At first they continued at an easy pace, to allow for Penolith’s leg, but it wasn’t long before she started to outpace them anyway. As they steadily settled in to their own strides, each turning Endran’s words over in their minds, Falmeard said, quite out of the blue, “I thought his name rang a bell.”
Nephril snapped from his own thoughts in time to hear him add, “Bit of an unusual name that, Storbanther, so I remember it standing out at the time.”
“Standing out from where, Falmeard?” Penolith asked.
“From a document I’d uncovered in my rummaging around. Oh … now, where was it … damn, I just can’t remember. Might have been the… No, can’t have been there. Maybe… Ah, now I remember, yes, it was in a strange library of sorts, on the south facing slopes of The Upper Reaches, somewhere I’m not even sure I ever knew the name of.”
Nephril asked, “A strange library? And one in The Upper Reaches, and on the south facing side, now, that in itself be strange but not necessarily unheard of. Did it lie within a small, square-shaped enclosure by any chance, one formed of high fences?”
Falmeard’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Yes it did, and I remember it had a wide view down onto what must have been the Esnadales, and yes, I’m sure now that it must’ve been Bazarral I marvelled at from its high setting.”
Nephril’s gaze turned inwards, and had they not still been walking, he’d have closed his eyes as he asked, “Falmeard? Did that peculiar building have a central well within, one that was quite round, wide and very deep?”
“It certainly did, and that’s what led me down so many storeys, in fact, down into the very rock upon which it was built. Do you know the place then, Nephril?”
He didn’t answer immediately but seemed quite distant, and for some time, although he surprised them all when he did eventually say, “I knew it well, although few then did, and I suspect only two now do remember it at all. Thee and me, Falmeard, just thee and me.”
Falmeard once more found himself somewhat at sea, convinced he’d missed something. He’d have continued being perplexed had Penolith not prompted, “But, Falmeard? You were telling us of something you found there. Come on, what was it?”
He looked startled, but then remembered. “Oh, yes, yes I was wasn’t I. Now, where did I get to. Ah, yes, indeed, Storbanther’s name, that was it. In the bottom of that odd building, right down in its cellar.”
“Basement!” interrupted Nephril.
“Eh? Oh, well, basement if you will, I came across a large metal door, one I just couldn’t get through. It had no handle you see, and was perfectly smooth and unmarked. I’ve no idea what was behind it, but further along was a storeroom full of strange books.”
“Folders, Falmeard, folders.”
“If you say so, Nephril, then yes, folders.” Falmeard stopped and looked quizzically at Nephril. “Those books only had covers and the pages weren’t fixed between but held on loops, set in the spine. Is that what you mean by folder?”
Nephril only nodded.
“Well, I spent a bit of time looking through some of them. Did I say there were hundreds in there, all stacked neatly along shelves? Anyway, it became quite obvious there wasn’t much of interest there. To be honest, I couldn’t really understand any of it, not that it wasn’t in our language or anything, but I just didn’t know the words or their meanings.”
He started to look a little embarrassed, but continued when he saw they were still hanging on his every word. “Well, after about ten or so folders I was getting bored and was about to put the book, err, folder back when I recognised a title on one of its pages, you know, something that made sense to me.”
Nephril asked, “Can thee by any chance remember what that title said?”
Falmeard’s face again lit up. “Yes. It said Arcanum in Extremis and was written in thick red ink.” He looked at them as though expecting applause but was a little disappointed when none came, and when no one made comment.
Penolith appeared nonplussed whilst Nephril looked uncertain, somewhat wary, but neither hurried him with his story. In fact, they silently strode on for quite a while, moving from one balcony to the next, stepping steadily higher as their way reared onto the Scarra Face. Occasionally, they’d caught sight of Endran pulling steadily ahead, but in the past hour or so they’d seen no more of him.
Eventually, Falmeard could stand it no longer. “Well? Don’t you want to know what it said on that page?”
Nephril actually stopped in his stride, bringing the others to a halt a few paces on. “Alright, Falmeard, let us hear what thou remember reading there.”
