But as much as Grundel and King Gregor might know, there were still many questions remaining. The question mark signified that Grundel wasn't convinced the fortress was actually Gorothagled, whatever that meant. Perhaps the ancient records back at the palace contained reference to certain landmarks, and Grundel was trying to discover the truth for himself. Maybe they had arrived here on chance alone, for the captain had assuredly been unaware of countless other dangers in the Lowlands, relying on Sarion's experience and tracking ability.
No, he decided. Grundel more likely had known of the citadel, and maybe other old fortifications, but no other reference was listed on the map. The journal, however, could prove to shed more insight on the matter. Sarion paged to the end of the written notes, reading the last few paragraphs. Grundel had mentioned the fortress as possibly being Gorothagled, but little else. He described the valley, trying to pinpoint their location, writing down his belief that their questions might be answered by what lay inside.
My hope is that the old fortress remains abandoned, the ancient evil vanquished, its legacy forever silenced. While there may indeed be other malevolent beings using the castle for their own handiwork, I have seen no sign of any recent activity around the valley, only desolation and whispered memories.
If I fail to emerge from the dark fortress, I have placed the contents of this pouch into the reliable hands of Sarion, the most skilled tracker and fighter I have seen in all of the kingdom. He alone of us might be able to escape the foul talons of Grammore and emerge once again into our own lands. His prowess of field and observation is eclipsed only by his ability to inspire and lead others. The land needs Sarion, and I highly recommend him for a position within the Home Guard.
Sarion was shocked as he read the end of the post, and he looked up.
Grundel had been aware of the possible existence of the citadel, but not convinced, and no detail was given as to what might lay inside. And the captain had praised Sarion with the strongest words he could muster, recommending him for a ranking in the Home Guard itself, the most prestigious Watch in the land, which warded the king himself at Daregil Keep.
But as startling as these things were, they paled in comparison to what followed. Sarion again stared at the book, amazed by the stark revelation laying before his eyes.
For the journal ended in a signature, accompanied by a silver medallion fixed to a golden chain, the ornament taped fast to the page.
General Charadan, King's Champion.
***
The warriors walked down a long tunnel, their lantern wicks turned high for maximum lighting. Grundel knew the risk of exposing themselves, but he took that chance over being attacked in the twilight. Several doorways opened to either side, most likely leading to the guard turrets immediately above the gate. The corridor could have housed scores of men walking abreast, constructed in such a way as to make any attackers vulnerable from the sides and above, as he caught glimpses of shadowed balconies looming in the dim heights. The fortress was created to be virtually impregnable, and Grundel realized that an enemy could hold off immense armies for an indefinite amount of time if properly garrisoned and stocked with food.
He knew that the citadel was huge, and he needed to decide quickly where to search. The men moved forward, bleak phantoms in the murky light, anxious and bewildered by the incredible fortress. Grundel knew that time was against him, and he had no desire to remain inside any longer than was necessary. But he wasn't even sure what that meant. Answers lay within, he was convinced, as to the history of Grammore, and possibly relating to the unrest in the borderlands. Whatever had created the castle had also left behind hints and secrets as to their legacy, and he needed to find them. They could prove invaluable.
They approached the end of the tunnel, and Chertron waved to him from ahead. Hurrying to the warrior's side, Grundel crouched down, examining what the man was pointing to. He felt a chill. There were tracks in the dusty stone. The prints of recent passing, but they were large and obscure. Definitely not made by any man.
The captain straightened, peering intently into the gloom. Something had been prowling the fortress, and was possibly still inside. And he did not know what manner of creature it was, although everything in Grammore could be considered potentially dangerous, even extremely so.
