“I’m not sure anyone knows,” Rai replied. “There are stories of people trying to sail to the end of the ice, but there are not any stories of those people coming back.”
“According to the woman, Scalder’s Inlet should be less than a mile away,” Alster said. He scanned the shoreline for signs of heat which supposedly marked the hot spring, but saw nothing.
“We should move east,” Rai told them. “If we stick to the coast, we can’t miss it.”
Following the edge of the gently lapping wave on the stony shore, they walked onward. Alster’s horse sank several inches into the wet ground, but not enough to slow them. Before long, they saw one of the pillars the strange woman had spoken of which told them they were almost upon their destination. The nearest pillar rose up from the ground like a spear, perfectly straight and made of brilliant, reflective ice. In the bright light of midday, the sun’s reflection off the pillar was painful to behold.
“We’re nearly there,” Elsey said, fear gripping her voice.
Alster tightened his grip on the dagger tucked into his belt. “The woman said there would be shades,” he added. As he continued walking and the sun began to move away from its apex, a shadow formed on the eastern side of the icy monolith.
“I’m not sure I trust everything that woman said,” Rai replied. He wanted to believe the inlet would be safe, but he had no way of knowing. The only bit of information he had came from legends he had heard in Mournstead and what little the woman had told them.
Perhaps a hundred yards from the first monolith, a new pair of them rose from the ground, side by side and far taller than the first. They cast long, ominous shadows behind them, as if pointing to Scalder’s Inlet with arrows of darkness.
“It’s getting warmer,” Rai remarked. He felt some of the ice beginning to melt from his clothes, and the ground beneath his feet wasn’t quite as hard.
“It can’t be far,” Alster said hopefully. More monoliths rose up from the ground farther ahead.
“There must be hundreds of them,” Elsey added. “They’re everywhere. What made them?” she asked.
“Perhaps they have always been here,” Rai answered. “They could be some bizarre natural formation made by the steam when the hot water of the spring meets the icy water of the ocean.”
As they passed one dense patch of towering, frozen pillars, Alster thought he saw one of the shadows waver. He didn’t want to appear as cowardly as he felt, so he angled his horse’s path slightly to give himself a wider berth. Near the top of one of the object, he saw something which looked to be an inscription.
“Look,” Alster said, pointing with his dagger. “Someone carved something up there,” he explained.
Rai moved closer to the pillar, and Alster immediately regretted saying anything at all. He imagined a shade leaping forth from the pillar’s large shadow and devouring the man in an instant, tearing him to shreds where he stood.
“We should get moving,” Alster implored, spurring his horse onward.
With a nod, Rai backed away from the pillar. “I don’t even know what language the inscription is in, or if it even is a language,” he said. “It looks more like primitive drawings than letters or runes. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I’m sure it means something, but I don’t know what.”
The three continued into the field of obelisks, and they saw more and more carvings, some enveloping entire monoliths. “It must have taken years to do all this,” Elsey wondered aloud, staring at one line of symbols which seemed to show several triangles in different orientations. “What does it mean?”
Ahead, a column of steam drifted lazily into the sky. They could feel the heat in the air even at a relatively great distance, and Rai knew the heat at the inlet itself must be unbearable, if not lethal. Around the steam, hundreds of the pillars stood guard as silent watchmen, soaring toward the sky and bathing the ground in inky shadows.
“We should move quickly,” Rai said. He dropped his bow and quiver from his back. “Wait here,” he told Alster and Elsey. “I’m just going to run up, dip the arrowheads into the water, and hurry back.”
“Then we leave,” Alster said, his nervousness threatening to overcome him. Again, he thought he saw one of the shadows move near the waterline, but he had no way of distinguishing what actually happened from his anxiety-driven delusion. Quietly, he retrieved his gauntlets and fastened them onto his forearms.
