With little other option, Cor focused on the sound and slowly felt his way through the cave on his hands and knees. The cave was dry, though the air was fetid, and at times the cave closed in suddenly, adding to Cor’s unease. More than once, he crawled faced first into what he believed were stalagmites, jostling his already pained head and mounting his frustration. But he moved inexorably forward, the cave beginning to dampen, until he reached a point that the cave clearly opened up to either side; he felt several feet in each direction, unable to follow the cave walls. The entire cave stank horribly, but Cor had found the source of the sounds of waves he had been hearing; somewhere nearby, this cave opened into the sea. Uncertain as to where to go now, Cor continued forward ever so slowly, finding that the cave floor sloped suddenly downward and was very slick. He noticed that a dim light shown far below; it was an eerie, pale blue light that seemed far away, but it certainly did not emanate from fire, which meant he went the correct direction.
Cor turned around, intending to lower himself down the slope feet first, hoping to use the heels of his boots to help him gain purchase on the uneven, slick cave floor. The flaw in this plan became quite evident; as soon as Cor’s hands were no longer on the level part of the cave floor, he immediately slid downward, and his boots did nothing to slow him or give him purchase. His hands received many abrasions in his vain attempts at slowing his momentum, and after several long seconds of sliding uncontrollably, he came to rest through none of his own efforts; the cave floor simply and suddenly leveled. Cor lay there for a moment, relieved, before a small wave washed over his legs and then pulled away.
Cor sat up and yelled in triumph at what he saw, raising his fist into the air. The cave closed into a small tunnel, large enough for a man and clearly led outside; sunlight filtered through the water, seemingly turned blue. Waves occasionally came through the tunnel, but when they receded, Cor could see clearly through into the open air out the other side. The tunnel couldn’t possibly be more than twenty feet in length, and it appeared just tall enough to stand in if Cor hunched over.
Cor was convinced that this was the same cave he’d seen at the bottom of the promontory, which meant the tunnel would be empty of water at low tide. Cor had no idea how long he had been unconscious or in the caves, which meant he had no idea when low tide would occur. Also, it was easily conceivable that high tide would completely flood the cave, drowning him. He had no other option but to chance the tunnel now.
The ocean frightened him in many ways, and Cor had no idea how to swim. Aboard ship, one had the illusion of control over the sea, but in the water, the sea herself was the master. He decided to acquaint himself with the feel of the water and the rhythm of the waves for a few minutes before committing himself fully. He removed Soulmourn and the tome from his belt and sat them on the cave floor where a wave would not reach them. Cor slowly lowered himself into the pool of water at the end of the tunnel; he’d always had the impression that the sea was a cold place, and this water surprised him with its warmth. He stood there and allowed a few waves to impact him; the water tasted of salt and stung his eyes, but he found the force of it manageable. What he found exceedingly uncomfortable was the weight of his armor when he attempted to move in the water that was well up to his chest.
Cor lifted himself back onto the cave floor, his muscles beginning to protest the constant abuse. He unstrapped his breastplate and legguards, allowing them to clang to the stone floor, and he pulled off his chain shirt in relief and tossed it on the pile. Last, Cor loosened the buckles on his armguards and let them fall as well. He again belted Soulmourn and tied the arms of his tunic together, hanging Rena’s journal around his neck. He hated to expose the book or sword to the saltwater, but somehow he knew it would not harm Soulmourn; as for the journal, he could only hope that his improvised wrappings would protect it.
Cor looked at the armor wistfully before again lowering himself into the pool of water; the book did not float up to his face as he expected it to, but in fact hung heavily against his chest in the water. The saltwater stung the many small cuts and nicks he’d received from the chain shirt, but after a few moments it actually felt cool and soothing. Movement was easier without the heavy armor, and Cor was fairly certain he could manage this last task.
