combat. Even as he considered it he started to despair. With the possible exception of the halfling sneaking around somewhere in the room, the other three had considerable talent with magic. He began to recognize the human mage with the guild badge as one who had been a part of the attack at Troutbrook, from the description his father had given him. Even with Cat close by, he felt sorely outmatched.

  Trestan drew forth the Sword of the Spirit. The enchanted metal blade whisked from the scabbard as he lifted it aloft with both hands.

  Revwar laughed in response, as the human mage closed the door to the hall behind them.

  Savannah strode forward a couple paces, carrying her enchanted flail at her side. The weapon emanated darkness. The abbess showed no amusement or fear by the drawing of Trestan’s sword. With urgency in her cold, blue eyes, she demanded, “Where is Petrow? He must be here with you! His life belongs to DeLaris!”

  Stunned as he was with the sudden presence of his worst enemies, the unexpected question befuddled Trestan. “He is not here.”

  “He must be! I want him!”

  “I’m sor
ry, you will not find him here.” It occurred to Trestan he probably missed a chance to throw caution in their eyes by trying to make up a fast story. For all they knew, Petrow could be walking down to the exhibit room with a host of armed guards even at that moment, but Trestan was too off guard to concoct a convincing story. Instead, he pointed his sword in a more threatening manner at Savannah. “You will just have to deal with me, or walk out of here peacefully.”

  The middle-age human accompanying them didn’t seem intimidated at all. He put on a charming smile and stepped forward, coming even with Savannah. His face took on a friendly appearance, but Trestan looked at him more as if he were a coiled snake, ready to catch the young paladin unawares. The man spoke in a sweet tone, “Young sir, there is nay need for your sword. These exhibits, including the one you seem ready to guard, are already laced with their own protections from my guild. Nay harm will come to them, but you should not be down here unescorted.”

  The mentalist acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, as if the presence of all these people in the exhibit room during this hour wasn’t unusual. As far as Trestan knew, the man was simply delaying so Revwar’s party might deal with him more effectively.

  Trestan’s magical sword shifted slightly to point at the human mage. “I don’t know you.”

  “Jentan Mollamos at your service.” The man gave an impressive bow, cool and calm compared to the tension lingering in the air.

  Trestan nodded, and then spoke with as much iron as he could muster. “But I do know them. They are not welcome here. This ship is under Korrelothar’s protection and he would not consent to their presence. I have undertaken a quest to protect the stones behind me, and I do not take that obligation lightly.”