by Tim Marquitz
Though none had been so fortunate to sink tooth or spine into her flesh, they had still taken their toll upon her. As she closed upon the glimmer of reflected light, she could no longer do so much as lift the heft of her blade. Its point left a wavering trail in the sand behind her, its hilt held in her hand solely by the long strip of cloth that wound its way around her wrist and hand, tying the sword in place.
Her mind a haze of dust and melted thought, it took her several moments to realize she no longer walked upon the shifting sands of the desert, the quiet crunch of broken glass beneath her heels. She glanced down to see the land had transformed from soft gold to a crystalline blackness that cracked under her weight.
Almost too weary to lift her chin, she forced her head upright. Where the desert had once filled her sight, it was now a field of black glass that stretched into the distant horizon. The whistle of the desert wind, the only sound she’d heard for miles back besides her panted breaths and the whisper of the sand under her feet, had been replaced by an eerie creak. Like a frozen lake, the obsidian crystal moaned under its own weight, tiny cries of its suffering calling out to her.
Nowhere but forward to go, a sentence of death at her back, Braelyn continued without pause. She made an effort to keep her sword from dragging along the crystalline floor as she pushed on, forcing her feet to move ahead one step at a time.
Though she had no sense of time and knew not how long she traveled over the glass, the obsidian desert only became a different kind of torture as the heat was reflected upward to bake her from both top and bottom. She willed her feet forward, each step more arduous than the last until the came to a muddled realization.
She stood in shadow.
She raised her eyes only to find the once unfathomable distance that had sprawled out before her to have been cut short to little more than a couple of horse lengths. A wall of black glass towered before her. It rose up over a hundred feet into the bright morning sky. Its walls ran hundreds of feet in each direction, and at the building’s center loomed a massive portal flanked by obsidian columns, its archway set at close to thrice Braelyn’s height. The smooth perfection of its crystalline exterior was unmarred by either beast or the wearing hand of time.
Just beyond the great building was the source of the eerie glow that had drawn her on during the dark night. A great, bubbling lake of greenish fluid churned and frothed, whispered sparks flickering above its surface. It seemed to go on forever, a hazy blur of steam obscuring the length of it. The scent of it filled her nose, its odor bitter and sharp. She could taste a hint of something metallic in it, a subtle film coating her throat. Her skin prickled as she examined the lake as though a murky breeze had washed over her and had left behind a gritty residue, but the air was still. She didn’t like the feeling.
Her body too taxed to move with any real purpose, she shuffled forward as quickly as she was able. Little more than a dry husk, drained of nearly all her fluid, she reveled in the coolness of the shade that settled over her. Chills prickled her skin and she felt almost cold with the addition of her sword’s energy, but she could not bring herself to sheath the blade. It felt too much like home.
As she neared the gaping entryway, she muscled her sword up and held it out before her unsure of what she might encounter in the dim light beyond. She had no confidence she could ward off an attack should it come, her hand blurring the tip of her sword in its spasms, but she would not go to the earth without resistance. She felt relieved when she slipped inside, finding nothing waiting there to test her resolve.
The air inside the great obsidian construct was even colder than that outside in its shadow. Braelyn could see each breath as she exhaled, the adjustment tying her stomach in knots. Her sight wavered as she pushed forward into the chamber that opened up before her. Other than the gentle glow that seemed to emanate from the crystalline substance itself, the whole of the building was cast in a shade of black.
Crafted entirely of the obsidian stone, the walls, floor, and arched ceiling of the small room ran seamless, no color or feature marring the singularly dark creation. Only the lighter shapes of open portals running at the compass points broke up the overwhelming shimmer of blackness. Nothing to mark the paths from each other, Braelyn went left and strode through the thick-walled archway into the next chamber. Her eyes went wide at what awaited her. She knew then the purpose of the dark construct.
It was a mausoleum.
Unlike the entry chamber, this room rose up to the full height she had seen outside. The walls to the roof were lined ten high with deep-set alcoves, each with a rounded platform at their base, which jutted about a foot into the room. The dark canvass of the walls were broken up by the mass of bodies that stood rigid in nearly every alcove, each dressed in luxurious silver robes whose material seemed to shimmer in the dim light.
Braelyn drew closer for a better look.
Though open to the air, the beings in the alcove showed no obvious signs of deterioration despite their flesh being a pale yellowish-green. She could scent no decay nor see any rot upon the fine material of the robes. Their angular faces were almost abstract in design, large, closed eyes running almost perpendicular above the tiny dot of a nose. The straight line of their mouth was nearly smooth, with no lips to speak of. All were dressed in the same robes, only the slightly sharper features and the gentle swell of breasts gave any indication as to the gender of the deceased.