Cor stepped into the tunnel, immediately following a wave, crossing several feet in the tunnel while the water level was low. He walked with his neck and shoulders uncomfortably hunched over and had to be careful he didn’t knock the back of his skull on the ceiling. The tunnel was amazingly smooth under the touch of his fingers and somewhat slick under his booted feet. When the first wave came, Cor braced himself, pushing his arms and legs out away from his body with as much pressure as he could manage. The water washed over him and into the open pool behind him; again it was not nearly as violent as he imagined.
He continued forward without hesitation, to have his feet ripped out from under him as the wave receded back out to sea. Cor went down under the water, his hands immediately grasping the journal to his chest and the hilt of his sword. He felt himself dragged out of the tunnel for a panicking moment, and then the pressure eased. Cor stood up in the tunnel, coughing and gasping for breath; fortunately, the coughing passed quickly and did not lead to an attack as the smoke had before.
Feeling stupid, Cor blinked the water from his eyes. He had anticipated the strength of the wave coming into the tunnel, but not going back out to sea. But as his vision cleared, Cor could see that he was only mere feet from the exit. Cor waited for the next wave to wash over him and immediately ducked through the cave’s mouth. He stood in three or four feet of water at the bottom of a rocky cliff, late afternoon sun shining down warmly on him. Cor couldn’t easily see below the surface, but could feel the bottom was strewn with rocks. He could see a wave beginning to rise, heading to break against the rocks, and he clambered across the rocky bottom, using the cliff face to steady himself. By the time the wave broke, Cor stood in only about a foot of water, and it lapped gently against the back of his knees. He walked a few feet up the rocky beach and collapsed in exhaustion, allowing the warm summer sun to wash over him.
Cor lay there half asleep until the sun began to sink into the horizon; he forced himself up and moving north up the beach, realizing it had been at least six or seven hours since he left his horse tethered to a tree. He turned east, nearly asleep, realizing that he had nearly a mile to reach the edge of the wood and the stallion. By the time Cor reached the stallion, the horse was exceedingly aggravated at being tied to the tree for hours. Cor tossed his bedroll on the ground and then released the animal to graze at his will. He removed his sword and the journal from his belt and lay down to sleep dreamlessly.
19.
Cor slept late into the morning, a habit that seemed to be forming in the last week or so. On the other hand, he was certain that he had not dealt with this much hardship ever in his life. He immediately fished Rena’s journal out of his tunic and laid the tunic out to dry in the sun. Between the cotton tunic and the leather scrolls he had wrapped around the journal, he was pleased to find that the tome seemed perfectly dry and undamaged. He breakfasted and flipped through the journal while waiting for the sun’s warmth to dry his tunic.
Rena had lived three hundred years and was Lord Dahken of Sanctum for nearly two hundred years. She died before The Cleansing. She apparently started keeping her journal during her teenaged years, at which point she came to Sanctum and went through a training and education regimen similar to Cor’s. Rena wrote her entries with almost obsessive detail, recording nearly every blow in combat and describing sunrises in poetic prose. As he scanned the pages, Cor found she even recorded her sexual encounters with exceptional detail, evoking feelings that Cor simply wasn’t sure how to handle.
It was just before Rena became Lord Dahken that she had found Soulmourn in a bizarre and ancient edifice. The building seemed to be made of steel with accents of precious metals; one side was wide open to the elements, ancient s
hattered glass littering the area. Though known, the building was avoided by the Westerners of the day and ignored by the Loszians. The sword called to her blood, just as it had called to his, and she found the strange building easily; Rena even had drawn a rough map showing its location. It was the map that bothered Cor significantly; based on other landmarks, he was certain the building he sought was in the southern portion of the World’s Spine.
Cor closed the volume; deciding it was time to get moving, he collected the stallion from where it grazed nearby. He gathered his belongings, slipping the journal into a heavy sack, which he hung from the saddle. His tunic was mostly dry, and he pulled it over his head, followed by the hooded cloak he had purchased. It was going to be a hot day, but Cor intended to go into the town of Hager a few miles to the north, and he did not want to announce who he was to every soul in the street.
