They reached the main door to the guardhouse. The building had been constructed using granite blocks stacked neatly together. There were still isolated patches of plaster clinging to the walls. These perhaps had been shielded by the thick ivy growing over nearly everything and densely across the ground, threatening to trip with every step.
Karus realized the guardhouse was itself a mini fortress, the walls quite thick and solid. Behind the ivy, there were small slit windows on the first floor, with larger ones on the second floor that could permit someone with a bow to shoot out and downward.
Studying the larger windows, Karus decided that there was not enough room for a person to climb in or out. One such window was slightly larger than the others and positioned right over the door into the building. Karus figured that, should it come to an assault, the window would have been used to toss hot oil, boiling water, and baked sand on those below attempting to break down the door and force their way inside.
Karus’s eyes slid upward. The roof had been constructed out of wood. A handful of rotted support timbers entwined with ivy were all that remained, and these were a fragile shell of what they had once held up.
The door, which was heavily reinforced with rusted iron, was partially ajar, about four inches. Si’Cara peered briefly inside, careful not to disturb the door. She turned to Tal’Thor. They exchanged a series of hand signals. Tal’Thor turned to Karus, Amarra, and Dennig. He held a finger up to his lips and then made a waiting motion with his hand, holding it out palm up. Karus gave a nod of understanding.
The two rangers split up, moving around opposite ends of the guardhouse, clearly intent upon scouting the other side. While he waited, Karus looked around. The fortress was deathly quiet. All that could be heard was the occasional gentle gust of wind, which stirred some of the vegetation within the fortress. When the wind blew stronger, it whistled through the upper reaches of the keep. Karus found the sound eerie, almost disconcerting. It was as if a long-lost soul were trapped up there, suffering and moaning.
There were no bugs buzzing around their heads or amongst the brush. No birds flew or flitted here and there. Karus could see no animals of any kind.
A short while later, the rangers were back. They moved up to the door. Karus went with them. Tal’Thor pushed on it, at first gentle and then with more force. The door did not move. Si’Cara joined him and still it didn’t budge.
“Let me lend a hand.” Karus stepped forward, and between the three of them they were able to shove the door inward several more inches. The door groaned as it shifted, scraping heavily along the stone floor as it moved ever so slightly. The more they pushed, it seemed the more resistant the door became. They strained and forced it open another inch, then it would go no farther, no matter how hard they shoved. Something was right behind the door, preventing it from further movement.
The gap they had created was wide enough to admit Si’Cara. With a bit of squeezing, she managed to slip through and disappeared inside.
She could be heard moving something aside. It sounded very much like she was tossing large rocks. Karus could hear the heavy thud from each toss as it landed. Then she reappeared, gripping the edges of the door. Working from their side, Karus and Tal’Thor pushed, shoving the door with their shoulders. The door opened a little more, enough for the rest of them to slip inside.
The interior was only dimly lit by the partially open door and the slit windows. The air inside the guardhouse was stale and musty, smelling strongly of decay. The ceiling just above and behind the door had partially collapsed. The debris from that collapse was what had blocked the door.
It was a large rectangular room that occupied much of the ground floor. There appeared to be a small storage room and what might have been an office to Karus’s left. The doors to both of these rooms had long since pulled free from their hinges and crashed to the floor, where both still lay, covered in dust. To the right was a staircase.
There was so much debris behind the door that Karus figured some of it was likely from the roof as well as the ceiling. The hole above where the collapse had occurred had been thoroughly filled in from the remains of the roof. This had sealed the ground floor off neatly from the elements. Glancing up at the ceiling and the thick wooden support beams that ran across, Karus wondered on its stability. He hoped it did not come down on their heads.
