by Kel Kade
Grath ran his hand over the stone on the opposite wall, and it, too, disappeared. “This is being the channel up we sailed to be getting in the cove.”
“We’re inside the cliff that hid the cove,” Yserria said with excitement. “It’s perfect! We could rain arrows down on anyone approaching from either side.”
“Interesting,” Yerlin muttered, “but how do we close them?”
The mage ran his fingers over the green crystals, but nothing happened. He noticed a horseshoe-shaped string of red-glowing crystals to the upper right of the frame. The other frames held the same design, but the horseshoes adjacent to the closed slits glowed blue. The mage pressed his hand to the symbol to no effect. Thinking perhaps it was a kind of rune, he traced the symbol with his fingers.
“Gah!” shouted mountain man Prask Berly as a sword materialized from the air and sliced deeply into his arm.
The insubstantial sword was held in the grip of a tall, wraithlike being. The phantom sword glowed red, while the smoky wraith that wielded it was blue like the crystals. The being was tall and built like a warrior, but its features were indistinct. While the entire form, sword and all, appeared as wisps of glowing vapor, its strikes were as solid as any steel.
“Defensive positions!” shouted LeukCaptain Leyton. “Corporal, report to Jimson as soon as you can get around the thing! Abertine, Marlis, watch our flank. The rest of you surround the creature!”
The corridor was too narrow to wield the bulky battle axes, so the mountain men drew the smaller axes and knives at their belts. Small was a relative term, though, since the curved, single-edged knives were nearly the length of a short sword.
Grath slashed at the phantom, but his knife and, in fact, his entire arm, passed straight through the vapor. The phantom jabbed at the injured mountain man, and Prask instinctually parried with the knife in his good hand. The blades met with the clash of metal. Grath stabbed at the wraith again, and Prask attempted the same, but their knives cleaved only air. The vaporous form twisted and slashed at Grath, and the burly warrior dodged to the side. He returned the attempt with a strike of his own, catching the phantom’s blade as it tried for another attack. Again, the blades met solidly and powerfully. The reverberation trailed up the thickly corded muscles of the mountain man’s arm, rattling his teeth.
“We are not for hitting it. We can only be defending!” Grath shouted.
“See if you can drive it to the side. Get the corporal through!” ordered Leyton.
Hult Moraug, the third mountain man, took Prask’s position as the injured man stumbled back while attempting to stem the flow of blood from the deep laceration on his arm.
“Mage! Can you not do something?” Leyton shouted.
“I am trying,” Yerlin snapped as he continued waving his hands in the air to no effect. “Nothing is working. I do not believe it is actually alive.”
The mage came to a sudden realization. He darted back to the red-lit horseshoe-shaped crystal arrangement. The symbol was no longer alone amongst the surrounding blue crystals. Five more runes were now lit in a ring around the central red horseshoe. The other symbols were glowing green, and each was unique. Yerlin ran his finger around the horseshoe again. When that did not work, he tried tracing it backward. Finally, he started tracing the other symbols.
Around him people shouted, and metal clashed with vaporous metal, but the mage methodically traced the symbols over and over again in different sequences. He had no idea if what he was doing would have any effect, but it seemed no less useful than trying to fight the misty phantom directly. A pain-filled cry sounded just as the green crystals suddenly flashed and returned to the normal topaz-blue color. Yerlin spun around and saw that the phantom warrior was gone. Three of the members of his unit were injured, but none seriously. As a life mage, Yerlin had some healing ability, but he was by no means a true a healer.
“What happened?” Leyton barked.
“It was a spell,” Yerlin responded as he began tending to the wounded. “The phantom was not real. I inadvertently activated it when I traced the red rune beside the arrow slit. It must be some kind of emergency defensive spell, but I have never heard of anything so marvelous.”
“Marvelous?” Grath exclaimed. “This spell did almost take the arm of Prask.”
“Yes, of course. I am sorry that happened,” Yerlin acquiesced. “You have to admit, though, that it was a very effective spell. I cannot imagine the complexity involved. I have never seen a spell emulate a person like that, and the way it fought was amazingly realistic.”