Chertron was clearly disturbed, glancing nervously about. Grundel hesitated…They were in a hostile land, trespassers with no friend, or help to be found anywhere. Alone and many times hunted. Would it prove to be the same in here? There was no way of knowing for sure. He was torn between his instinctive feeling of preserving his men, and the strong nature of the king's orders. They knew of the existence of such ancient citadels, the by-product of long-forgotten races. The history annals of Trencit contained much knowledge, although the details were uncertain, the passages incomplete. Names were recorded, possible locations, some of them destroyed from time and other factors, while others remained intact, as was this fortress. It pained him to keep things from Sarion, but he himself knew little else. What could he have told him? And he didn't want to alarm the men further -- their abilities had already been strained to the limit.
But his orders were clear. To investigate anything of the old world in Grammore, and to bring back as much knowledge as possible. King Gregor had cautioned him, but told him also to take chances as needed, despite any hazards. He had to continue, although the choice weighed heavily on his heart and conscience.
Trencit and the king demanded no less.
Motioning them onward, the warriors passed through a massive archway, entering into the castle proper. The walls rolled outwards on either side, revealing a courtyard large enough to house a thousand men strong with their horses. Grundel knew the peril was great as they hovered there near the entrance, but he led them further. Staying near the left wall, they veered away from the exposed center, keeping their backs against the stone for a better defensive position, although he hoped none would be needed. In single file now the warriors trotted along, increasing their pace, alert to anything.
But nothing materialized. The courtyard rested in quiet, aged slumber, dream-fragments of forgotten beings the only remaining vestige of existence. Chalky dust swirled up around their boots, and the silence was oppressive. Rundin brought up the rear, staying close to Areck in front of him. Parts of the wall showed signs of old battle scars, cracked in spots, piles of rocks scattered in clumps, but most of the structure was remarkably well-intact, defying the relentless grip of antiquity. The makers had been skilled craftsmen the like of which the world had not seen in centuries, or longer, thought Grundel. He suspected more, but needed all his focus on the matter at hand, and not wandering conjecture. They could not afford any mistakes inside the castle.
Smaller buildings sat behind the courtyard proper, at one time housing supplies or soldiers. Or maybe something entirely unknown. Grundel decided to pass these by, thinking they would prove to be of minor significance. They needed to search the main keep itself, which lay in the center of the structure, still some distance away. The warriors skirted the outlying buildings, moving in-between the stone walls in pairs of two, listening and watching for pursuit or movement. The great fortress echoed lightly with their passing, and Grundel knew this could work in their favor, alerting them of anything approaching -- but could also give away their own position, an unpleasant thought.
Time dragged on slowly as they made their circumspect way deeper into the heart of the castle, at every turn expecting their fears to be realized and discovering themselves not to be alone. Above their heads sloped long curving arches, ornately carved figurines, their features and limbs vague, stretching away from view, the vision completed only by the warrior's fractured imaginations. Statues sat at varying intervals, some of them similar to the pair at the front gate, menacing and terrible to behold. Grundel tried to ignore his fantastic surroundings and architecture, things better left to future memories than to current inspection.
The pathways of the ci
tadel were all wide and high, as if monstrous creatures had once walked the stone streets and intersections. And Grundel suspected that they had at one time…It was a nightmare city in itself, a vast graveyard from a terrible time, populated by terrible beings. It was not a place for men, or the living. The fighters were uneasy, feeling the dread watchfulness of the fortress, the eyes of the dead fixed upon them. The energy was still there, slumbering and latent. Some of the more sensitive men keenly felt this power, the others struggled against an overwhelming fear which threatened to drown them.
Grundel knew he had to keep the men from slipping, hold them together by exerting his own will and confidence. They rounded the corner of a rectangular building, and the captain called for a halt. Gesturing for them to stay near he spoke, his voice soft but filled with conviction.
"I can feel it as you all do -- this place is haunted by creatures of another age, long forgotten. It is a city of the dead." He paused, looking into their eyes, challenging their courage.
