Zokar nodded. “Very, the mountains split not far to the north of here, and where you come out will be close to Glacier Lake.”
“I know it well,” Eric said, nodding and looking back through the shrubs and trees that hid them from the valley in general. “Will you be all right?”
Zokar reached out with a hand. “Yes.”
Eric shook the man’s hand. “Fair thee well, then.”
Argos interrupted. “I’ll grab a couple of branches to prepare torches.
“No need,” Zokar said.
Eric and Argos looked past the small historian at the pitch darkness that beckoned to them. Finally, Eric faced Zokar, saying, “We need to see.”
Zokar simply motioned to Eric’s sword where it lay sheathed at his hip. Looking down, Eric pulled the sword, which glowed brightly even in daylight.
Argos warded himself again. “Blimey.”
Diamedes came out of the corridor, looking at Eric’s sword. “That is rather convenient.”
“Time to go,” Zokar said, all business now. “The door will shut on its own. Do not stray from the main path. The many cycles of Agon have made the interior . . . dangerous, to say the least.”
Eric nodded, and the three men shouldered their packs, stepping inside the narrow and short corridor. Eric’s sword got brighter, lighting the interior of the dark mountain easily. Turning to face the door, the three men watched as Zokar stood silently. The Balarian had replaced his hood and now stood there like a silent sentinel. Slowly, silently, and without warning, the huge stone door slid effortlessly back into place, shutting and leaving them with only the memory of the assassin’s presence.
“I hope he’ll be all right,” Argos said.
Eric turned to the man. “Is that emotion I sense coming from a hired killer?”
Argos shook his head. “You’re mistaken. I simply want him to succeed in luring our pursuers away from us.” Without waiting, the raider turned and walked into the dark corridor, passing Diamedes, who shrugged and followed the man.
Eric pondered the experience for a moment until he heard Diamedes calling from further down the dark tunnel. “Ah, you know . . . perhaps it would be better if you led with that shiny sword of yours.”
Eric suppressed a smile and walked down the dark corridor past the historian, and finally, a bit further, found the raider standing against the wall with his head down. It was obvious that they weren’t going to go far without light, so Eric took the lead and they looked for their next objective, a way to the main underground path and thence to a similar exit on the other side of the Felsic Mountains.
They found a staircase and took a few steps down and to their left. The stairs led into a huge chamber that was intact except for a pile of rocks, boulders, and earth along the entire left side of the immense structure.
“What happened here?” Argos said in awe, looking up and around as far as Eric’s sword would illuminate.
Diamedes answered, “The mountainside collapsed the main gate. Where we entered was nothing more than something like a sally port on a castle’s main gate towers. The main entrance would have been here if the mountain had not fallen on top of it.”
“I think you’re right,” Eric said, looking at the wall of debris. “Still, I don’t fancy being sealed in here for any longer than necessary. Let’s get moving and find our exit.”
“If there’s still an exit for us to use,” Argos said.
The companions moved on, following Eric’s bright sword as it shone in the dark and illuminated the large pathway through the heart of the mountains. The path they took would have been wide enough for a pair of wagons to travel together or to pass each other with ease. Every now and then they had to urge Diamedes to keep moving as he stopped to inspect side chambers, carved statues, and other ancient relics from whatever civilization had built this place.
They stopped for a meal of dried meat and small cheese blocks and drank sparingly from their flasks, unsure when they would be able to refill them again buried deep in the mountainside. They were tired and had traveled for nearly two days nonstop to reach this place. Zokar had never indicated when he planned on resting, not with a pursuing hunting party intent on killing them. Now in the dark silence and relative safety of the mountain, their fatigue hit them all at the same time.
Along the main path, there were side chambers scattered along the sides at intervals of what seemed to be a third of a league. Finding one that was suitable and relatively clean, they pulled out their bed rolls and laid them out in the small adjoining room. They didn’t bother with talk, and all three slept for an indeterminable period of time.
When Eric woke up, he found that his companions were sitting, waiting for him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“We’re in no hurry,” Argos said. “Besides, I wasn’t about to touch your sword, and the royal historian here seemed content to examine the walls while you slept. We woke not long ago either.”
“Do you think all these rooms are so small?” Eric asked, looking around at their resting place.
“Inside, these rooms have short ceilings, quite the opposite of the main path we were on,” Argos noted, standing when Eric stood.
Eric nodded, and they gathered their belongings and resumed their travels. After a few hours, they reached an immense chamber that domed so high overhead that Eric’s magical sword could not illuminate its roof.
“Oh my,” Diamedes said, walking around with his neck craned back so he could see overhead. Indeed, all three men were straining to see what lay above them.
“What is that?” Argos pointed to a side wall of the same chamber. There was another pathway, wide, but not as wide as the one they took, and it led underneath an immense carving of something vaguely human-like. It took them a full minute to cross the main chamber and reach the exiting road that led underneath the legs of what turned out to be the largest carved statue that any of them had ever seen.
