Drachenara

by T. G. Neal

  Aurelia sat up out of bed and ran a hand through her short black hair, guiding it to lie on one side of her head. She closed her eyes tightly and drank from her waterskin, then nodded. “Perhaps we can get something quick from the tavern; I fear we won’t be back for lunch.”

  Vaeled nodded in agreement and stood up. “While you dress, I will go down and see what they have for an early morning meal; something for travelers.”

  Some short time later, Aurelia joined Vaelen downstairs and handed him a full waterskin. Vaelen handed her a breakfast sandwich made of acorn rye with salted pork. It had everything they needed to start their day. The warmth of the fire inside the cool tavern was pleasant but giving in to comfort would only slow them. Instead of lingering, the two immediately headed out into the early morning air.

  Alfendul was temperate, but it was humid. Right on the Gulf of Irk’Modal, the westerly winds pushed the warm air of the gulf inland and up against the mountains. This made for foggy mornings, every morning, until the sun was high enough in the sky to strip the air of moisture. Vaelen walked slowly out of the tavern. A light smoke still yet rose from the rocky fire ring in which the bandit had been burned. A flash of the night before left Vaelen silent for several moments.

  When they finally reached the base of the hill, twenty or so feet behind the tavern, Vaelen took and big bite of the acorn-rye roll and looked up into the forest. “You ready?”

  “Mhm.” Was Aurelia’s response, her mouth full of food.

  Vaelen couldn’t help but smile. He set off into the forest with Aurelia on his heels.

  They walked for several hours before the sun ever hit the top of the mountains in front of them. Though the light intensified, this side of the mountain seemed blanketed in darkness for reason beyond that of just shadow. It made Vaelen feel uneasy in the pit of his stomach. They hadn’t seen a single animal wandering the forest floor, the trees, or anything. There were no birds, no squirrels, nothing. Something just wasn’t right.

  After another hour further, Aurelia stopped and spoke, “Vaelen, look.”

  Vaelen expected an attack, so grasped at the pommel of his claymore. Aurelia raised her hand to halt him, and then dusted the ground below her feet, kicking leaves and twigs away. Buried in the dirt of the land was a weathered and mossy stone with the face of a robe-shrouded human. Vaelen crouched and touched the stone. “That’s intricate. But it’s been here a while.” He picked up a stick and dug around the outside of the statue. “It looks intact, just buried; maybe fallen over.”

  Aurelia stood while Vaelen crouched and looked at it, and she walked forward a few feet, kicking leaves away from stones on the ground. What she thought was just stones, turned out to be carved stone stairs, some of which had been reclaimed by the forest. Small trees grew between some of the stairs, and others had larger trees growing over them. Dirt and leaves covered the stairs, which appeared to be white granite. “Stairs,” she said simply.

  Vaelen moved from where he was to her and looked at them a moment before doing his best to follow them up the hill. Several more steps forward yielded another topple statue, and then a broken and felled archway that rested at the top of a small rise.

  Reaching the top of the hill they were climbing, Vaelen could see down into a small glen in the hills, surrounded by the continuing rise of the hill on either side. The area would be missed by anyone who traveled much farther north or south, due to the vegetation growth around it. Inside the glen, however, was a white granite structure that had long-since seen better days. The roof had given way long ago, clearly wooden, unlike the rest of the building. Its exterior looked as if it was once a temple or monastery. Its once white granite walls had ages and greyed, and were covered in moss, lichen and fungus that appeared to have grown for many years; and in one corner grew a large hickory tree whose age was at least a century.

  Vaelen heard the sound of brief talking, though, and crouched. He stretched a hand over to Aurelia, who crouched as well, having heard the sound.

  “I think we’ve found our bandits.” He said, pointing over the edge of the small hill, down into the vale. Where he pointed, smoke rose from behind the edge of the ruin wall. Aurelia pulled her bow out and started walking slowly around the edge of the vale to get a better look at them. Vaelen followed suit.

  From her vantage point, Aurelia counted three men. “You’re going to have to go down there.” Vaelen suspected as much. He stood upright and began walking toward them.