Rai nodded. He held his arrows in a bundle in his right hand. The three of them were perhaps two hundred yards from what Rai hoped was the magical spring, and the temperature was just at the point of comfort, not yet too hot and certainly not cold. Without a word, he took off in the direction of the steam cloud, his boots thumping into the ground.
Half the distance to the steam vent, the world came alive.
An army of shades erupted from the pillars surrounding the inlet. Hundreds of the pitch-black creatures screamed as they awoke. Their tentacle-like arms flailed through the air, tearing at Rai as he sprinted. Several of them connected with his flesh before he even fully understood what was happening. Their jagged, black claws ripped through Rai’s skin like paper, throwing red streaks of blood onto the frosty ground.
The shades tore at him from every angle, but Rai managed to turn and spin with their strikes. He saw a path through the pillars and the shadows, though he was not sure he would be quick enough to take it. Luckily, the sun was still high and the shades could not move beyond the physical constraints of their shadows. A shade from his left tried to rake his throat, and Rai dodged right, but another monster was waiting for him. Desperate for a way out, Rai stabbed with the bundle of arrows in his right hand.
The shade, and dozens of the others, seemed to laugh when Rai’s arrows passed harmlessly through the intangible shadow.
“I have to help him!” Alster yelled. “He can’t hurt them!” He held his dagger down at his side and kicked the horse beneath him fiercely, urging it forward at a gallop. He nearly lost his balance, painfully remembering that he had little to no experience on horseback, and even less training with a blade.
At the first pillar-bound shade, Alster simply held his dagger down low and aimed it for the creature’s head. The shade, focused on Rai’s harrowing journey closer to the inlet, did not see Alster or the horse until it was too late. Alistair the Fourth’s dagger ripped through the shade and shattered it into thousands of black pieces which dissolved as soon as they hit the ground.
Just as it had happened in the stable back at his family’s estate, Alster was empowered by the kill. He felt a rush of adrenaline surge through his veins, filling his crippled muscles and clearing all the panic from his mind. As the horse charged deeper into the fray, Alster kept his dagger low at his side. Shade after shade erupted on the edge of his blade. Every being he slaughtered filled Alster with more and more strength.
When he had slain almost a score of the creatures, the shades began to turn their attention from Rai and look backward, and they positioned themselves to meet his charge. The dark creatures reached out with their clawing arms, slashing at his legs and at his horse. He felt their attacks, especially on his left side where he could not defend himself, but the unnatural power flowing through his body dulled each laceration almost to nothingness.
Ahead of Alster, Rai struggled to keep his footing. The ground was hot, and he felt it through the bottoms of his boots. His skin perspired heavily as he neared the small pool which he desperately hoped was Scalder’s Inlet. Sweat mixed with blood on his forehead and dripped into his eyes as he ran.
Two massive shades blocked his way, their arms spread wide. They were tall, perhaps taller than all the trees of Vecnos, and the pillars which made them were taller yet. Rai saw a patch of clear ground to the side of the ominous pillars which was far enough from the field he had run through to offer some safety. With only a moment of respite, he set his feet beneath him and took a deep breath to steady himself.
The shade on the right of the pair lashe
d out violently, slamming its shadowy fist into the ground. Rai jumped to his side and dodged the strike, but the sheer force of it passing near his body almost stole his balance. As quickly as the first fist had crashed down, two more joined it, hitting the dirt and rocks like thunder.
Continually scrambling to the right, Rai could finally see the hot spring behind the two pillars. He knew he could not destroy the shades, and he knew if he tried to stand his ground, they would tear him apart. Another fist blasted into the ground right when Rai jumped forward, sending a shower of dirt and stone into the air.
So close to the spring, Rai felt the full heat of the magical place washing over his skin. Blisters broke out on the backs of his hands. He screamed as the skin of his face began to stretch and break like a hot metal pot thrown into a pool of ice.
With only a few seconds left before the heat ignited his body and reduced him to ash, Rai thrust the bundle of arrows in his right hand toward the water. When the metal arrowheads touched the shimmering pool, the liquid reacted unexpectedly, swirling red as though some creature of pure fire had taken the pool’s place.