"This company has been through much. You have survived horrors which would have defeated lesser men. Instead of cowering in dismay, you have stood tall, and faced the terror. We fought when it was needed, fled when it was wise. Do not forget our fallen comrades. Their legacy must never be forgotten, and we will make them proud. You were hand-picked -- some of the finest warriors in the land. Hold your heart, remain alert, and do not give your fear a handhold to latch onto. The main palace lies ahead. Once inside, we will scour the upper chambers, giving it a quick search. We will not delay any longer than necessary, but we have come too far to turn back. Let's move on, and watch for anything out of the ordinary. Use our signal for danger, and stay close at all times."
The fighters nodded, some of them appearing a bit calmer than they were scant moments ago. Grundel knew he could not hope to quench the blanket of dread which loomed over the fortress, but he could try and sustain his men, lending them as much courage as he had to give.
Several minutes passed and the fighters hurried forward, a group of phantoms themselves, garbed in dark cloaks holding sharp teeth of steel, appearing as a company of the dead, awakened from their slumber and once more stalking the streets of the dusty citadel.
The main building was now before them, fronted by great steps of concrete, large enough so that the men had to take long strides to advance. Two gargantuan statues sat to either side of an enormous door, likened to those which guarded the front gate. Grundel began to think that he actually looked upon the visage of the crafters of the ancient citadel themselves -- a race of huge, monstrous beings, fearsome and grisly to behold. Could this indeed be the legendary race of giants that were recorded in the royal archives? He'd suspected this earlier, but there was no way to be certain. At least yet.
Chertron hovered near the entrance, his sword glinting coldly in the dim light. Grundel waved his hand, and Forlern moved with him to join the tracker, both of them searching along the doorway. To their surprise, a square latch protruded from the middle, and with scant effort they were able to open the panels. They shuddered apart, creaking ominously in the black solitude of the fortress and the men looked about nervously, the sound an unwelcome harbinger as to their presence. Grundel was startled as to how loud it was, but knew it was too late for other options.
"Can't be helped. If anything lurks nearby, then it is assuredly alerted as to our presence. Our task lies before us. If we fail to uncover anything useful inside, we will depart the fortress immediately. The night grows late, and with the coming dawn, we will at least have some more light above to guide us."
"Captain Grundel, I've searched the steps in front of the door, and there are no signs I can see of anything passing this way." Chertron pointed to the flat area of stone which lay before the doors, Areck and Forlern already partly inside, watching for movement.
"So the building might be empty, you think?"
Chertron nodded grimly. "It would be my hope. This seems to be the only entrance as well, and there are no windows in sight. The outer wall confines the structure."
"A logical notion, but we can't be sure there doesn't exist another access passage, perhaps secret, or even underground."
"Not certain, but I have a greater fear. We know something stalks the streets of the citadel, and I would not like to emerge from here only to be waylaid by whatever waits outside. That might be exactly its ploy. A trap."
Grundel considered. The idea had already occurred to him. He didn't make decisions based on coincidence, or good fortune. The signs showed that some type of creature had recently entered the fortress, maybe even waiting for this very opportunity, to trap them inside. It was a terrible risk, but one he'd been willing to take. Their venture inside the citadel had so far been uneventful, although he felt certain that something would happen before they left -- an attack by the unknown lurker. It could have wandered in here foraging for food, or it could have even been hunting them. That possibility was alarming, but all he could do was remain prepared. The element of surprise must not be lost.
"And what is your suggestion?" asked Grundel.
Chertron frowned. "All of my ideas sound weak in my own mind." He hesitated. "I thought we might post someone here at the door, while the others search the interior."
The fighters watched in every direction, all of them close enough to hear the exchange. It was a frightening position they held, knowing they were not alone in the fortress. Which of them wanted to stand watch though? And was it any safer to forage inside?
Grundel disliked the idea immensely -- separating his men further, with the ranks already depleted. And who would he choose to stay? He scanned the group, his gaze a lance of ice upon their unyielding figures.