“Too real,” Yserria remarked through clenched teeth as she gripped the slash to her forearm.
“What of the injured,” Leyton commanded.
“I have stopped the bleeding and begun the repairs,” Yerlin said as he stepped away from Prask. “He should have full functionality after he sees the healer, but he can continue now if he is up to it.”
The Eastern Mountains man growled and pounded on his chest with a meaty fist. Everyone took that to mean he was willing to continue. Yerlin saw to Yserria’s arm and healed the shallow cut completely. The young woman thanked the mage with a brilliant smiled that made her bright-green eyes sparkle.
“We may continue, now. Marlis and Swordmaster Yserria are completely healed,” Yerlin said. His brother had received only a cut to the cheek when he failed to dodge an errant slash that had been deflected by Grath.
“Very well. Let us continue,” Leyton said.
Rezkin strode down the corridor with Kai to his right and Wesson at his left. Chieftain Gurrell Yuold of the Viergnacht Tribe of the Eastern Mountains, and his second in command, Myerin Ilgoth, followed close behind. Tieran and one of his guards, Dennick Manding, were also present. Both Tieran and Dennick had entered into mage apprenticeships since becoming refugees. While Tieran had a small amount of formal education as a life mage, Dennick’s aquian, or water talent, had been deemed too insignificant to be worthy of training. Rezkin insisted on making full use of his resources, though, so anyone with the slightest amount of talent was required to train so long as he or she remained in the king’s company.
The corridor was brightly lit with glowing crystals in brilliant hues, the mosaics they formed capturing scenes from the lives of a long-dead race. In some, an alien people joyously danced within a colorful, swirling breeze or splashed about in clear, blue waters. In others, the people were playing happily with small-ones or strange animals. The most foreboding images showed brutal warriors battling fierce beasts or fearsome foes that were shrouded in darkness. These were not the glamorous tapestries of glorified heroes surrounded in the golden light of valor that could be seen in so many of the affluent estates in Ashai. These were images of true battle with blood, anguish, and death presented in brilliant color for all to see.
The continuous crystal mosaics were broken only by empty doorframes leading to uninteresting rooms. Most of the rooms appeared to have been used for storage or as workrooms. Some had stone tables and benches upon which sat mundane objects such as pots, pitchers, and tools. Piles of dust lay where pieces of wooden furniture might have once stood. Some items, many of them broken, were scattered in the dust. Only those items created from earth seemed to have survived. Anything that might have been made from plant or animal had degraded.
At the end of the corridor, the people disappeared from the mosaics, and the crystals were arranged to show images of the elements. In one mosaic, brilliant yellow, orange, and red crystals flashed and flickered to look like flames climbing up the wall. In another, blue, green, and white appeared to flow across the surface like water, with hints of gold dazzling atop the crests of stylized ripples. A third had a variety of colors swirling in draughts and eddies that depicted the wind; and in another, browns, pinks, and greys seemed to tumble for eternity from the top of the wall to the bottom, like falling rock. Plants and animals interwoven within the elemental scenes stretched from one to the next interconnecting each of them. All the plants and animals were r
unning or reaching toward the final doorway where the corridor terminated. This doorway was not empty like the others, but rather, held a solid stone door similar to, but smaller than, those through which they had entered the fortress.
Rezkin’s companions were mesmerized by the fantastical crystal images. Never had anyone seen moving scenes, and it was all accomplished with light since the crystals were stationary. The warrior might have been more enraptured if he was not working so hard to maintain his focus. He could not afford to become distracted in such a threatening place. The mysterious fortress had power running through it that nobody understood. Despite Rezkin’s apprehensions regarding the security of the citadel, he felt an unrelenting and disturbing sense of peace and serenity in the place. He was concerned that the soothing chill constantly infusing his body would lull him into complacency.
“What are you doing?” Wesson asked with alarm.
Rezkin turned to look at the journeyman, and the young mage drew back from the ominous visage of Dark Tidings. “I am going to open the door,” he replied.