Instantly, Rai ripped the arrows from Scalder’s Inlet and scrambled backward as quickly as he could. His feet and hands burned intensely, sending searing knives of pain shooting through his entire body. Luckily, the pool was not on the shadowed side of the monoliths, so the colossal shades could not reach him.
When he was far enough from the pool to feel somewhat safe from its heat, he finally noticed Alster charging through the field of shades. The boy appeared immense, as though he had grown several feet in the span of only a handful of seconds, and his enhanced body rippled with corded muscle. The way the boy moved the small dagger from side to side reminded Rai of the many prize-fighters who dueled for money in the streets of Mournstead.
Grunting and howling with the adrenaline of combat, Alster crashed through the shades and tore them to pieces with his dagger. His body was riddled with wounds and the horse looked worse, but still they charged forward. Alster cut hard to the side as he came in toward the two colossi guarding the pool. The horse’s hooves bit into the ground, turning to allow Alster to position his dagger between himself and the giant shade.
When the two connected, a resounding bolt of energy split the air, launching Rai backward by the force of the explosion. The sound made his ears ring with pain and rattled his thoughts. Still, he saw Alster fight on against the last colossus as though nothing had happened. The horse skidded on the frosty ground and Alster leapt forward, slashing wildly in front of him with strength and speed Rai thought impossible for anyone, especially a crippled young boy.
When Alster hit the ground he was on top of the shade’s sweeping arm, and his dagger drilled through the beast, plunging hilt-deep into the ground. The colossus shattered just like the first had, with a tremendous eruption of noise and force. The intensity of the blast blew Alster backward, and the smell of burning flesh burst from the pool, assaulting Rai’s nostrils.
In horror, Rai watched Alster slip into the pool up to his waist. Clawing at the boiling ground for purchase, the boy screamed, unleashing a sound unlike anything Rai had ever witnessed before.
Rai threw his arrows to the ground and ran, reaching a hand toward Alster to pull him forth before he was lost entirely. Alster’s fingers touched Rai’s, and then he was gone.
BLOOD
After Palos and Holte had led their small army about twenty miles from Karrheim, they ordered the small contingent to stop and form ranks. None of the men had been given a single order other than to obey Palos as though he was the king, and all of them had done exactly as they had been commanded.
To Palos’ side, a man named Lieutenant Marius sat tall in his saddle. His horse was black and bedecked with regal barding, gaudily labeling him as the king’s eyes and ears. Palos had only just met the man, but he liked him. Marius had an eye for detail, and he seemed to be a reasonable man, more concerned with fairness than practicality. Palos had known many politicians who had carried such virtues, but he had never met any who had done it so effortlessly as Marius seemed to do.
Lieutenant Marius answered directly to Palos, transmitting orders through the five commissioned officers who traveled with their band. Beneath them, the soldiers King Gottfried had afforded to Palos were all veterans. Thirty of the rank and file soldiers were cavalrymen with heavy armor, short lances, and flanged maces. Their horses, though not decorated with blue and white checkered pennants like the officers, were encased in steel barding with spiked shaffrons protecting their heads. The rest of the enlisted men were all well-trained light infantrymen, carrying little in the way of armor, but proficient with short swords, shields, javelin, and their fists. In all, the men under Palos’ command were some of the best soldiers Karrheim had to offer. It was apparent that Gottfried wanted the mission done right.
“Will you tell the men what our mission entails?” Lieutenant Marius asked, his tone one of military stoicism.
Palos smiled. Marius knew just as little as everyone else. “Not entirely,” he replied. “Though they do need to at least know where we are going. I cannot tell them what we intend to do just yet, but I can tell them where to march.”
“As you command, Lord Palos,” the lieutenant replied.