Falmeard licked his lips and took great care to get his remembrances in order. “I can’t pretend I remember it all, no, not all of it, but the bit that stuck in my mind did so because of his name … and what Pettar had told me about him many years before.”
Penolith interrupted. “Pettar? I don’t follow.”
Falmeard thought again and then explained. “Pettar once told me a story from his youth, you know, one of those children’s tales, and he said he’d been told it by someone who’d been important to him when he’d been growing up. That’s why I noticed the name.”
They looked blankly at him so he scratched his cheek and tried again. “The name. It was the same name. He’d been told the story by someone he named as Storbanther, and that was the name I came across in the bo … folder.”
When Falmeard stopped, thinking he’d reached the end of his story, Nephril prompted, “And so, thee found his name in a secret document, hmm, the same name, eh, Storbanther? So what did it say about him?”
The light dawned. “Ah, right, yes, Storbanther’s name was there and it said of him that … now, let’s get this right … Consent for Leiyatel Instilment granted this day to Storbanther Shadawra being wrought on the … and then there was a date, one I can’t honestly remember, but it was a long time ago. It was followed by a very ornate signature written in green ink, and that’s about all I can remember of it, you know, the red title, his name and the green signature. Sort of stuck in my mind it did.”
Nephril sat down heavily on the balcony wall and let his head droop forward, his hands clasped in his lap. Penolith came over, sat by his side and asked, very quietly and gently, “Nephril? You know what that document was, don’t you?”
He looked lost and vulnerable as he slowly turned to face her, and she thought she saw his lips quiver as he said, “Yes, Penolith, I know exactly what Falmeard did see, and I do not like what it means. Nay, I do not, for it now makes clear to me that it be not just the two of us who are left to remember that place but three.”
35 More of the Same but Hard-Won
Wispy and cold, the mist clung to them, soaking into their thick robes far more effectively than were it pouring with rain. It seemed to get behind the coarse weave and permeate regardless of how closely they wrapped themselves.
Pettar could hardly see more than a few yards ahead, even less so when he looked down into the darker depths of the gorge. What had seemed like excellent cover for their covert early morning expedition now appeared to be biting back as keenly as the cold wet air. He really did begin to think seriously about abandoning the venture there and then.
Phaylan had described seeing a path snake its way into the gorge, on the side nearest the sconce, not far from a narrow cut that dropped steeply from its wall. Pettar had guessed it likely held an outfall or the like, and wondered if access might surreptitiously be gained that way. In the relative comfort of the tower’s room it had seemed worth the effort of finding out, but by now, out in the very cold light of day, it seemed a far more daunting challenge.
They’d crossed the steep bridge before light, the swirling mist billowing from the gorge, cloaking their passage. The further they’d descended the narrow and torturous path, the thicker the mist got, and the more cold and wet it became. It was fortunate the path was well laid to stone for had it not they’d almost certainly have floundered by now.
In the ever-thicken
ing mist they had to rely purely on Phaylan’s memory, trusting to his keen, young senses to keep them close to their way. Whatever innate wit he had, it certainly managed to deliver them safely to the bottom of the gorge and onto its riverbank.
Pettar then whispered, “Keep together, everyone. We can’t risk getting split-up, not in this, and Phaylan? come close by and describe where you think we should go next.” They gathered around the young priest, Drax stamping his feet to keep warm as Cresmol rubbed his hands together.
Phaylan tried to find his bearings but failed. Even the broader gravel path beneath their feet was grey and indistinct. At least the river’s growling provided some anchorage. He knew, if they kept it to their right, they’d not go far wrong.
He turned and looked blindly along the bank, and recalled, “The path we’re on is both broad and as straight as the river allows, uncluttered by overgrowth, so we shouldn’t have any problems following it. We’ve only to go fifty yards or so, the way I’m now facing, and we should come across the steep ravine to our left.”
Pettar asked, “You said there seemed to be a stream in it, Phaylan, but can you remember anything more?”