Before Cor turned north, he walked the horse to Sanctum; yesterday, in his exhaustion he noted that something about it looked odd. Today, it was plainly obvious that the tower had come down from the fire. No doubt, it was supported largely by the wood spiral stairs that wound inside of it; the fire likely had spread into the tower, and there was little else to hold it up. When Cor reached the gate, the total devastation astounded him; he stood staring in disbelief. The tower had indeed come down, and the huge mass of stone and masonry crashed down with such force that it punched through the keep’s floor into the cave below. The catacomb’s ceiling gave way, and the entire keep had collapsed into the catacombs. Only a few of the smaller out buildings survived, and Cor had no interest in testing the strength of the ground within the walls. Sanctum was gone, a smoking hole in the ground as the remnants of the fire still burned within. All of the recorded history, the treasure and the remains of Dahken before him were gone.
Cor turned his horse north; he was going to the town of Hager. The Loszians had arrived at Sanctum through normal means of transit. The necromancer may have vanished in a flash of light, but he and his servants hadn’t arrived that way. If they had simply used magic to transport into Sanctum instantaneously, they would have arrived before Jonn and his soldiers. This meant that the Loszian had discovered Cor’s location at the same time as Aquis’ queen. That indicated a spy in Queen Erella’s palace, though why that should concern him, Cor was uncertain.
Hager was a small port, and being the immediately nearby settlement, it followed that the Loszian had come by sea through that town. Of course, a Loszian necromancer would not exactly be welcome in Aquis, so Cor needed to find a captain willing to smuggle the four men. The intrigue of it all made Cor’s head hurt; after all, he wanted nothing to do with any of them, outside of killing the Loszian.
Hager was little different from the town Cor had visited a few days ago, at least on the surface, and he kept his hood drawn about him, which drew less attention than his deathly pallor would have. It stood to reason that the Loszians would have wasted no time seeking him at Sanctum, so they must have arrived on a ship yesterday. It took only one inquiry, which he paid well for, with a local merchant to find out two ships had arrived yesterday. The first, a galley from Tigol arrived at dawn, while the other ported in the afternoon. By that point, Cor was already in battle with the Loszians, so he set out for the docks in search of the foreign galley, which took minimal effort.
About a dozen men, sailors by the look of their calloused hands and bare feet, unloaded several wagons, carrying sacks, crates and barrels up a gangplank and disappeared below the ship’s deck. Another man stood on the ships deck shouting orders while talking to a man who appeared to be a Western merchant. He handed the merchant a small, but heavy sack and with their business concluded, he followed the merchant down the gangplank to oversee the final cargo. The ship’s captain was dressed in silk finery, and he had no shortage of gold jewelry about his body. Clearly, business was good.
“Sir, you are the captain of this vessel?” Cor asked, raising his voice as he approached. The captain turned to face him.
“I am Soko. We leave today for the north coast of Tigol, if you are seeking passage,” the man replied.
“No Captain Soko, I seek information.”
“I deal in goods, not information. Look elsewhere,” Soko said turning his back to Cor. He resumed his conversation with the merchant.
“I believe,” Cor said loudly, “you have the information I need, sir. I’m looking for a ship that arrived early yesterday and carried four Loszians.” The captain’s head turned quite suddenly, shooting Cor a sidelong glance, and the merchant was clearly uncomfortable with this news.
“My friend,” he said to the merchant, “my men will finish this work, and they will bring the wagon back to you. Allow me to see if I can point our hooded friend here to the correct vessel. Perhaps you would like to discuss this matter aboard ship?”
Cor watched the merchant rush away before answering, “I’d rather stay in the open. Enough people have tried to kill me in the last week for my taste.”
“Certainly, you do not think I’m to blame for this?” asked the captain, genuinely incredulous.
“I believe you smuggled four men into this port, three who appeared as Westerners and a fourth who was a Loszian.”
“It would mean death for a Loszian to enter Aquis, and anyone bringing him would at least lose the right to trade here. I certainly have done no such thing,” Soko replied a little more drama than Cor felt was necessary.