Palos rode his horse in front of the army and tried to exude an air of confidence. He wasn’t sure he achieved the look, especially since the men he commanded all had decades more experience than he, but he tried nonetheless. “Men of Karrheim,” Palos began, summoning his voice from his chest and projecting it over them. “As you know, we march under direct orders from King Gottfried. Many of you have served together. You know each other well, and therefore you know the strength of our small force. We march for the Blightstone Gate!”
A murmur spread quietly through the assembled force, though it quickly dissipated. It was not the answer Palos had expected, and it threw him off guard.
“I will let you know the rest of our mission once we cross the Rift,” Palos continued, some of his bravado destroyed by the tepid response. He had envisioned the soldiers cheering his cause and showing their bloodthirsty enthusiasm. “Until then, keep up the pace, stay focused, and…” he floundered, unsure what to say. In his mind, the speech had gone in an entirely different direction. “Long live the king!” Palos finally shouted, awkwardly turning his horse away so he didn’t have to see the looks on the men’s faces.
“Long live the king!” they dutifully shouted back.
Palos trotted up to the five officers at the head of the group. “Move out,” he told them curtly. At once, the men turned to spread the order among the others, and the group began to march.
Captain Holte and Lieutenant Marius brought their horses into line with Palos. “That was rather awkward,” Holte said with a smirk.
Palos silenced him with a look.
“Which path to the Blightstone Gate do you intend to take?” Marius asked.
Palos thought for a moment. “There are outposts along most of the western side of the Rift. I’d like the men to see the Rift before they have to cross it, so we will head east until we reach the city of Cantor, then we will turn south. We can procure new supplies in Cantor and at some of the other outposts before we cross into eastern Vecnos,” he explained.
“Very well, my lord,” Marius replied, bowing his head slightly. “I will inform the officers and chart the course.”
“How long do you expect the journey to take?” Palos asked. He had a rough idea in his head of how many days it would have required him and Holte to make the journey by themselves, but traveling even with only a small contingent of men slowed things down tremendously.
“At a casual pace, it will likely take more than a month to reach the Blightstone Gate, probably six or seven weeks, sir,” Marius said, scratching the dark stubble on his chin. “If we press the men, we could do the trip in four weeks, though they would tire.”
“At a reasonable pace, how many miles should we expect to co
ver each day?” Palos continued.
“In this terrain,” Marius replied, “I suspect we will travel between sixteen and twenty-four miles during the daylight. The men currently carry a large amount of salted meat which requires time to cook each night and morning. If we exchange the meat for dry rations at Cantor, we could potentially add another four miles to the pace. Additionally, the wagons carrying some of the arms and armor are necessarily slow. It may be feasible to leave some of the heavier equipment at Cantor, but that is a risk, should we meet combat.”
Palos nodded. “I like you, Marius,” he said with a smile. “You’re like opening a very detailed book. I ask a question, and the answer is presented.”
The lieutenant tipped his head again. “Thank you, my lord. I live to serve.”
“How old are you?” Palos asked him.
“Twenty-seven, my lord,” Marius replied at once. “I served as an assistant to Commandant Wells on the second plateau beginning when I was fifteen. For three years I have served King Gottfried as his military recorder. It is my duty to know facts, numbers, and all manner of other things,” he explained.
“And the rank of lieutenant?” Palos asked skeptically. It was rare for civilians, even those who had professions assisting the army, to be given military titles.
“Yes, my lord,” Marius answered. “King Gottfried commissioned me as an officer when I became one of his advisors.”
Palos laughed. “He gave you access to Whitecliff and the highest rises of Karrheim,” he concluded. There were only a handful of ways anyone not of the nobility could gain access to Whitecliff. Being an officer in the military was one such way.
“I find it odd that our beloved king does not have the authority to grant such permissions to those of common birth without a commission, my lord,” Marius replied, though he lowered his voice just slightly.
“There are certain exceptions,” Palos replied absentmindedly. “Usually, a writ of passage all the way to Whitecliff would require my fellow nobles and I to approve it, and trust me, there is very little on which we ever concur.”
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