Wesson suggested, “Perhaps you should wait until we are certain you are recovered from the last time you opened a door.”
Ignoring the comment, Rezkin turned back to the stone slab and placed his hand upon the cool surface. The entire portal glowed a brilliant white and then disappeared.
Rezkin made to step across the threshold when Kai called out, “Sire, please allow me to go ahead to ensure that it is safe.”
Rezkin was frustrated with everyone wanting to keep him safe. His safety was his own responsibility. He was a warrior, trained to be dependent on no one. If he desired to survive, then he would follow the Rules. The strikers should understand that, but he knew that they were following the Rules—at least, their version of the Rules. Kai had informed Rezkin that Rule 1 was to protect and honor your king. Rezkin wondered why the Rule had been changed for him, but he thought perhaps it was because he was supposed to be the king. It would not have made sense to tell him to protect and honor himself.
Pushing those errant thoughts aside, he forced himself to focus on the present. Something felt strange about the room before him. He did not want the striker to enter the room. In fact, he did not want anyone to enter the room but him. He realized the thought was peculiar and seemed almost foreign to him. The chill washed over him again, and his resolve was reaffirmed. He did not want the striker to enter the room. He wanted to enter alone.
“I will go. You will all remain here,” Rezkin said. As Kai opened his mouth to protest, Dark Tidings barked, “Do not question your king!”
The striker snapped his mouth shut, but his eyes spoke of disapproval. Rezkin stepped across the threshold alone. The room was mostly dark with only a few glowing crystals scattered across the ceiling. Other crystals covered the ceiling and walls, but they were clear and devoid of light or power. The lit crystals were pulsing and appeared to be fading. As he stood surveying the dark space, another crystal winked out, joining the other empty vessels.
The floor was smoothly polished but held a grid of thirty carved bowl-like structures, each about the size and shape of a buckler. The bowls were smooth, less than a foot deep, and each contained a few crushed stones that might have been the ore from which the glowing crystals were derived. The warrior wondered if this was where they processed the stones, using the basins for grinding or crushing. He could even see grooves along the sides of chamber where water might have been flushed out of the room.
Rezkin wove his way around the basins, glancing into each to make sure he had not missed anything. He bent to retrieve some of the crushed stone and was instantly inundated with sensation. It was as though a stream of ice flooded up his arm until it reached his chest, and then it was gone. Gasping for breath, he dropped the crushed stone and clutched his hand to his chest. With disbelief, he realized that his hand was neither injured nor cold. Carefully examining the discarded material, he noticed that it no longer resembled the crystals. The stone had turned to dust, but he felt revitalized, and his focus seemed to have improved a bit.
Rezkin skirted along one wall as he made his way back toward the door where he could see the others anxiously watching with curiosity. A small stone skidded across the floor after colliding with his foot. Somehow, he had not seen the tiny object in his path, and Rezkin admonished himself for the misstep. It was unacceptable for him to make such an egregious mistake. He had just broken Rules 8 – Know your surroundings, 10 – Do not leave evidence, 12 – Do not make sound, and 149 – Map your body, all in a single step.
Rezkin cautiously collected the object of his failure and found that it was a perfectly smooth cobble about the size of his thumb. The clast was rounded like a river stone and appeared to be uncut crystal. Faint, colorful swirls played across its translucent surface, but the interior was opaque. Rezkin did not receive the cold jolt from the stone that he had experienced from almost everything else he touched in this alien stronghold. Instead, the cobble seemed to warm to his touch, siphoning away some of the chill from his body. The peaceful sensation that had invaded his senses since entering the fortress subsided to a more acceptable level, and Rezkin could feel his warrior’s edge returning. He placed the stone in a pouch at his waist, but the protection it provided abruptly ceased when the stone left his hand. Rezkin was once again inundated with the calm, cool chill of the citadel’s strange power.
He pulled a length of leather lacing that he would typically use for restraining prisoners from one of the pouches at his belt. He wrapped the lace around the stone until it was secure and then tied the lace in a loop to hang around his neck. The stone rested against his skin under his tunic, and Rezkin felt relieved that his mind was clear and his senses alert. After looking around the dark room again, he decided, to his disappointment, that no more of the stones were present.
