by K L Reinhart
Something clicked in Terak’s mind. He didn’t know if it was the lingering effects of mercurial water, or of freedom, or merely all the years of training that he had received . . .
But his body was suddenly moving. There was no time to think.
The elf dove forward into a roll, skidding across the pine needles atop the path as the beastial soared over him.
A crash. The creature landed with an outraged snort of pain as it turned in the dirt and undergrowth. The beastial was quick, but Terak was quicker. With his thoughts paralyzed by fear, his body took over.
He flipped to his feet. Leaning forward, he held the dagger in front of him.
The beastial charged, shaking its tusked head. Dirt sprayed everywhere. It raged forward, terrifying in its animal fury.
Time seemed to slow down. The quiet, still, and empty part of the elf that was beyond fear saw where he had to strike: the expanse of fur to the side of the thing’s jaw, above its shoulder-mane.
“Faster!” Terak recalled the screamed words of Father Gourdain. “No gray belt from martial!” he said.
The beastial leaped, lowering its tusks. As Terak threw his body sideways, he flicked the dagger a few inches to the right . . .
“Ach!” The creature crashed into the elf, and Terak tumbled over. His hand felt like he had punched one of the paving slabs of the Black Keep. He let go of the dagger.
Terak landed ten feet away from where he had been, unable to move his legs. Oh no. He looked down, half-expecting them to be mangled beyond repair. Instead, he discovered the great, lugging body sprawled over them. It gave out its last breath in one ragged, fetid sigh.
He had done it. He had survived.
Terak’s dagger still stuck out from the creature’s neck, just behind the jaw as Terak had intended. The elf had to use both hands to pry it loose, releasing a black spurt of the thing’s blood. He coughed and jumped back, giddy with success.
“Ghoaar!”
“Ghoooaar!”
The dark trees were echoing with the same hooting roars as the dead beastial had given. They were getting louder.
Beastials always hunt in packs, Terak remembered.
He seized his blood-drenched dagger and ran for his life.
7
Forest Lessons
The roars of the approaching beastials had turned into the sight of the approaching beastials as Terak dared to look over his shoulder. Three of them, leaping from root to root, path to root. They ran in gallops, not as fast as he was, but far more accustomed to this terrain.
I’m an elf! This is a forest! Terak berated himself. For Star’s sake, I should be able to do this!
But Terak had never been taught the way of the elves—of running from branch to branch, finding the perfect pinpoint of balance and poise in one’s own body. He had been taught the way of Corrections—to prepare, to observe, and then to strike.
The most preparation Terak could do right now was to prepare for the fact that three creatures were gaining on him, and he had better make his peace with whatever accursed god or goddess hated him the most.
If your opponent is stronger, then you have to use their strength against them. Another one of Father Gourdain’s teachings.
Not that I ever managed to succeed in doing that to Gourdain, Terak thought miserably.
But the principle stood. Terak knew that using their size and blind fury was the only way to outpace these brutes.
There! Terak picked his target: a low branch from one of the winter pines. He raced down the path toward it.
“Ghoooaar!” The first beastial was right behind him.
Terak leaped, with only one hand free. The other held the blood-stained dagger—
“Hai!” He caught the branch and swung himself almost horizontal before letting go, twisting his body in the air as he did so. He hit the forest floor with a heavy thump. He kicked off in a new direction.
Behind him, there was a spluttering growl as the beastial outran him and had to skid and tumble to change direction.
The only problem—now Terak was running parallel to the next two beastials, just yards away from him . . .
“Ixcht! Ixcht!” Terak swore, leaping from one massive tree root to the next.
The three beastials were still gaining on him, and now he was heading into the forest itself, away from the path. Up ahead he glimpsed a heavy stand of demontrees between two massive roots.
It is a fool who stays their hand when they have an opportunity . . . Terak ran straight for the poisonous bushes.
Three root-ledges in front. Now only two. One.
Can I make the leap?
The acolyte had no choice but to commit as he kicked out. He raised his legs high and vaulted—
“Argh!” Thorns tore at his soft cotton trousers, sending lines of pain from knee to ankle. He landed on the ground beyond with a heavy thump, rolling and pushing off—this time in a direction that would intersect with the path if it remained true.
“Ghoaar!” There was an almighty crashing sound behind him as one of the beastials failed to perform the same acrobatic leap that Terak had. Terak saw an explosion of branches over his shoulder and heard an anguished snort of terror.
More scuffling and crashing sounds. The other two beastials had avoided the demontrees. Forced to leap around the tree trunks, they had allowed Terak to get ahead.
But the elf was getting tired. How long could he keep up this game of cat-and-mouse?
As it turned out, he didn’t have to. Dead ahead, he saw not roots and bushes, but the branches of the winter pines. The ground fell away at his feet in a steep drop, and Terak was moving too fast to avoid it. He stumbled . . .
“Haiii!” Suddenly, he was part running, part sliding down the incline. He sent up sprays of earth and pine needles on either side as he sought to remain upright. He failed, tripping and catapulting through the air to tumble to the foot of the hill. He folded the dagger close to his belly, his other hand protecting his head just in time.
