The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith

by Douglas Van Dyke

  “Leave it be, it is but a scratch.” Revwar gently pushed Savannah’s hand away.

  Kemora noticed for the first time the blood on the elf wizard’s face, drawn from a line in his cheek. “Looks like more than a scratch to me.”

  Revwar turned to regard her with his yellow eyes. “We have nay time to lick our wounds, lest we suffer a worse loss.”

  Kemora got to her feet. The elvish wizard placed the two green relic stones inside a simple cloth bag. He then tied the bag and tucked it into his belt. It relieved the halfling that after all that effort and trouble the stones were finally in their hands. The worst seemed over.

  Revwar’s voice stopped them all short. “The staff was destroyed, and in the process the surprise went off. We all felt the ship fall.”

  All of them unconsciously turned their ears towards the weak mantra still keeping the ship aloft.

  “It is well and good that Ganden’s clerics are so adept at recovering after such a catastrophe…but then that’s why we included the second surprise.”

  The eyes of his companions widened one by one as they realized the implications. Revwar continued, “The items Kemora and Jentan placed would have dropped into the cauldron. The corruption of the holy cauldron by sacred items of DeLaris and Mothrok will cause a severe decay of this vessel until there is nothing left to fly. We have to move quickly to get back to our room, and use the teleport spell to abandon this ship.”

  Revwar looked down at the hole by which Trestan and Cat had dropped through earlier. At the edges of the wood, he could see the early signs of rot already progressing.

  * * * * *

  Korrelothar raised his hands to quiet the emotional people blocking his passage. “Stay calm, focus on calm, everyone. The vessel has resumed its normal flight. Permit me to pass and I shall get answers for you, but do not give in to panic.”

  The elf mage tried to soothe others as best he could while moving through a sea of questions. Some of the nobility on deck were demanding answers he could not give. Several more gripped parts of the ship with pale knuckles, as if holding on to it would save them if it dropped again. Some people were lying on the deck, recovering from injuries sustained after the brief fall. Here and there the anguished cries from people who saw loved ones fall overboard to their deaths could be heard. Through it all Korrelothar tried to hide his own confusion and fright. The mage insistently cut a path through the crowd to get to his own answers.

  Amidst the crowd one other man seemed to force his own path as well, using a few bodyguards to assist him. Korrelothar let out a sigh when he saw the man angling directly towards him…this was an official that would not be put aside so easily. Dressed lavishly and surrounded by many guards, all in Orlaun paid homage to this man. Without the king of Gheras attending the flight, citing safety reasons, the most important official on board was the one that ruled the province in which Orlaun resided. Duke MigRelke cut a path straight at Korrelothar.

  Imposing himself before the mage, he seemed to look down at the elf, “I want answers.”

  Korrelothar gave a humble bow. “You will get them as soon as I have them my lord. I would most appreciate if your guards can assist me in getting to the helm castle, where I might hope to find the reason for our plunge and ascertain our questions of safety.”

  Behind the brute muscle of the duke’s bodyguards, Korrelothar walked quickly to the middle of the ship. He found more confusion and questions once arriving at the helm castle. The first thing frighteningly apparent was the loss of the cleric that manned the helm. The faithful of Ganden that helped guide from the top deck had met with an unfortunate accident during the fall. Of the many weapons that were propped upright around the helm castle to repel anyone trying to wrest control of the ship, one spear had pierced the cleric at the conclusion of the vessel’s plunge. Korrelothar noted one of the crew attempting to talk to the inner sanctum using the tube that ran down to the room.

  The wizard walked up to the crewman. “What have you learned from the inner sanctum? Are we still in danger?”

  The officer stood back helplessly, motioning to the metal tube and offering Korrelothar a try. “None down there have replied. We can hear only a few voices keeping the mantra from fading, but there has been nay answer to our inquiries. We are concerned at how weak and forced their voices sound as they chant.”

  He did his best to hide his worries from appearing on his expression. Too many people stared at him, and they were on the verge of hysteria. “I must go to the inner sanctum myself and see what has happened.” He whispered quietly to the duke, “We may not be safe just yet.”