  No sooner was he on the downward slope toward the men, did they notice him. There was no warning shout from them, no greeting of any sort. One of them growled like an animal and ran toward Vaelen roaring. Vaelen didn’t expect such madness but had his claymore out in plenty of time. The bandit was down on all four limbs, clawing his way through the leaves on the floor.

  Unable to see her first target, because he was blocked by Vaelen, she aimed up at the next one that started to sprint toward Vaelen. Catching him before he had a chance to run, the arrow she loosed sailed through the air and hit him in the chest, knocking him off his feet. Now Aurelia stood and aimed at the second man in the back, who began to panic when his friend suddenly dropped dead.

  Vaelen swung his claymore at the man on all fours. The man’s feral mind was so gone, he didn’t even attempt to deflect the blade or dodge it. The blade sunk into the heft of meat on the man’s shoulder and upper back, stopped only by bone, and felled him to one side.

  The other man in the back turned to run, but Aurelia’s second arrow hit him as he turned, sinking into his side, passing between his ribs. Vaelen approached the man as he lay dying. “There’s no way this is all of them. If I had to guess, this just a camp; probably scouts.” He pushed the dying man over with his boot, and used his claymore to end his suffering. As he stood, examining the landscape, he wiped his bloodied blade off on the feral man’s coat. “This place is cold; wrong.”

  Aurelia nodded. “If these men had been of any use, we could have discerned if there were more, for sure.”

  “There may be no more,” Vaelen said pointing to a pile of travelers’ belongings as he passed the bandits campfire. When he looked down, he realized that what sat roasting on the flames was a human leg. He stiffened and turned his head away from the fire, looking to Aurelia. She looked, too, and nearly retched.

  Vaelen shuddered and walked toward the ruins. As he walked, he kicked bones around at his feet. He stopped and crouched to examine the yellow and black bones. “These are human bones.” He stood and kicked around more leaves on the forest floor. “And there are a lot of them.”

  “Oh, Maker.” Aurelia said, backing away from the fire. “It’s no wonder these men went mad.”

  As Vaelen turned to go back, he realized that all the places he now stepped were littered with bones. Dozens, if not a score, of men and women had been killed and eaten where they stood. “I’ve heard of men eaters. I’ve heard – and now seen – mountain men. Never like this. Never so… grotesque.” Vaelen shook his head and began walking back toward Aurelia, only to have the bones rattle behind him. He turned to look back at them. “I don’t like it.” Something rustled behind him. “Not one bit.”

  Aurelia docked another arrow in her bow and readied to put tension in the string. “I agree.” She looked toward the ruins, as if she were able to look through the ruin walls.

  “Let’s go in.” He said, making his way around. At the front door, where only the frame stood, and the rot of ancient wood became all but dirt, Vaelen stepped in. Nearly as soon as he entered he could discern the smell of rot. Holding his claymore out with only one hand, he covered his nose with the bit of woven cloth that showed past the bracers on his forearms. “Ugh.”

  Aurelia, too, shielded her nose, holding bow and arrow with only one hand. “That is awful.” But her eyes spied the reason for the smell. Ahead of them on what would have been an ancient altar, was now used for a renewed purpose: human sacrifice. On the altar was a human whose hands, feet, and head had been removed
and placed somewhere else. Vaelen grimaced at the thought and considered turning away before seeing the writing on the ground in blood. He approached, still trying to lighten the strength of the smell of decay.

  Vaelen looked at the writing. The blood was not fresh, but it was not more than perhaps two days old. He angled his head differently to read the strange angle it had been written in. “He watches we.” Vaelen said aloud. “You don’t think they’re making human sacrifices for the Maker, do you?”

  Aurelia vehemently shook her head. “No. This place is cursed by the Maker, if anything.”

  Vaelen nodded and looked at more. “He is we.” The hair on the back of Vaelen's neck bristled. He stepped back, away from the altar toward what appeared to be old stone bookshelves, pushed over on the floor. As he stepped near the case, he could feel a cool, moist gust of air from below his feet. No sooner did he feel the cool, did the old stone floor give out from under him and he fell through into the darkness. The last sound he remembered hearing was Aurelia yell out “Vaelen!”