“That appears to be a statue,” Eric answered, holding his sword as high as his arm would allow.
Argos warded himself again, and Eric thought the man would tire of the exercise. Only the superstitious and religiously minded would spend the time to do that. Looking overhead, he saw the figure had an axe in one hand and a rod in the other. “Who is that?” Eric asked.
“A very good question,” Diamedes answered.
Both fighters turned to look at the historian. If anyone had any answers, it would be him. “What say you, Diamedes?” Eric asked.
Diamedes scratched his head and then turned and looked at the opposite wall that was almost not visible a good two or three hundred feet away. “What was it that the Arnen had once told me?”
Both fighters shrugged. Argos asked, “You spoke to one of those druids about this?”
Diamedes came around from his deep thoughts and looked at the raider. “No, of course not, not about this specifically, but instead about the ancients.”
“There were more than one ancient?” Eric asked, confused.
The small historian nodded. “I believe there were two. One was more elusive than the other.”
“Which one are we looking at?” Eric asked.
“Hmm,” Diamedes thought out loud. “I think this is the less elusive of the ancients.”
“They must have been giants,” Argos said, stepping back to take in the measure of the statue that towered over them.
“Everything seems to indicate that, at least when you look at their city.” Diamedes also stood a few steps back, looking at the same huge statue that was half carved from the very stone of the mountain. Half of it protruded into the chamber, and the back half was buried in the wall, not visible.
“What do you mean by seemed?” Eric asked, moving his sword from side to side, allowing the light to dance off the walls.
Diamedes stroked his chin for a moment. “The rooms on the side, and indeed the entryway we took to arrive here, seemed smaller than comfortable for a human. I have my doubts that these ancients were larg
er than us.”
“Can you say that?” Argos asked as if the historian would anger the ancients or awaken one of their wrathful gods.
Diamedes shrugged. “Let’s find out. I remembered what the eldest of the Arnen once told me.”
“And?” Eric asked, hating to find out how long this delay would cost them.
“Come.” Diamedes started to walk across the chamber to the opposite wall. “He told me that appearances can be deceiving.”
“That’s it?” Argos asked, jogging to catch up to the pair who had already crossed halfway.
“Pretty much,” Diamedes said, looking over his shoulder. “Though he did say when dealing with the ancients, his order had learned never to expect the obvious.”
“So how does that affect us?” Eric asked, holding his sword out until they reached the far wall of the chamber. There was no opposing statue or anything else notable about this side of the chamber. It seemed to be a dead end, as if the chamber was a gathering place to either go east, the way they had arrived, west, to continue their path, or south, to enter deeper into the mountains. North was not an option.
Diamedes touched the wall and repeated what he had done a half dozen times before, feeling the stone and assessing its structure tactically. Finally, he turned to Eric. “Try your key.”
Eric pulled the simple iron key with the ruby embedded into its handle and looked for a keyhole. “I don’t see anything . . .”
“Over here.” The small historian shuffled to a side antechamber and looked around. Finally seeing something familiar, he pointed to a small slot in the corner facing the wall.
Eric walked over and tried to insert the key. It did the same thing at the entrance, getting pulled in, and they barely heard the sound of something like stone moving on stone, but nothing happened inside the side room.
“I don’t get it,” Argos said.
“The ancient king would not open his own door,” Diamedes explained, a smile crossing his face as he left the room and returned to the main chamber. This time the smooth wall was broken by a small door that led them into another small chamber with a staircase going up and another one on the back wall going down.
“You heard what Zokar said,” Argos protested. “We need to stay on the main path.”
“I’m forced to agree,” Eric said. “We need to return to Moartown and deal with—”
Diamedes interrupted him. “Allow an old man a single hour, please?”
Eric thought better of it, but the historian had more than assisted him without demand or expectation of compensation. Perhaps they could spare a single hour. “All right, lead on.”
Argos rolled his eyes in the darkness, and Diamedes seemed to not notice. “A king would not go down.” The man started to climb the spiral stone stairs, disappearing around the curving wall.
“Better catch up with that light of yours,” Argos said, and Eric took the steps two at a time till he caught up to the historian. “We could climb for more than an hour,” Argos complained.
“I don’t think so,” Diamedes said, continuing to walk. “I don’t expect the leader of the ancients to walk that far.”
“Yeah, and how are you so certain about these ancients?” Argos asked from below.
“I’m not,” Diamedes answered. “I’m taking an educated guess.”
They climbed the stairs in silence and traveled a good bit further than anyone had anticipated. “Maybe the ancients like to climb stairs?” Eric had said at one point.
“It’s getting hard to breathe,” Argos said, and the others felt the same feeling as if the air was not helping much. They did not know if they were simply winded or if they were climbing higher where there was less oxygen. They did not understand the concept of rarified air, but they knew that it was hard to breathe on top of mountains, and they could only imagine the same here.
Finally they reached the top of the stairs and entered into a strange domed chamber that had huge rock slabs around columns all around its center where a gem-encrusted throne-like chair stood. The three men fanned out, looking at the intricately carved columns and adjoining pedestals. Clearly they were in a special place—at least, according to the ancient civilization that built this place.