When he finally emerged from the room, Wesson asked with excitement, “What was in there? It is so much darker in there that we could barely see anything.”
“It was nothing—just an empty room with a few crushed stones. It may have been where they processed the ore for these crystals,” Rezkin said, motioning to the brightly glittering crystals around them.
The mage furrowed his brow and looked around at the crystals again. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I suppose they may have placed great importance on such a place, but it seems odd that they would put so much work into decorating the corridor leading to this very impressive door for it to hold only a processing room. Still, these crystals are unlike anything I have ever seen. They would be very valuable, and these people may have even placed some religious significance on them.”
Just then, pounding footsteps could be heard charging down the hall. A runner from Captain Jimson’s unit came into view, and Rezkin strode forward to meet the young man. It was Fedrin Malto of Torrel. Fedrin’s brother had been a fifth-tier competitor in the King’s Tournament, but the Swordmaster had been killed during their escape from Skutton. Fedrin wanted to return to Torrel and demand justice from his king on his brother’s behalf, but his desires had been dashed when Brendam LuDou, the Torreli captain of the Royal Guard for King Desbian, had instructed him to stay near Ashai’s so-called True King until further notice. LuDou had escaped Skutton with them but had disembarked in Serret with intentions of returning to Torrel to report to his king.
Fedrin abruptly stopped and saluted smartly while attempting to catch his breath. “Sire, Leyton’s unit has been attacked,” he said in a smooth Torreli accent. “Corporal Namm reported that it was some kind of wraith or specter.”
“How fare the men?” Rezkin asked.
“I cannot say, Your Majesty. I was sent as soon as we heard from the corporal, and his unit was still in battle when he departed to deliver his report.”
Rezkin took off down the corridor with his unit trailing behind him. Kai quickened his pace to overtake the king, and Rezkin begrudgingly allowed it. The man was, after all, attempting to do his job. They turned at the intersecti
on of the two hallways and had not gone far when they spied Leyton’s unit coming toward them. The unit did not appear to be in a hurry, so Rezkin slowed his pace while Kai jogged ahead. The striker conferred with the unit commander and then, satisfied they were in no immediate danger, escorted the disheveled unit toward them.
Leyton saluted and bowed upon approaching his king and then reported what had happened during their encounter with the phantom warrior. Mage Yerlin provided additional information regarding the magical entity, which Wesson and the other mages found to be fascinating.
“Do you recall the sequence you used to terminate the spell?” Rezkin asked.
“My apologies, Sire, but no,” Yerlin confessed. “I was tracing the runes as quickly as possible, hoping for the best outcome. I was using a pattern while attempting to break the code, so I could eventually come to the same sequence again.”
“Very well. We will investigate the runes another time. For now, we must return to Jimson and see if Shezar’s unit encountered any trouble.”
Shezar’s unit had, in fact, not gotten very far. The corridor ran straight for a time, and the unit passed several doors made of stone, but the mages had not been able to open any of them. The hallway ended at a staircase leading to an upper level, but at the top of the landing stood three stone doors that likewise could not be opened. Although the mages attempted spells and everyone searched for hidden mechanisms, they had made no better progress than they had with those on the lower level.
After listening to the update, Rezkin made the decision to push forward. While, most of the stronghold was yet unexplored, he knew it was getting late and the sun would be setting in a few hours. He did not want his people out in the open where they were vulnerable. While they could spend the night on the ship, he decided to make use of his newest resources.
“Move everyone into the warehouse,” he said. “Place guards on the ship and dock, and create a station in the corridor that overlooks the sea. We will call that corridor the seawall.” To Yerlin he said, “Show them how to open and close the arrow slits, but make it clear what they are not to touch. We cannot have the guards slaughtered by phantom warriors.” Rezkin turned to Striker Shezar and said, “Post a rotating guard here at the top of the stairs. No one is to go beyond this point, except for the lookouts in the seawall. I will take my unit to see if we can open some of the doors on this level.”