  Minutes later Vaelen opened his eyes and groaned. He was immediately hit with the pungent odor of old water and soil. The scent was akin to mold. His mind went back to when he fell, and he could see the light shining above him. He called out, “Aurelia!”

  She rushed to the edge, though not too close, and called down “Vaelen? Vaelen, was that you?”

  Vaelen grunted. “No, just the snakes down here calling your name.”

  “Not funny. Are you alright?”

  “I am as good as can be expected. I can’t see. Can you fashion me a torch and toss it down to me, through the hole? I’m not sure where I am.” Vaelen rose to his feet. He could tell that he was standing on the stones that fell with him, and he felt no blood, so that was a good sign.

  “I’ll be right back.” She said, and Vaelen could hear her shuffle away.

  Vaelen peered around in the darkness. He could hear no movement down here, and by only the small light that shone through the hole he left, he could see the basic shape of the room. It was obviously a room and not just a cave. Seconds later, he heard movement again. Before he risked calling out to whomever it was, he waited. He saw the lit flame of the torch above the hole, then he said “Okay, drop it.” The torch hit the ground directly in front of his feet, burning brightly. “I’ll find a way out!” He called.

  Aurelia backed away from the hole. Where she stood, she watched carefully around her, sure to make sure that nothing else came near. She kept her bow at ready the entire time. “Talk to me,” she said down to Vaelen.

  Vaelen’s eyes grew wide as he looked around. Where he stood appeared to be a cleric’s chambers, office and storage room. As his eyes passed over the room once, he spotted several items of interest, resting his eyes finally on what appeared have once been the cleric; a corpse in the corner of the room, the cloth rotted away now, only shreds on bone. Vaelen still felt uneasy. He turned to try to find a way out. He looked opposite of where the cleric sat, and in the corner, not ten feet from where he fell, he saw a staircase that led up to the ceiling of the room. He narrowed his eyes, discerning the pattern of a rectangle on the ceiling.

  Making the climb up the stairs, he crouched, feeling around. It appeared that where he fell through the floor, it had been reinforced with wooden rafters, but where he was looking, it had been reinforced with a bronze bar, as well as the granite that the rest of the room had been built out of. He narrowed his eyes to adjust his vision better and found a lever. At first it was resilient, almost unmoving, but he pulled it. Nothing happened. He sighed, and before he began to grow frustrated, he found a second lever. With a bit of effort, this one too, gave. As he pulled, he heard the clanking of a mechanism at work.

  Aurelia jumped and aimed an arrow at the source of the sound when it came. “Vaelen?” She said, but he could not hear her over the sound. Suddenly, the altar began to move. The vibrations pushed the corpse on top of it off and into the floor. Once it stopped moving, she could see the light from Vaelen’s torch. He rose from the hole and looked over at her. “Come here,” he said and disappeared back into the hole.

  She looked at him in disbelief. He had fallen into a hole, and now he wanted to go back down into the hole. She shook her head and followed him, loosely holding her bow with one hand whilst using her other to guide herself down in the hole. As she delved within, she could see the torch burning in the darkness, and used that as a guide to get to him. “What are you…?” she trailed off as she saw the dozens of scrolls, books and writings all covered in webs and dust against the far wall. Candles had burned until they were only long drippings of wax on the floor. Under scrutiny of the light, she could see that only the barest amount of moisture had gotten below, though how that was possible, she did not know.

  Vaelen nodded, “Here.” He handed her the torch and sat down on the old stone stool behind the granite desk. The book that sat on the desk was closed, yet it was not tied, and beside it sat a dried pool of what Vaelen assumed was ink. He dusted the cover off and read the title aloud, “Memoire of Archpriest and Monke, Darsul Isthrillian.” Vaelen shook his head, never having heard of the name before. He opened the front cover of the book, the edges of the long-dried leather crumbling only slightly. Inside, the pages were still somehow intact. He touched them with his hands and nodded. “Vellum.”