Eric walked over to a pedestal in the center of the room at the side of the throne chair. The top looked familiar, and he pressed his key into the slot there.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were—”
Argos never got to complete his sentence. The huge rock slabs started to grind down, lowered by some sort of mechanical force, and they were hit by a blast of icy cold air. Snowflakes swirled around them, entering from the outside. Sunlight from a rising sun low on the eastern horizon overwhelmed their sense of sight as they instinctively raised their hands to block the blinding light. Had they not been underground for so long, they would have thought the fainter light of the rising sun to be more than comfortable.
The wind howled around them, and it took a few minutes for their eyes to adjust. Finally, after blinking away tears and approaching the edges of the domed columns, they saw that they had ascended to the top of a mountain peak, one of the taller ones in the Felsic Mountains.
“Is that what I think it is?” Argos pointed to the east, keeping the fainter sunlight at bay by raising his hand to shield it.
“Yes,” Eric answered. “That is Kesh.”
“And there is Ulatha,” Diamedes said, shading his eyes by turning and looking west into a lush green valley spotted with signs of settlements.
But it was what lay to their north that chilled Eric to his core. There, far away but clearly visible, was a distinct jagged mountain peak where the Felsic Mountains branched off, flaring out one branch to the east and the other to the west. There was the mountain that held the lair of the white dragon. Diamedes seemed to understand as well.
“Bloody hell,” the historian said.
Eric couldn’t have agreed more.
Chapter 17
Verdict
“They are coming this way.” Kirost spoke his thought out loud.
“Yes,” Amora agreed, “I lowered my spell, which now makes us visible.”
Kirost watched as the white dragon grew larger in the morning sky. The rising sun was at their backs, and its rays glistened off the shiny armored scales of the flying beast. Far below, the racing forms of wolves and ice devils spotted the rising landscape as they approached the Kesh wizards. “Do you have a plan that you care to share?”
“I told you that I called for reinforcements.” Amora looked at his second-in-command as if he were a school child.
“Yes, right after you sent word for the bounty to be placed on the Ulathan mercenary.” Kirost nodded.
“It appears that the bounty was not effective.”
“Such a shame,” Kirost responded. “Do you know why?”
“Yes,” Amora said. “The Balarian assisted in his escape.”
“Does the Balarian governor know of this betrayal?”
“It remains to be seen.” Amora pondered the question. “If so, then the entire cooperation between our two realms would be called into question. If not, then there is a faction within our ally that has turned against us and must be dealt with . . . swiftly.”
“You know,” Kirost began, “that this news will have serious repercussions for the impending war. Does the High-Mage know yet?”
“He will, once he answers my call.”
Kirost understood the meaning of Amora’s words. The mage had been trying to contact their supreme leader by the use of their critirs, and as usual, the High-Mage would respond when he was good and ready. Kesh culture had a foundation, and even a precedent, in that those with power kept those with lesser power waiting. “In the meantime, I wish to bring us back to my original question with regards to the impending arrival of the draconus.”
Kirost tried hard not to sound alarmed, but Amora knew his old student all too well. The sight of the approaching dragon was something to be concerned about, even with
the two of them. At their last meeting, they were three and the draconus was alone. Now, the white beast had summoned its minions and flew with more power, as it had time to feed and energize itself, while the Kesh were reduced in number to only the pair of them. Without something to intervene, it would cause any wizard concern to face the mightiest of all of Agon’s creatures, even though the approaching beast was not from Agon.
“Our primary objective to stir the creature to action against our neighbor has been achieved. Our secondary goal now is to keep the beast here, in Ulatha, and not allow it to move to our own realm. To that end, we must hold it here until the reinforcements that I have called for arrive.” Amora looked west at the approaching dragon and its small army of wolves and ice devils.
“So you allowed it to see us?” Kirost deduced out loud.
“Yes, we have to ensure it stays here . . . for the time being.”
Kirost stroked his bearded chin with his free hand, shifting the weight of his staff absentmindedly in his other hand. “How came the draconus to be albino?”
“Who knows?” Amora answered, looking at the dragon as it approached. “It was most unexpected. I am not sure even the High-Mage understood that they have different species within their own ranks.”
“If they have albinos within their kind, then they could very well have other abominations of nature dwelling close by.”
“Very observant of you, Kirost. Now, take the kerosene vials I gave you and empty them around the base of our tower.”
“Why now?”
“We must keep the creatures at bay until help arrives. Fire will do exactly that.” Amora tapped his staff on the base of the rooftop and smiled at Kirost. Turning, he walked over to the trapdoor that was open and prepared to descend the stairs. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said, turning to face his former student.
“Yes?” Kirost asked politely.
“Be sure to light the oil on the parapets, as well as the base that you spread out, and do seal this door behind you. Despite the fire, it would not be wise for you to be exposed to the white devil.”
The White Dragon Page 18