There was a striking unity to the presentation of the bodies. She glanced down the line to see that each wore a silvered collar about their neck, a thin metal harness that ran in straps crisscrossed over the chests and ending in a belt that encircled their waists, and bracers of the same bronze material at their wrists and ankles. Engraved along the entirety of the metal apparel were symbols she knew not, which were raised slightly above the metal surfaces.
Also housed alongside each, set in a clasp to the left of the body, was a silvered spear and a long, thin blade propped to their right. Every pommel was set with a round, iridescent stone at its tip.
Braelyn examined the alcove closely and could see no obvious attempt at defense. She unwound the wrap from her hand and sheathed her sword, casting a glance about the room. Her breath cold in her lungs, she reached out and ran her finger along the hilt of one of the dead being’s swords. The tip of her finger tingled at its touch and she could feel the gentle warmth that emanated from the metal, though no pain accompanied it.
Encouraged, she grasped the hilt and pulled the blade to her. Only silence greeted her pilferage.
She turned the unexpectedly light sword over in her hand and once more felt the subtle prickle of energy as she clasped her fingers tight about the hilt. The stone at the pommel glimmered to life at her grip, a greenish hue flickering in its depths. The glow seemed to infuse the symbols drawn down its length, each lighting up in turn.
Intense surges of power, stopping just short of painful, traveled down the length of her arm where it seemed to settle in her chest and radiate from there throughout the rest of her body. She felt her weariness retreat at its touch, a sudden feeling of vigor overcoming her that chased at the tail of her aches and pains.
She glanced at the hand that wielded the blade and saw the sun-tortured skin beginning to heal, the raised blisters draining and sinking back into the flesh, the reddened skin paling to its normal shade. She felt the bloody cracks at her lips knitting together and ran her tongue over them, the skin soft and supple after but a few minutes.
The hunger and thirst in her belly had calmed and she felt oddly sated despite how long it had been since she had last consumed either food or drink. Though she knew not the why of it, Braelyn celebrated the feeling, only then realizing how close she’d come to death before she’d picked up the blade.
She felt renewed and clutched tighter to the strange sword, fearful of letting it go lest the wonder of its touch fade with its release. The murderous desert surrounding her, this was not the place for weakness.
Her bo
dy regenerated and her spirit drifting amongst the clouds, she explored the great halls of the dead. The touch of a single sword restoring her flesh and drive, she wondered what other wonders she might find within its hallowed chambers.
An alien world awaited her outside and Braelyn was determined she would not face it unprepared.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Hard on the heels of Zalee, the clustered Pathran emissaries all about, Cael felt lost. They had caught up to the watch commander and the princess and had run to her home to find her family. The boys’ eyes were as wide as the moon as they were led outside, their voices raised in excited chatter. Cael could see the wonder on their faces. Oblivious to the worry that weighed heavy upon their mother, it was as if they’d started off on a grand adventure.
Cael understood how they felt, but he’d seen too much to share in their excitement. With the howls and cries of the Grol reverberating through the city, he wanted only to be gone. He moved closer to the princess’ children, forcing a smile for their sake.
With an angry shout that rivaled the beasts, the princess tore her arm free from the commander’s hold. “I know what’s expected of me, commander.” She called her husband and children to her. “I can find my way to the tunnels without your lead.”
Maltis bowed as the princess spun on her heels and ushered her family before her, men of the guard carrying her senseless father carefully in their arms. Despite her anger, the commander stayed close, Barold right beside her, as well. Zalee kept a measure of distance, her pink eyes in constant motion. Her head swiveled to look everywhere. The Pathra surrounded the party at the rear, their weapons at the ready.
The insistent Grol noises spurred the group on and they moved quickly, the princess leading them back to the courtyard they had only recently left. It was empty save for the corpses of those killed by the Lathahn warrior. The princess chastised her children’s as they gawked and steered them into the Great Hall, her husband at her side, a short blade ready in his hand. The men who carried her father came close behind.
Cael couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the hall as they hurried through it, slipping through a curtained alcove that sat hidden behind a great tapestry on the wall behind the throne. After moving through a short corridor that split three ways at its end, the princess led them to the right, into a long hall. After twenty paces, she stopped suddenly.
“Give me your sword, Falen,” she said to her husband.
He did so, passing it over by the hilt. The princess grasped it in both hands and slid the point into a slot in the ceiling, Cael had not noticed. She pressed it upward until there was a quiet click. Falen set his hand upon the wall to her left and pushed. A portion of the wall swung open without a sound revealing a dark corridor beyond. She withdrew the blade and passed it back to her husband.
Falen went in first, calling out from the darkness a moment later for them to follow. The sergeant went in after, pulling a torch from the sconce set just inside. The princess ushered her sons inside and waved for the rest to follow. At Zalee’s urging, Cael went in before her and made room for the rest.
The corridor dark, he could see little of its design. Behind him, the party fully inside, the princess closed the hidden door. It shut without sound. A sudden flash of light blinded him for a moment as the sergeant lighted the torch, its flickering brightness chasing the darkness away. His vision cleared and he saw they stood within a narrow hallway hewn from natural stone. It ran straight into the darkness beyond the orb’s reach.