Ugh. Terak saw stars, and every part of him felt like he had spent an entire day under Father Gourdain’s club. But he was alive.
Nothing broken, he told himself as he giddily pushed himself to his feet. He looked down at his calves, red with blood. A crash sounded above him. Terak spun on his heel, holding the blade forth as he had been taught.
But the two remaining beastials had stopped at the top of the rise. They paced along the top, growling and snorting at their escaped prey. They weren’t coming for him. He had gotten away!
But away to where? Terak backed away, keeping his eyes on the two monsters for a moment. He turned.
Ahead of him lay the path, sloping down a gentle incline from the forest above to a large natural hollow.
And in the center of that hollow, where the path ended, was a shrine.
8
In the Dark
The shrine was made of the same black and oddly glittering Tartaruk stone as the way-markers and the path’s edge, as well as the Black Keep itself. It was clearly his destination.
Three wide, step-like platforms sat at the base of the structure, overgrown with old vines and the fingerlings of roots. Atop these was a simple archway of the same black rock, held in place by two giant carved statues. One appeared to be some sort of stylized bird with a short, falcon-like beak and large, dead eyes.
But that’s no bird that I have ever heard of. Terak thought of the multiple bestiaries of common animals that the Chief Arcanum had occasionally made them study.
For a start, it had four legs. And wings.
The statue opposite was just as bizarre to Terak’s eyes—some sort of troll-like creature but made out of leaves and with branch-like limbs. Even though the entire building was weathered, the stonemason had managed to capture something suggestive of tree bark on the creature’s hide.
The statues held up a massive stone lintel carved with what appeared to be a sun—a round circle with radiating lines. The doorway behind the archway was t
all, much taller than Terak, but only as wide as two of him walking side by side. This gave it a looming appearance. The entire building was set into the wall of the hollow with large boulders crowded around it, and the passageway clearly delved into the earth itself.
Terak paused briefly to investigate the contents of his pack. He used the salve on his calves and wrapped them with bandages. His usually pale skin already looked ugly and inflamed, and he could only hope it wasn’t infected.
He also had a tinder-strike and a small lamp that smelled faintly of lamp-oil. On the second strike to the wick, it bloomed into a yellowish radiance. With lamp in one hand and long-bladed dagger in the other, Terak stepped into the darkness.
The first thing that Terak noticed was the smell. This place didn’t smell like the rich forest humus at all, but instead of slightly damp stone. The light from his lamp and the muted radiance of the daylight revealed a corridor that felt familiar to Terak. The black stone reminded him of the keep, and the paving slabs beneath his feet appeared to be the same size.
These walls are carved . . . He stepped forward, holding his lantern higher to see that a carving sprawled its way across the wall bricks. Too big to see this close.
“Something round, flowing . . .” He followed the high and low curving lines onward.
And scaled. Terak realized what he was looking at. Some kind of monstrous wyvern. A dragon? But Terak could see no wings on this beast. He turned to examine the far side of the wall, having moved so far ahead that the archway was just a distant portal of white behind him now.
Figures. Terak saw a long line of marching figures, each one tall, and wearing long robes. They had simplistic features, but their chins were sharp, their eyes wide. On several of the figures, Terak saw what appeared to be coronets, crowns, or headdresses.
What was this place? Terak wondered. He took another step forward in the gloom—
“Gah!” The ground dropped away, and Terak had no time to leap. He fell into blackness.
Ugh. Terak had barely recovered from his last pain, only to be met by the next. At least his legs didn’t seem to be burning, although whether that was due to the salve and the bandages or the fact that he had just fallen down a ten-foot hole in the ground, he wasn’t sure.
His lamp, miraculously, remained lit, but it sat on its side a few feet away. Something uncomfortable poked him from underneath. Terak got up to investigate. It was a bone.
A femur. Terak had studied basic biology as a part of the Chief Martial’s classes. Old and yellowing, the bone was hollow. It cracked as he grabbed it. Terak wasn’t experienced enough to tell if it was a human, elf, orc, or dwarf bone.
And then the acolyte realized that there were a lot of bones all around him. A whole lot, in fact . . .
Terak was crouching on a carpet of bones.
He snatched up the lamp to hold it high, searching for the corridor above. Nothing. Whatever trap he had activated had sealed itself behind him. And when he raised the lamp further and looked around, he saw that he was in another corridor parallel to the one above, but widening out larger than the other.
There was no way back, only the way forward. Terak moved, wincing at the crunch of bones underfoot. Then, the splash of liquid. This lower corridor must be sloping downward. Now it appeared half-filled with midnight-black water.
But there, on the far side, he could see the light hitting a ledge of stone—and a doorway.
There was nothing appealing about it to Terak. At all.
“I fell through a trapdoor, right?” The acolyte grimaced. This had to be the trap.
Stooping, he picked up one of the yellowed bones and skimmed it low into the water, where it splashed once and sank with a gloop. No hiss. No steam. No bubbling reaction from the water. At least it’s not acid, he thought. Holding both his dagger and his lamp high, he took a hesitant step forward. The chill swept over his foot and numbed it in seconds.
