Sesti crossed her arms. Her ears flicked in irritation. Cold blue eyes roved the group and landed on Jaeger. The eastern borne warrior had doubled over, both hands braced on the broken table. Chest heaving with emotion, his gaze remained hidden.
“Perhaps they didn’t know,” he muttered. A chilly gust of air riffled his dirty blond hair until it stuck up in sweaty spikes.
“What is done is done,” Jaeger continued after a long silence. “We know now what we must do. We cannot let the past lead us astray. That is, perhaps, how this whole war began.”
Sesti frowned. “What do you mean?”
“How does evil intrude unseen? How does an entire world remain blind?”
“I…don’t know.” She blinked. Not knowing was a rarity for the knowledge hungry elf.
“It doesn’t intrude, it hides in plain sight. Not as a foe,” Jaeger said softly. “But as a friend.”
Sesti’s arms fell to her sides. “No one ever suspected the Rodon was–is–the Dro-Aconi. He led your people over the ages, biding his time, and building his own army.”
Jaeger looked up. “We need answers. What is the Crown of Gods and why does Rodon seek it? Is it a weapon?”
Ivo ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. A headache stabbed twin pains behind them. He muttered, “How is it your people ended up here in the Windwalker’s Citadel, Gabaran?”
Gabaran ’s starlit eyes flared. “Our people were decimated, sundered, in The Fall. We lost our home and faith and fled into exile. We found this city, long abandoned and harboring nothing more than dust and silence.”
Ivo’s grimace matched the elf’s.
“What now?” Jaeger paced the edges of the round room. He stretched his arms to get a feel of the healed muscles and bone. All that remained was another collection of scars to decorate his skin. Satisfied with the unrestricted motion, he halted and turned to study the far too silent group.
No one looked at him. All gazes were trained in various shades of suspicion at the ancient tome. It rested at the far side of the broken table, as far from the scrap of parchment as possible while leaving it well within the sights of six people.
“We may be able to use the book to decipher this map,” Emaranthe said. Her voice, sudden in the tense stillness, made everyone jump and turn to look at her. “If spelled, there must be a way to read it. We need to see.”
Ivo snorted beneath his breath, but spared commenting when her gaze hardened on him for a split second.
“Gabaran, I do not trust an arcane tome, but what if she is right?” Ivo stepped back from the table.
He halted beside the elf. “The map is yours, where do we go from here?”
Starlit eyes flared in the shadows. A muttered growl, muffled by a sharp elbow from his niece, prodded him closer to both suspect items.
“We need to use the map to locate The Crown of Gods before Rodon the does. We need to know what it is and why he wants it. Is this correct?” Gabaran studied each face in the faint light. The range of emotions was tellingly heartbreaking.
Jadeth swallowed, but her chin lifted. “We only wait for your expertise, Gabaran.”
Gabaran frowned, taken aback by the sentiment. “My expertise?”
“You are the hunter. You have roamed our world longer and farther than any of us here.” Dehil muttered. He slipped out of the shadows and stood beside the redheaded healer. Inky black hair half covered his ravaged face, but the visible half was tight with something more than dread… the opposite, something he’d not believed they’d had before now. Hope.
Gabaran nodded at the Eideili and frowned. Why hadn’t Jadeth’s healing power fixed the elf’s ruined face? He opened his mouth to ask, but snapped it shut just as quickly. It was none of his business, this magic the immortals bore. It had cost him everything a thousand years ago and he put little stock in trusting it. The fact that it had also cost them dearly was not lost to him either.
“You speak the truth, old friend,” he mused. “I have walked our world for twelve thousand years, yet that has not been lifetime enough to see it all. Ein-Aral is far more vast then my mind can grasp. I fear my knowledge will fail us.”
Dehil’s gaze wavered. It settled on Jadeth. He visibly swallowed and turned back to face the old elf .
“I trust you. We,” he said. “All trust you.”
All gazes locked on Gabaran as Dehil spoke and a quiet calm of confidence bled into the air.