“I can’t be sure. You see, it was filled with trees and shrubs, so it was hard to see what was covering the ground beneath. If we’re lucky, the leaf cover should have kept out bramble and the like.”
Pettar tried to keep his shivers, and his frozen fingers and toes, from colouring his thoughts but was seriously considering calling the whole thing off. Surely there must be an easier way to get near the sconce. He was about to voice his doubts when Drax said, “I know we’re all getting pretty miserable, and a difficult climb’s not the most appealing of prospects, but we’re unlikely to get the advantage of this mist for much longer. It must already be burning off above.”
Drax’s words brought Pettar some guilt and so he needed little further persuasion. “Yes, we’re unlikely to get as good again so we really ought to give it our best try. Alright, Phaylan, you lead the way, but keep an eye out that nobody falls behind, eh?”
The lad nodded and then started off slowly along the path, counting his strides until they’d covered about forty. He then stopped and listened. The others did the same, but all they could hear was the rumble and gurgle of the river.
Again, they moved forward, but only five paces this time, and once again stood silently listening. Cresmol whispered, “I think I can hear water to our left, Phaylan,” so they then moved on only a pace at a time, each time listening. After only another three, Phaylan was sure they’d found the ravine.
However hard they peered towards the sound of splashing water, none of them could see anything for certain. To Pettar, the mist only looked darker, as though hiding a greater depth. There was, of course, only one way to be really sure and again it was Drax who took the lead.
He gathered them around. “Right, we can do no better than assume we’re at the right place,” and turned to Phaylan. “How steep would you say it was, lad?”
“The angle I saw it from didn’t make it easy to judge, Sentinar, so I can’t say for certain … err … well, I’d say about … this steep.” He held his forearm up, so they could all just about see.
“Ah! That steep, eh?”
“I think so.”
“Hmm!”
He turned to Cresmol and asked for a rope, which he then held out. “Who’s going to be lead climber then?”
Pettar immediately suggested, “It ought to be someone strong and stout of frame, in case there’s a need to pull anyone up, so I suppose it ought to be me.”
Pettar tied the end of the rope about his waist and paid it out as he asked, “Who’s to be next then?”
Drax ordered Phaylan next, so he’d be near the lead where his knowledge of the ground might prove useful. He put Cresmol behind him so he could bring up the rear himself, where his greater size would more likely stop any slips or falls.
Once they were ready, Pettar told them all to wait at the bottom until he’d given the signal, by twitching the rope, and then pushed his way into the ravine. Unfortunately, he immediately came up against a huge slab of rock, feeling along it until it gave way to earth. There, the ground was covered in sparse grass but of an incline he felt able to climb.
As he did so, often slipping and sliding, he tried to measure the distance but his halting progress made it difficult. When he thought he’d gone somewhat less than the rope’s length, he jammed himself behind a tree, unfastened the rope from his waist and tied it securely about the trunk, soon signalling his readiness.
The rope’s twitch travelled down to Phaylan’s hand and he too began to climb. It took him a lot less time than Pettar, his slighter weight less inclined to slide, and was soon standing with Pettar. In the same way, one by one, the rest followed until they were all once more together.
It took another three such climbs, with varying degrees of difficulty, for them to find themselves eventually on flatter ground. By then the mist had become thinner, although still too thick to see far ahead. It had within it an indistinct, dark, grey mass that turned out to be a large rock face, over which a small stream cascaded. Quite honestly, it did look like a dead-end, but Pettar kept his hopes up as he began to search along its base.
It didn’t take him long to discover some rough-cut steps, narrow and slimy with moss, that went all the way to the top. He allowed himself a grin and felt relieved they’d got so far without mishap. More to the point, the steps did seem to suggest some way in to the sconce, after all, why otherwise would they have been there at all.
It was unnerving when he came to climb the slippery rock ladder, but immensely rewarding when he came to the top. As his head peeped above the edge, he could see they’d finally reached the top of the ravine, marked there by a narrow cut that ran into the cliff at its head. Strung across it, atop the cliff, the sconce’s wall formed a tunnel, above which it reared towards a now clearly cloud-flecked sky.