"All right, I'll leave a guard behind. But I refuse to leave any man alone inside here. Areck and Cerestin will await us outside. Have a care, and keep a sharp lookout. If something approaches, you are to seal the doors immediately and go inside -- use this warning horn as a signal."
Grundel handed Areck a small, curved horn. Himself and Rundin each had one to use when the group needed to separate, although they had not been necessary yet -- until now.
"Have a care, Captain Grundel." Cerestin saluted him, a trace of his cheerful humor briefly mirrored in his boyish demeanor. But it was forced. "Find what you seek swiftly. I can't wait to see the look on Sarion's face when we return carrying a trunk full of diamonds."
Grundel grinned mildly, the first one in a long time. "Not quite what I hope to find, but if we do, we'll bring back what we can. Give us three hours, and if we do not return, I command you to leave the fortress. Understood?"
The fighters nodded.
"Farewell."
The others entered inside, the darkness swallowing them whole.
***
General Charadan and Captain Grundel. The same person? Impossible! They would have known.
But as he sat there, trying to make sense of it all, several realizations dawned on him. From everything he'd ever heard, General Charadan was a most elusive leader, constantly in counsel with King Gregor or other top commanders, splitting his time at crucial locations on the eastern war front. The common soldier, or even officer, would most likely never have seen the man. The armies of Trencit were vast, its territory large. No, it's possible that this group of fighters had no knowledge of who their leader really was. Maybe…
He pondered this astounding revelation in his head for long minutes. And the minutes grew longer as all possibilities waged maddeningly inside his mind.
For long hours Sarion stalked the ridge line, disbelief etched over his handsome face. Charadan -- the King's Champion. Captain Grundel did not exist, serving instead as a disguise for the land's greatest war general and hero.
Charadan, whose name alone served to inspire hope and determination for the embattled people of Trencit to continue on, sacrificing life and limb to thwart the enemies of the kingdom. Charadan, the dominant figure in the war against the Devlents, denying the constant assaults thrown a
t them on the eastern borders, rallying the warriors to countless victories against the rampaging invaders.
And now he led a small company of men hand-picked from the ranks at Daregil Keep as a new threat plagued the western frontiers of Trencit, a danger which was so important that King Gregor had commanded his top advisor and general to withdraw from the field of battle to embark on a quest into the deadliest hinterland known to man, the Grammore Lowlands.
Sarion was shocked. Charadan. He kept repeating the name to himself, rationalizing all that had transpired in the past two weeks. Was that it? It seemed like months since they'd left their homeland. And the fighters? Did any of them really suspect? He kept wondering this one, and finally decided they didn't realize it. Except maybe for Rundin. The durable fighter was Grundel's second, and the two were extremely fluid in communication and counsel, as if they had been together for a long period of time. Yes, Rundin certainly knew. The man always stayed close to Grundel, his eyes looking out for potential danger. Rundin always brought up the rearguard as well, serving to give him a better outlook for the man's protection. Rundin knew the truth. But the others? No.
If he'd been uncertain earlier, this revelation surely convinced him. But he needed to act. Soon…Despite the orders, he couldn't abandon the men. Tomorrow he would go in search of the company in defiance of his charge. Let the captain try to chastise him, once the truth was known. Sarion could not afford to take a chance with the man's safety -- Trencit could not afford it.
General Charadan. Impossible.
But it seemed instead that everything was now quite possible, he thought. And the stakes had been raised to an alarming new height.
It was later in the evening when Sarion finally rested, laying amongst the horses, a blanket pulled over him, using a bundle of clothes for a pillow. At first he resisted sleep, chastising himself of even this small luxury while the others searched the mysterious fortress below. Torn between honor and guilt, he had ended his inner turmoil, wrestling with his conscience, determining his course of action if the fighters failed to return the next day. He already knew what his decision would be. There was no way that he could abandon Charadan and the men, even if King Gregor himself had given the orders. His own conscience and loyalty made him incapable of such inaction.
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