  Aurelia leaned closer toward him, with her back facing away. She looked down at the pages that he read, trying to read them upside down. As she peered on, Vaelen read from the first part. “Hither art the words of Archpriest and Augurer, first of his surnames, Eminence of the Eyeless Temple, Lord of the Makers Begotten Empowered. ‘Tis upon this moment that I hast taken upon this title, named as such in honor of mine deepest studious customs.” Vaelen turned a page, skimming the reading. “For upon nigh have I received my first disciples. Drawn and sent from the other temples, they have come, in desire to learn of mine ability with divinity.” Vaelen continued reading, skimming, turning pages one at a time, careful to not tear them.

  “Durinst – During? — “Vaelen asked “mine time as an learner of the magicks, I dreamt a walk of time amongst the magus. In this realm, it is said the Maker walked among men. I spent much an hour studying the flows of the times as are known.” Vaelen again looked up to Aurelia. “I’ve read about the Magus. It’s where mages get their power, right? They say that it’s the place where the Maker left behind some power for humans to touch, and some corrupted it.”

  Aurelia nodded. “Keep reading.”

  Vaelen flipped a couple more pages and muttered some, then flipped more pages and read aloud. “'Tis mine two hundredth day of meditation amongst the wave of the magus. I hast conferred with many a corky spirit, enwheeling the spirit of mine teacher who told me news that troubleth me so: we doth not knoweth the Maker as we art told, for he dost not ruleth alone. True that he is our maker, but 'tis not the only name by which he is called.” Vaelen muttered and read on in his head before reading out loud again. “Old script I hast found clepe the creator by the name Endurast. His story is akin to the maker in every way, yea the destroyer, whose name is Ifris, his brother, the banished and burning one.” Vaelen ran his finger lightly across the old pages. He turned several more, finally seeing a date. “Aurelia,” he said, “these pages are over a thousand years old.”

  Aurelia leaned on her elbows, still holding the torch. “That’s incredible. Is there anything else?”

  Vaelen nodded, running his finger down the page. “After conferring with mine brothers in the capital we hast chosen to not share mine findings, for fear of causing the faithful to flee. Other gods serve the Maker, Endurast. I search for their names yea now and confer with those who tend the Magus.” Vaelen was quiet a moment reading then stopped and tilted his head. “He took several years between writing here. Looks like about three years of no entries. No pages ripped out.” He ran his finger along and paused, “Oh…” he trailed, then began to read, this time a lengthy segment.

  “I ventur
'd into the ancient realms of the Elves to read of their histories, for they art ranker than mine own I hast path to read. I spoke to their eldest who complimented me, saying that I had learned much, growing above that of any humans learning for many years. They allowed me to endue back ancient human texts that they concealed for only the worthy. The texts recall several gods who served Endurast. First, Deacoris, a goddess and jointress of the Maker, who first led the Elves to safety in our realm. Of their own, the deity of protection and safety. Second, was the god of strength, Viraesis, also the god of war. Third, Vitraest, the goddess of all plant and animals. Fourth, Undaeir, god of the wind, storm, sea and the bow.

  ‘Many bawbling gods art mentioned. One is Lapidaeni, who made the Dwarvish a people of stone. And last, Ifris, brother to Endurast, Betrayer, Destroyer, and the bane of all life.

  ‘Yea even in this ancient script, Ifris is banished. Yet, I hath discovered that the gods nay longer hear our prithee. For they wast so weakened after banishing Ifris, the cut-purse of power, they hast gone into exile. We art alone. I fear to betoken anyone of this.” Vaelen flipped a page, skimming. All along while he read, he developed a pit in his stomach. He sighed. He flipped several more pages, and then one more. “This next entry is written differently. It’s a few years later.” He ran his finger along some of the words, then settled and began reading.

  “Though I read the ancient words, I cannot believe that the gods hast forsaken us, yea though they wast tired from their war. I will go again into the magus.” Vaelen covered his mouth a moment, then began reading again. “He was thither. Thither he was. The banished one regaineth his strength. He spoke to me. I fear for mine soul. For mine life. He seeks willing souls. He shall not hast mine. Nay.”