“We know you can do this, brother,” Emaranthe added. Her gaze brightened, the edges of her brown eyes now ringed with a curl of fire. She slid off the table to face her adopted brother. “You have seen this world. You know it like no other.”
Gabaran swallowed and met each gaze leveled at him. Even his niece was watching with a half smile.
“Very well.” He reached for the scrap of paper with visibly shaking hands. It was a small, fragile, thing that they had so much hope riding on. So much blood too, he thought. The large pads of his fingers pressed against her small bloodied fingerprints and his heart jerked and twisted as if wanting to throw itself on the cold stone ground. The pain merged with determination and he smoothed the parchment flat. He studied the tattered edges and faded script.
“Dehil, how much of the map is missing?” Gabaran asked. The silence that met his words was deafening, but the Eideili male stepped into the beam of light and leaned on the table with knuckles that had been scarred as badly as his face. The others took his cue and ringed the table in watchful silence.
Dehil studied the map before answering.
“Unfortunately, a lot. But it appears the two things that sent Rodon into a frenzy are here.” He pointed to the small, nearly illegible writing on one side of the jerky scribbles and a dot further below it. The word or phrase was short and unpronounceable to Dehil. He tried anyway.
“Iad-Aleh? Eee-alay? These appear to represent mountains.” He traced the ring of jagged shapes forming a misshapen, sideways 8. “As far as maps go it was woefully under-detailed even when I saw it whole. I don’t think even translating this would help us.”
“What could it mean?” Jaeger leaned close enough to study the scratch-like writing
“The library. You need to see. Come!” Sesti snagged the book, spun on her heal, and bolted for the door before anyone could even begin to ask.
“Sesti, wait!” Gabaran bellowed after his niece, scooped up the map, and followed. Barely daring a stunned glance between them, Jadeth, Ivo, Emaranthe, Jaeger, and Dehil rushed to follow.
They barreled through a maze of icy passageways and darkened corridors until it appeared as if they were deep within the mountains themselves. At a loss in the endless maze, the group followed the sharp tongued she-elf in silence, their shadows skating along narrow stone walls bathed in Emaranthe’s flickering flame lamp.
***
“They hide like cowards in Windwalker halls.” Rodon paced along the northern edge of the massive ravine scarring the desert landscape. Both suns hung low in the sky. “Predictable fools. They didn’t bother covering their tracks at the bottom of the mountain.”
He wheeled on Garista, crumpling the missive in his hand. Her black eyes remained devoid of emotion. Nothing made her twitch. His smirk widened into an approving leer. Oily spittle smeared the corner of his mouth. He turned back to study the encampment entrenched in the gorge below.
“We must reach The Crown of Gods before they do. Without it I cannot repay them for thousands of years of hell. Break camp. We ride for The Unknown City to prepare for war.” Jagged teeth split in a sneer.
Garista bowed and melted into the shadows to relay the orders.
Rodon watched his army prepare. They scurried like mindless rodents, oblivious and senseless. A thousand years of infiltration had paid off ten-fold. The entire army was his to command. The fool Atil had martyred himself before he could kill the winged bastard. Ishelene had vanished long before the final spell command had rooted in the meager minds of the legions…but the bitch was no threat. Sh
e was empty headed and arrogant.
“One day.” Rodon snorted over the rhythmic march of iron boots on stone. “One day soon. I will have my vengeance.”
Inky black eyes, devoid of emotion, scanned the sky. Dark clouds roiled at his silent command. Thunder rumbled, at first deep and distant, then cracked repeatedly overhead in time with Rodon’s heartbeat. The beat of thunder pulled more power from the soul imprisoned at the center of the Immortal Earthlander. Power in the form of lightning and rage tugged an unwinnable war. The roiling energy spilled into the rest of his body with a spike of lightning. Anchored to the storm above, Rodon took a single step and rose skyward on stilts of pure, raw energy.