  * * * * *

  Warm, healing energies flowed into Cat’s battered form. She could feel the love in Trestan’s touch as his prayer enveloped her. A champion of the Goddess of Love and Healing, he had learned to expand his gift of curative powers in the time spent at the seminary. Although he could not hope to do as well as most clerics who focused on such arts, it was enough to heal Cat’s burned hand and restore vitality to her body. The half-elf opened her eyes to see him sag against the far wall. The flow of his goddess’ energies left him momentarily weak; nevertheless, Trestan offered a weary smile. He had once told her that healing others helped reinvigorate his own soul, even though it seemed to weaken his muscles temporarily.

  Cat’s own smile faded as she remembered the end of the battle. “They took the relics, didn’t they?”

  Trestan nodded. “We’re all on a flying ship, so I don’t know how they would escape. Then again, I wonder what happened that the whole ship lurched so suddenly?”

  “They didn’t get everything.” Cat patted the rolled up skin tucked in her belt. “But they got what they most sought after, I guess. As far as the ship dropping, I barely recall it.” The half-elf’s fine brow lowered as she tried to remember hazy events. “Right before it dropped, I shoved Revwar’s staff into the trap protecting the relic stones. The staff lit up terribly and burst into flames, but at the same time I was sent reeling from some explosion around the relics. I had the lingering sensation of falling towards the ceiling before eventually I found the floor again.”

  Trestan may still have been weak, but he pulled himself upright and stood tall. He reached down and helped Cat to her feet as well. The young warrior scanned the dimly lit hall. Disoriented, they started moving to find their way. Cat felt nearly free of pain and injury after Trestan’s miracle. The passageways were empty since most everyone had been on deck. Eventually, the sound of someone’s running feet were heard in the dimness ahead. A young, blonde woman, wearing the vestments of an acolyte of Ganden, skidded to a halt in front of them.

  Trestan held out a hand in her path, not directly blocking it but motioning her to stay. “Honorable of Ganden,” he addressed her before she could run past, “What just happened to the ship a few minutes ago?”

  Sondra’s blue eyes studied them intensely for a moment. Her attention lingered on the symbols of Abriana etched into Trestan’s self-crafted armor. She almost whispered when she spoke. As often as Sondra tried to help people she never could always express herself well, especially around bold people.

  “I don’t know. I felt something bad has happened…I’m on my way to the inner sanctum now to find out.”

  Cat hesitantly decided she should add a warning before the woman ran to the holy center of the ship. “We had a bad encounter with some people who were trying to steal some of the mage guild’s treasures from the exhibit room while everyone was on the top decks. It’s a group of troublemakers we have encountered before.” Cat paused slightly to better phrase the next sentence, feeling guilty thinking that whatever she had done to Revwar’s staff had helped bring about the ship’s momentary plunge. “They may have done something to sabotage the ship, for it dropped just as they were stealing certain magic items from that room.”

  Sondra’s eyes widened. “Some type of sabotage? That might explain the rust and the rot.”

  “What?” Trestan and Cat said at once.


  The acolyte of Ganden bit her lip then, realizing she spoke too much out loud. It was too late to deny what she had said. She pointed to a metal bracket in the hall which held a magically burning lamp. “All the metal on the ship has shown signs of rusting, and I saw some rotted wood down the hall. This ship exists by will of a divine being; it shouldn’t be degrading like this.”

  Trestan and Cat saw a large amount of rust on the bracket. The young paladin reached up and picked at a splinter in the nearby wood. The soft splinter broke easily.

  Cat whispered to Trestan, though it was loud enough for Sondra to hear. “What could they be doing? Aren’t they trapped on this vessel, flying high in the skies with us?”

  Abriana’s champion shook his head. “Their spell went off unexpectedly, remember? They probably have an escape plan but we likely messed up their timing. I think they intended to bring this divine chariot down to hide their theft, though there could be other reasons. Either way we have two problems: they have the relics, and the vessel is slowly being destroyed.”