The cascade’s small stream flowed from this tunnel, across the deep, flat top of the rock within a purposely wrought groove that brought it tipping over the edge beside where Pettar still clung. He was soon up the last few steps and quickly across the top to peer, excitedly, into the tunnel. He could see nothing in its dark interior, but it mattered little for across its entrance hung a huge metal grate.
Behind him, he heard the two young priests lithely climb and soon stand beside him, where they too looked blankly at the barred tunnel entrance. Pettar was about to make some disparaging comment or other when they heard a close curse, followed by a heavy thump from below. Rushing back to the edge, they looked down at Drax, spread-eagled on his back on the ground.
Startled and rapidly reddening, he didn’t move. Just as Pettar started to climb back down, he noticed Drax’s arm slowly lift. It feebly waved him back, and so, reluctantly, Pettar sat on the edge from where they all peered down at Drax.
The Sentinar slowly rolled himself onto his side and, even more slowly, pushed himself up, until he sat, thinly wheezing. He breathed in one long gasp of air and held it as a precious thing. At long last, he breathed out, a little less red in the face, and tried to breathe again.
Steadily, wincing with each new breath, bit by bit, he rose to a crouch and then a hunched stand, all the while losing more and more of his redness. Eventually, once more his normal colour, he paced about somewhat stiltedly until, looking up at them, he breathlessly explained, “Winded. Just winded, but … I’ll be alright. Only need a minute … or two.”
When he was ready to climb again, Pettar and the priests watched warily as they stretched down to help, finally drawing him to safety. To be out of sight of the wall’s top, they quickly moved to before the grate, where Pettar encouraged Drax to rest awhile longer. Pettar and the priests then returned to staring at the grate, their hearts slowly sinking.
Drax’s voice presently drifted to their ears from where he’d been lying, idly watching the clouds pass by. “Well! That’s torn it, and for sure. Thought
at least my fall was going to be for some ultimate good, but it seems this time we’ve been forsaken by the Certain Power.” Resignedly, he returned to cloud-gazing.
Pettar found his mind had gone blank, totally lost for ideas. He reached forward and steadied himself against the grate, his forehead pressed close to it in despair. Instead of feeling its cooling balm against his brow, he felt a sickening lurch as his hands went completely through. Instinctively, he jerked back, avoiding a tumble, then looked down at his hands that now held bits of the grating.
He held it out for the others to see, bringing Drax to his feet. Drax too took a hold of a section, and like breaking bread, pulled it cleanly away, a small flurry of rust flakes drifting down from the crumbling ends. They both looked at each other in astonishment, but it was Phaylan who broke the stunned silence. “Looks a bit rusty that, if you ask me, but it’s made a useful hole.”
Phaylan put his foot against a lower grating and pushed it through as easily, allowing him to duck into the tunnel. He turned and faced them, cockily. “Think it might be in need of a bit of maintenance.”
Pettar tapped another couple of gratings and they too fell away, thudding mutely to the ground where they then lay upon beds of brown dust and red flakes. He stepped through and joined Phaylan. When their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they realised the tunnel was stone-lined and held the shallow stream’s course.
Carefully, they crept in until, as the light almost failed, Phaylan noticed an opening. When they looked more closely, they found a flight of steps, cleanly and sharply cut, that ran up through the tunnel’s wall. Phaylan’s white grin could only just be seen as he offered to feel his way, soon disappearing into the blackness, his soft, scraping footfall lending aim to Pettar’s eyes.
It didn’t take Phaylan long to return and describe what he’d found. There was, apparently, a small closed door at the head of the steps, low and slanted over. “It’s as though it comes out through a trapdoor of sorts, you know, the kind that’s at an angle. Trouble is, it’s locked somehow, as though there’s a bar across. There’s also,” he added, “some boxes or other piled against it. I could just see them through the cracks in the door.”
Leiyatel's Embrace (Dica Series Book 1) Page 32