The sergeant ahead, the party moved down the hall for what seemed an eternity, coming to stop at a metal gate that sat closed before a steel door. The sergeant grasped the bars of the gate, each as thick as Cael’s arm, and growled. He reached through the bars to strike the door with his fist, only the muffled slap of meat sounding out.
“The prince has sealed the tunnels,” Barold said as he spun about. His eyes seemed to glow against his dark face. There was worry in its lines.
“That bastard,” Falen said, turning to face his wife. “He would abandon his own family?” he asked, as though he thought even the prince above such callousness.
The princess bowed her head and Cael swore he could see tears welling in her eyes. Her husband pulled her close as Barold and Maltis stared at each other, saying nothing.
Zalee slipped past to the gate and set her hand upon it, and then the door in turn. She shook her head. “There is no way past. Is there another route to these tunnels of yours?”
Maltis shook his head. “None that would lead us beyond the walls.”
A growl bubbled low in her throat. “Then we must return the way we came and pray we have not lost our opportunity.”
Without waiting, she stormed off down the corridor. Cael ran to keep up, the shuffle of hurried feet at his back. Zalee led them back to the secret door and through the Great Hall, back out once more into the courtyard. Only there did she stop, raising a hand. The sounds of battle rang in their ears.
Cael could see no fighting, the cluster of tall homes and buildings leaving only the view of the cobblestone streets unimpeded, but he knew it was fierce. Zalee urged them on, winding her way back toward the gate they had come through earlier. The clash of steel and groans of the dying grew louder as they traveled on. He wondered why Zalee had chosen this route, knowing full well the Grol would likely have reached the level by then. The answer was there before him just a moment later.
Just beyond the open gate that led to the level below was the battle he had heard. Grol bodies littered the streets in lifeless piles. The cobblestones beneath them ran red, rivers of blood filling the cracks between the stones. Little more than a blur of movement above the carpet of dead, the Lathahn weaved his way amidst the clustered Grol, beasts dropping in crumpled heaps in his furious wake. The Pathran warrior at his side, she too waded through the invaders with graceful motions, leaving no Grol alive behind her. Neither fighter seemed to see anything but the enemy that stood in their path.
Though they kept their peace, Cael could see the pride on the faces of the Pathran emissaries. Sharpened smiles stretched their mouths. The princess reached out and pulled her children behind her by their collars, both having crowded in front of her as though to shield her from the battle. Falen took their place, but the princess’ eyes never left the fight before her. Cael could not read her thoughts as he could the Pathra’s, her expression guarded.
At his side, Zalee looked about a moment, seeming to come to a decision. She drew close to Maltis, pointing to the wall that loomed just behind the battle. “Keep the party together and make your way to the wall.”
The commander nodded and brought everyone in tight. Barold leading the way once more with Falen just behind, the group sprinted as best they could across the slick cobblestones, dodging bodies until they reached a narrow alley. The sergeant pushed on, the sounds of fighting dimmed somewhat by the nearby homes, and ran until he reached the great wall. As they clustered about, Zalee drew up from behind and came to stand beside the wall.
“As we cannot flee through the streets, the Grol army far too numerous to avoid, there is only one other path for us.” She pointed to the top of the wall. “We must travel above the streets.”
The commander looked at her with narrow, disbelieving eyes. “There is no way above them save for upon the walls, but even that leads us only from one side of the city to the other, with no way across to the next wall.”
“No way for you,” Zalee said. She pulled her boots and gloves off and handed them to Cael as the party stared at her, uncertainty thick in the air. “When it is time, send the children first,” she said, without explaining. She latched onto the wall and crawled up its side, disappearing at the top.
A moment later, the looped end of the silvery rope they’d used to sneak into Lathah dropped beside them. No one moved. Cael growled and motioned to the princess’ youngest child. He was reluctant to leave his mother’s side.
“Put your foot in the loop and grab ahol
d of the knot. Zalee will pull you up.” Malya stood by her son, protectiveness burning in her green eyes. Cael raised his hands, but persisted. “I have seen the miraculous take shape before my eyes, and have even witnessed the Sha’ree speaking with the Goddess Ree. If you would see your sons borne safe from here, you must have faith in Zalee.”
Malya stood a moment, saying nothing as she stared into Cael’s eyes. Finally her reluctance broke and she ruffled her son’s hair. “Go to the rope, Kylle. We will be right behind.”
The boy nodded and Malya watched as her youngest slid his foot into the loop and grasped the knot. Zalee wasted no time and pulled him up, the princess’ stare locked upon her son the entire time. He waved from above before moving away from the edge. The rope dropped down an instant after he was gone from sight. Malya sent her second son up, and followed behind, the limp king being hauled up next. Cael followed behind him.