“Perhaps,” said Cor, lowering his voice nearly to a whisper, “you merely provided transport to four men who paid you fairly for their passage. You had no need to know their business here or where they were from.”
Cor jingled his fingers in a small pouch at his belt and dropped two blank gold coins on the dock. The captain bent over and picked up one of the coins; he attempted to bend or break the coin in his hands and satisfied as to its composition, Soko picked up the other and placed them both in his own pouch.
“I did provide transport to four … pilgrims,” Soko said the word with emphasis, “wishing to journey through Aquis visiting its temples. They purchased passage from Sarrap on the northern coast of Tigol. They were quiet and stayed to themselves the entire voyage, praying no doubt.”
“No doubt. Do you know where they came from? They were not from Sarrap.”
“No they weren’t, and I do not know. I have work to do, if you have what you need,” said Soko eyeing his sailors, who were beginning to idle.
“Thank you Captain Soko,” Cor said, dropping two more gold coins at the man’s feet. “But perhaps in the future, you’ll look into your passengers a bit more before taking their gold.” Cor turned and rode away from the docks.
Cor needed a map of modern Aquis, which he purchased from another merchant before leaving Hager. He wanted to compare it against the rough map Rena had drawn about one thousand years ago, but he knew, finding the hall buried in the mountains would be a wild stroke of luck at least. Cor rode from Hager, continuing north for several miles to make certain he wasn’t followed. He then turned east and rode throughout the day before stopping at sunset. By the light of a small cooking fire, Cor compared the larger modern map to the hand drawn map in Rena’s journal. He was certain that the hall lay in the southern part of the World’s Spine, near the Western kingdom of Roka. Worh, the capital of Roka and a huge port city, lay just over a thousand miles to the east, on the southern coast of the West. Cor could only estimate that the place he sought was perhaps two hundred miles or so from Worh, into the mountains to the northeast of the city.
He would ride to Worh and carefully ask around; surely, there would be mountaineers there who could guide him up into the mountains, and Cor doubted that would be looked on oddly. No doubt, prospectors, adventurers and other treasure seekers went into those mountains all the time. Hopefully, once he was closer, Cor would feel his blood calling him to the fetish. The more he envisioned the thing, the more he knew he needed it. Cor used the water in one of his water skins to put out the fire for the night. The
re was a freshwater stream nearby, which in fact his horse was drinking from, that he would use to refill it in the morning.
20.
Palius was convinced that this issue would be the death of him; every time there was news he felt a regular pain in his left arm that shot to his jaw. Two weeks after dispatching Jonn there was absolutely no sign of the priest, his men or the Dahken. Palius had his men track down the enterprising ranger who had found the boy; as it turned out the man was still in Byrverus. He paid the ranger well to ride to the town of Hager with all haste and find the priest. He gave the man a signet ring with the Royal Seal of Queen Erella so that any local official or bureaucrat would know he came with the highest authority. The ranger returned in two weeks, having stopped little to even sleep, and he had killed several horses in so doing.
In the town of Hager, he learned that Jonn and his men had gone south towards the farm; their intention was to ambush the Dahken at the farm from which they bought food and other supplies. Having been here recently, the ranger knew the area quite well. He found the farm completely deserted, with nothing but a few sundry items in the house itself. Some weather had come through recently, and there was little evidence or traces for him to follow.
The next obvious step was to continue south on the road to Sanctum, and he hadn’t gone far when he came across a scene of pure putrefaction. Thirteen corpses, some with severed limbs or even heads, lay in the sun. Their skin was turning black, and a truly foul stench hung in the air. The ranger inspected them as closely as he dared, not terribly interested in disturbing the large number of insects and larvae that were infesting the bodies. The priest, his robe missing, lay on his back impaled by a broken single edged longsword. Some of the soldiers had wounds from this weapon, while others had been slain by a double edged sword. The ranger continued to Sanctum, finding the castle completely and totally obliterated, fallen into the promontory upon which it was built.
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