He dropped down into the ravine in one fluid step. Thunder rumbled. Loose stones rattled. Trailing the stench of scorched earth in his wake, the Stormwarden led the enslaved Legion north east to the portal that would ferry them back into The Unknown City.
***
The vertical pool of light rippled and fingers of static crackled between the Starstone statues bookending the portal. Each pair of statues stood well over forty meters high and had once been in the images of his people. He remembered the day they were made and why. He’d had to hide the turmoil he felt ever since, but the passage of hundreds of years did little to quell the rage, pain, and need for revenge. Only one thing could do that… the Crown of Gods.
Rodon grimaced at the statues’ faces. Worn by centuries of erosion, the familiar features of the ancient people were no longer identifiable. An added insult. Anger rose with the bile stinging his throat and he turned away to the waiting Garista. He swallowed and returned to the head of the army.
“March the Legion through. Make sure any survivors are executed immediately. We retake The Unknown City and its power,” he said. He waited for his orders to be passed from Garista to the individual Commanders before adding, “After the last soldier enters, disable all but the portal in the great hall. None enter or leave without my knowledge.”
She bowed. “On your command, My Lord.”
The columns of warriors, Healers, Mages, Spies, Guardians, and the support groups made of Immortals with lesser powers would take hours to cross through the portal and reform ranks in The Unknown City. Stabilizing and maintaining utter control of the vast city was paramount.
Rodon waited for a small contingent of Guardians to walk through the pool of light before following. He drew his weapon, a god-forged spear easily twice his height and tipped with a spearhead made of the same metal as most of The Unknown City. It gleamed off-yellow in the glow of the portal as Rodon approached the twin statues. The light from the spearhead split into hundreds of smaller beams of light that could have easily burned holes in anything it touched. He first discovered the powerful metal that absorbed sunlight and bounced it back in deadly beams right after The Fall. It was just as powerful as Starstone.
The rippling light enveloped Rodon, dragging tendrils of fluid energy across his body. It was, perhaps, semi-intelligent as well as ancient. It would only let Immortals pass through without harm. Unfortunately, the surviving Immortals that somehow escaped his shadow could still gain entry or exit, and that was something he had to stop.
The throne room in the great hall was deserted, darkened. Lit only by the wavering glow of the constructed portal and a handful of small braziers in the corners, it stank of dead air and rot. The broken windows, shredded tapestries, and splintered oak doors earned a grunt. The Immortals had not gone down without resistance, but in the end they were too weak.
Rodon moved to the plain stone throne topping the tiered dais and sat. The two empty wooden seats at either side mocked him in their weighty silence. His Second approached, her face set and just as expressive as the floor beneath his boots.
“Garista, search for any other survivors and execute them. Reform ranks in the bailey, then seal the other portals.”
The enslaved mage nodded and stood at attention as thousands of soldiers marched into the room, turned on heel, and exited the wide doors bookended by two Guardians. It would be days before they were ready to march and those hours would be used wisely.
Rodon steepled his fingers and propped his chin on them. Black bled out of his eyes until steely gray remained, but his gaze remained unfocused, his thoughts turned inward.
“Where would they hide The Crown of Gods?” he asked out loud. The marching of thousands of iron boots on slick stone echoed in his mind like a war drummer gone mad. He frowned. Unlike many, if not most Immortals, this body was his first. So only his memories, and this body’s, were present and fueled by a rage and jealousy unmatched. Of course, Ishelene and Atil, too had avoided multiple reincarnations. Rodon’s frown intensified at the thought.
“Atil. You can be a problem, old friend, if you come back in time to rejoin the enemy against me.”
He stood and rounded on the vacant throne sitting one step lower. Like Atil, it was old, plain, scored with scars, and broken. Goosebumps crept along Rodon’s exposed forearms as the empty seat reminded him of the old Windwalker’s empty eye sockets. They had seen everything, this he knew, but now he wondered just what the sightless Immortal had seen. A thread of panic seeped into the chill and twisted.