Terak growled in frustration, sliding his feet forward slowly in case there were any sudden drops.
Nothing but the freezing cold of the underground water as it slowly rose up his ankles, and then up his calves. A few shuffling steps, and it was up to his knees. The water made gloop-gloop noises as it rippled against the black stone walls.
Maybe that’s all it is, Terak told himself as the ripples glooped around him. This shrine or temple was ancient, after all. It couldn’t have the sophisticated sorts of difficulties that the Black Keep could offer, like the foot-locks . . .
Another few steps and the waters were up to his thighs, and then his waist. Terak was almost halfway across the sunken mire. He could see the ledge of glistening black stone clearly now. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the light revealed steps just past the doorway—
Schloop! A sound hit his ears that was out of place. He froze. It didn’t sound like the gloop of soft ripples lapping at smooth stone.
“No, just my imagination,” he told himself.
Hsss.
But that wasn’t! There was a fast hissing sound as Terak turned, lamp held high to illuminate the water’s rippling surface.
He could see something arcing across the water straight toward him. A silvered line, spraying water left and right, moving by the fast whip of its tail. The serpent burst from the water, the hiss coming from its maw, its mouth almost as big as Terak’s face!
“Ah!” Terak dove to one side, more out of shock than skill, as the long, silver-white body of the python-like creature flew past him.
Something thwacked Terak’s arm as he splashed into the water. Suddenly the lamp was tumbling end-over-end through the air. The water-python had hit him with its tail as it splashed back into the water. With a gloop, all light winked out as the lamp disappeared without a trace.
Leaving Terak standing, water up to his chest, dagger held high—in pitch black.
This was the trap.
Terak froze. He had no idea where the serpent was, or where it would attack from next. He didn’t know where he was, either. He thought he had jumped toward the ledge, but what if he had gotten turned around?
Control your breath. Lower your feelings. Be aware. Terak tried to do all those things at once, but it was almost hopeless. His panic wouldn’t subside. His chest felt clamped by the icy vice of the water.
But his hearing had always been exceptional. On all sides were the gloop-gloop-gloops of the water hitting the stone. It was louder and more violent after the commotion, but Terak could hear where it was loudest. That has to be the nearer edge!
He started to move, sliding his numb legs forward as he strained every sense he possibly had.
The cave smelled just the same, damp stone and mildewed bone.
His eyes were useless.
Gloop-gloop-hsss.
There! It took every ounce of determination that Terak had to hold his arms poised as the sound of the serpent’s tail grew louder and louder.
And then the hiss as the python launched—
Terak pivoted at the waist, sweeping the long-handled blade across his body in one powerful arc.
There was a reptilian shriek. A reverberation shot up his arms as he felt the dagger bite flesh. Terak was dragged, flailing into the water after the thrashing serpent.
Stars! The acolyte kicked against the flooded bottom as the sound of something splashing and thrashing was right above him, and then went silent.
Terak panted for breath as his shoulder hit the ledge. He had no idea if he had killed the thing in the dark, or only wounded it. Right then, as he pulled himself up and onto the ledge, all he cared about was getting away. Holding his hands out blindly ahead of him, Terak found the wall, then the doorway, and then he was stumbling up the stairs beyond as fast as his legs could carry him.
9
Shrine
The stairs wound tightly upward as the youth climbed, using his hands as much as his feet in the dark. His body was still tense with the thrill and fear of battle, but eventually, his heart slowed to a patter instead of a
roar.
A brightness illuminated the stairs from above—a flickering sort of light. Like a candle or a torch.
The Chief External said it would be dangerous, Terak remembered, slowing his clattering steps. It was bright enough to see by now, so he eased the long-handled knife out of the belt and crept upward.
The stairs ended in a curved archway above him, through which the light filtered down—and voices.
“He can’t have made it this far,” a male voice said. With a start, he realized it was one he recognized.
Torin. The elf frowned. What is he doing here?
For the briefest of moments, Terak wondered if Father Jacques had lied to him. What if the Chief External had made him feel special, and that this was a job that only he could perform, only for all of it to be a lie? But to Terak, it hadn’t felt as though the father was lying . . .
“Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” said another voice. Big Mendes.
Something made Terak hesitate. It had been the coldness in Torin’s voice. He breathed softly as he crouched by the archway, peering into the room beyond.
The room looked to be a shrine. The only light came from the torches that the three other acolytes of the Black Keep held. As Terak watched, he saw dark-haired and sharp-faced Reticula moving toward stone holders set in the walls. She set her own torch in place. Torin and Mendes did the same around the room.
It was a roughly hexagonal room with more of the large, fantastical statues standing around its walls. Terak saw on the other side at least one more of the bird-like creatures, another tree-creature, and a serpent. In the flickering light, they appeared threatening and ghastly. Terak’s narrow archway door opened next to one of these statues. He took a half-step back into the darkness to keep himself hidden as he observed.