  Sondra gasped. “I must get to the inner sanctum fast and see what I can do.”

  The acolyte started to rush past them but brought herself up short before she had gone more than a couple steps. She whirled around and put a pleading hand on Trestan’s arm. “I just remembered something, maybe you can take care of it.”

  Sondra pointed past their questioning looks to the hallway from which she had come. “The brig is down there. There is a woman held inside one of the cells, named Montanya. She isn’t the nicest person, but she doesn’t deserve to be trapped in there in light of the danger. I told her I’d try to get help for her, but I may have my hands full once I get up top.”

  Trestan and Cat shared a questioning look, holding a private conversation with their eyes. The warrior of Abriana turned and patted Sondra’s hand, which was still on his arm. “We’ll try to see what we can do for her.”

  Trestan paused to add, “One more thing. One of the thieves stealing the exhibits is a mage from the Brotherhood of the Circles. His name is Jentan Mollamos. If you see any of the others from his guild up there, you must warn them about their traitor.”

  The two companions weren’t about to waste time. Trestan and Cat raced down the hallway.

  Sondra turned and resumed her path towards the top decks. The cleric found stairwells and jumped them two steps at a time. She winced every time she heard the steps groan in complaint. The woman ran until breathless. The main thought hammering inside her brain was to get alongside her brothers and sisters as fast as possible.

  She took one slight detour. She burst into the cabins reserved for her and the rest of the clergy. No one was there. All the priests had been in the inner sanctum or present on the top deck. Sondra rushed to the ornate box sitting beside her bunk. She nearly ripped a nail in the hurry of flipping the latch open.

  One of the items inside the box was her rust-colored leather satchel. Inside were numerous items she needed for the channeling of miracles or the care of wounds. Her healing kits and bandages were all stored in the satchel. After claiming it, her hand reached in once more to get the other personal item she had. The iron mace was slipped into a strap on her belt. For some unknown reason, she also decided to grab her ceremonial attire after a slight pause. The clothes were in a bag, which she simply hung on her back.

  The young cleric charged from the room and down the halls. There were other people milling about these passageways, having several heated or fearful discussions regarding the fall. She saw one other young cleric of Ganden, but he was busy healing someone’s head wound. A few of the nobility spoke derogatory remarks about the mage guild and the whole endeavor. Some wiped tears from their eyes over the tragedy of those fallen overboard. Sondra brushed by all of them, offering brief apologies as she concentrated on getting to her goal.

  Few people stood anywhere near the inner sanctum. Sondra approached one of the doors to the chamber in a rush. The young woman heard the mantra being chanted inside. The voices sounded weak, and no more than three of the Chosen still sang. She grabbed the door handle and rushed in.

  The wooden door opened most of the way before thudding against a dead body lying on the floor. Sondra’s first step landed in a standing pool of blood. She almost retched at the sight before her. As it was, she brought up a hand to cover her gaping mouth, as she stared into the defiled room with a horrified expression.

  CHAPTER 17 “The Sacrifice of the Chosen”

  “The training the Chosen endure to reach their post is long and arduous. They are expected to keep the mantra going despite any distractions or extremes, for the safety of all those on board.” Mother Evine said to the elf wizard in the inner sanctum. The cleric swept a hand out to indicate the damage done to the room. “We are fortunate indeed for these selfless followers of Ganden who survived and found the strength to resume the mantra immediately after being wounded.”

  Sondra barely heard the words from her teacher, instead focusing on the horror inside the door. Her eyes, no strangers to bloody wounds, looked onward with renewed loss of innocence. The shock of the scene muddled her thoughts. She took a few hesitant steps out of the hall, getting closer to the bodies even though the sights brought revulsion. The door she held pushed against the body of a former teacher. She let go of the door, allowing the dead body to limply relax to its original position.