“No, no you can’t do this to me now.” He lashed out with a powerful kick. The crack of wood splintering sent a satisfying surge through him. It replaced the suspicion and doubt. Chuckling with manic glee, Rodon kicked again. And again. Wood chips and splinters clattered across the stone floor, unfelt and unheard by the enslaved marching through the great room.
Breath rasping, Rodon paused to study the destruction of the throne. Satisfied, he turned on Ishelene’s. The elf bitch’s seat sailed across the room to crash into a stone wall. Pieces of dark wood painted with delicate green filigree leaves rained down on the marching slaves and turned the vast floor into a sea of sticks.
Rodon sat on the remaining throne and smiled.
Chapter Six
Sesti placed the palm of her left hand over the four pointed star carved into the wall blocking their path. The wall groaned and inched to the right, slowly sliding into the side of the tunnel.
“It’s a door,” Ivo grunted. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”
Sesti’s smile faded. “And are likely to never see another. Welcome to the Library.”
The wall scraped to a halt and everyone strained to see into the well of darkness beyond it. At the center of a massive oval shaped room, a pillar of light poured from somewhere high above, much like the small oculus in the other rooms, but many times larger in diameter. Easily thirty feet across, the beam of light bounced off a twenty meter tall object beneath it and scattered in all directions at once. Illuminated by a cold white glow, rows upon rows of stone shelves bookended by stone pillars appeared out of the darkness.
Sesti stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. “The oculus only opens when the door does, so unless Emaranthe wants to test the fragile nature of the tomes with her floating lamps, we’d best leave it ajar.”
Emaranthe stepped into the room, her gaze on the object at the heart of the pillar of light. She let the fire hovering within her outstretched hand gutter.
“What is that? A statue?” she asked. “Why have I never been here before?”
Sesti looked down at her with a frown. “I only found it after you left us. I needed some way of keeping myself busy.”
Emaranthe looked away, her lips set.
Ivo studied the massive object above them, only half hearing the elf woman’s words.
“It’s a statue holding something. Can’t see what from here. Come on.”
He slipped past Sesti, and reached for Emaranthe’s hand. She grasped it and let him tow her away from her adopted sister.
The others followed close behind. Jaeger eyed the moveable door with suspicion.
They spread out to inspect the shelves. Bundles of loose parchment, rolled up scrolls, bound tomes, and several tipped and dried out inkwells lay scattered and forgotten. Dust several
decades thick blanketed everything.
Jadeth pinched her nose and backed away. “This is insane. How old are these?”
“Very old. The Windwalkers here fell early on in the first wave of attacks, from what I could tell,” Sesti replied. She led them past the end of the row toward the center of the massive round, domed room, where the giant oculus poured light on top of the statue. Dust motes danced in the bright white light. “Some of the diaries and ledgers are still readable. Here, this is where I found that tome.”
Jadeth sneezed as if to punctuate Sesti’s words. The sound echoed and ages of dust turned into a frenzy in the beam of light, neatly highlighting everyone’s startled stares. Warmth crept up her cheeks, but she cleared her throat and everyone resumed staring at the large rectangular footprint where the book sat. What it sat upon was the interesting part.
The object catching and distributing the light through the room was indeed a statue. Easily twenty meters tall, it was one of four stone humanoid figures back to back, each facing outward in a different direction. The figure closest was kneeling, both palms outstretched as if cupping something. Giant stone fingers gently curved around the dusty shape of where the tome sat, undisturbed, for ages. Sesti gingerly replaced the large book and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Jaeger’s attention moved to the two standing figures. Back to back, their arms stretched high above their heads to cradle a giant, round object.
“The light is bouncing off the object on top,” Jaeger said. “It isn’t stone.”
Ivo stepped back and craned his neck to peer up at it. “He’s right. It looks like iron, like our weapons and shields.”
They spread out to inspect the rest of the beautiful, old, sculpture. Gabaran circled the figures, dragging long fingers along the rough stone. It crumbled at his touch and stirred into the air. He let go and stepped away before he did any more damage to the ancient statue.
Exiles & Empire Page 6