  Across the room, near the far exit, Mother Evine addressed Korrelothar and a small audience. They studied the same horrors that disgusted Sondra. The incense chandelier had been reduced to a blackened mark on the ceiling. The chamber, formerly rather bare except for the cauldron and the sitting pillows, was now a mess of blood and corpses. Several Chosen of Ganden died immediately in the explosion. Their bodies lay in twisted disarray near the stained, fine pillows on which they had been kneeling. Sightless faces remained frozen in shock. The gray ceremonial vestments lined with white trim were torn by the jagged metal fragments and darkened by the flow from the mortal wounds. The vessel’s plunge had further scattered the wet blood and the bodies of the fallen. Splashes of red marked the walls and the ceiling.

  The cauldron of holy water seethed with its own inner turmoil. The surface bubbled as if boiling, though nothing heated it. The water had turned a dark color, tinged with crimson.

  Three surviving members of the Chosen still ringed the cauldron, tended by a couple lesser clerics of Ganden. Only one of the Chosen continued chanting while sitting upright, though his garments were stained with his own blood. After his voice had restarted the mantra, saving them all, Mother Evine arrived to heal his injuries. The other two chanting Chosen prayed from supine positions, as a priest and an acolyte fussed over their injuries. The weak mantra emanating from these two underlined the continued seriousness of their situation. Despite all the healing efforts, they were dying. Rivers of red ran from beneath their soaked vestments. The Chosen expended a lot of energy through their prayers to keep the vessel aloft with only their meager voices. The mantra weakened as they did. These clerics of Ganden fought a losing battle to keep the ship alive.

  “The Doranil Star is still in great danger, I can see that.” Korrelothar stated. “We owe our lives to these brave pilots, but the danger persists. We need to get everyone to safety. Maybe we can find a place to guide her to a soft landing.”

  Mother Evine shook her head sadly. “Korrelothar, I’m afraid it would not be a soft landing with the Chosen in the state they are now. Worse yet, something seems to have contaminated the cauldron. I have sensed a…for lack of a better description…a sickness within the vessel.”

  “Mother Evine? If I may?”

  The older cleric looked across the room, seeing her frightened pupil for the first time. Mother Evine would know Sondra’s shy tendencies, and that she would have something important to say if it interrupted these officials. Sondra’s words felt like a quivering whisper that barely carried across the chamber.

  “Aye, Sister Sondra?”

&
nbsp; Sondra had a hard time phrasing her message, especially in the light of the eyes of the elf wizard looking at her. It wasn’t that he glared or seemed insulted by her audacity to speak. Instead, he offered a look that inspired her to give her best answer. Korrelothar, a wizard who could rightfully stand well above her station, looked to her as an equal.

  Sondra spoke, “Someone appears to have sabotaged the cauldron.”

  Mother Evine and Korrelothar fixed her with such intensity that the young cleric felt a lump blocking her throat. Her mentor interrupted the silence. “Speak plainly sister, how do you know this?”

  “I ran into two people below decks. They said a group of villains were out to steal something from the mage guild, some exhibit.” Sondra could feel Korrelothar’s interested eyes staring at her, but she avoided direct eye contact. She couldn’t turn her eyes downward, for then her vision took in the stricken poses of former teachers. Her gaze locked onto Mother Evine’s vestments. “They fought these villains, but apparently lost. These two people mentioned something akin to, ‘They have the relics’, and said that the ship dropped as this other group stole from the exhibit chamber.”

  The elf wizard interrupted as Sondra paused. “Describe the two people who told you this.”

  “One was a young warrior, wearing the emblems of Abriana, muscular and with a thick mustache. The other was an elf woman, black hair, wearing dark leathers.”

  Korrelothar nodded at her description. “Trestan and Katressa, I know them. Anything else?”

  Sondra continued. “They said one of your own was a traitor helping the thieves. His name was…let me think. Jentar Mollaman or such?”

  “Jentan Mollamos,” Korrelothar clarified, even as his fists clenched over the news.

  Mother Evine interrupted, “In what way did they sabotage the ship? Other than this…catastrophe?” The older cleric motioned to the damage done to the inner sanctum.