For the most part, somewhat surprisingly, the interior of the guardhouse seemed to be intact. Everything was covered over in a thick layer of dust. There was a large stout table in the center of the room. On either side of the table, racks had been mounted to the walls. In these, an assortment of weapons rested where they had been placed so very long ago. Beyond that, the only other furnishings in the room were a handful of stools, several trunks, and two barrels, both of which had been placed in the corner by the staircase. A single unstrung bow rested on the tabletop. It looked very similar to the kind of bows Si’Cara and Tal’Thor carried, which meant it was most likely of elven make.
Amarra joined them in the room, and a moment later Dennig. The dwarf was so wide that he had to struggle a bit to fit through the door. Once in, he peered around as Karus poked his head into the storage room. There was only an old bucket and broom inside. The office next to it had a stool and a small camp table. One of the legs had long since given way and the table lay tilted over. A dust-covered stylus lay on the floor.
“Good old dvergr work,” Dennig said. He patted the interior side of the stone wall, setting off a small puff of dust. “I thought so, but now that I see the construction of this building up close, I am certain. It really holds up against the long years. It’s why we take such care when we build. We want to leave something of ourselves behind, a lasting moment to our life’s work.”
“I thought the elves built this,” Karus said.
“Them fairies? Don’t make me laugh.” Dennig barked and drew the ire of Tal’Thor in the form of a withering glare. If looks could cut, Dennig would be bleeding. The dwarf grinned back at the elf. “Elves prefer to work mostly with wood,” Dennig said to Karus, becoming serious. “They have strange notions about cutting and shaping stone into buildings. They think it’s cold and an insult to life or something like that.” Dennig patted the wall again, sending more dust into the air. A moment later he sneezed loudly, then wiped his nose with the back of his forearm. “This is most certainly dvergr work. Some of my people must have been here long before the elves moved in and claimed these lands. I wonder who they were and what clan they belonged to. Maybe there will be a sign somewhere.”
Dennig moved deeper into the room. Each footfall kicked up a small puff of dust. He stepped over to the racks of weapons and leaned forward, studying them. The dwarf walked slowly along, looking carefully over the rusty old weapons. Like everything else, they were covered in dust.
With his sandal, Karus moved aside the dust on the floor. Unsurprisingly, he found the foundation was some form of concrete. When possible, Romans preferred to build using concrete. It made construction easier and quicker than working exclusively with stone.
Now that they were moving about the room, more dust found its way up into the air. It tickled at Karus’s nose as he followed after the dwarf. Dennig sneezed again. It sounded like a blast in the room.
“You could wake the dead with that sneeze,” Tal’Thor said, looking around.
“I don’t think we want to do that,” Amarra said quietly. “With luck, the dead will rest until we leave this place.”
Dennig glanced over at her. His eyes narrowed as he clearly wondered if Amarra had been jesting. A moment later he appeared about to sneeze again. The dwarf made a monumental effort to suppress it, holding his nose tightly and scrunching up his face. He relaxed several heartbeats later, the sneeze fully suppressed.
“So,” Dennig said, glancing back at Karus, “what does this sword of yours look like?”
“That is a good question,” Karus said, for he was not sure.
“You don’t know, do you?�
� Dennig asked with some surprise. Then he stopped and looked around the dimly lit room. “There have to be at least three dozen swords here. How will you know the sword when you find it?”
Dennig had a point. Karus had absolutely no idea what Rarokan looked like. For all Karus knew, the sword was in this very room and not in the keep like Si’Cara had said it would be. He gazed about, eyes raking the weapons.
“The sword will make itself known,” Amarra said, sounding very sure of herself. “Karus will recognize it.”
He wondered for a moment how she could be so certain but then chalked it up to her connection with the High Father. If Amarra said the sword would make itself known, he had faith that it would. He would not leave this ruin of a fortress without Rarokan. It was as simple as that.
Karus began looking at the various swords resting in the racks. They were covered over in the dust of ages. Cobwebs traced their way in an intricate lattice between the weapons, the racks, and the table. Karus brushed a web he’d just walked through off his arm. It was very apparent no one had entered the guardhouse in years.
There were a wide range of weapons on the racks—battle hammers, axes, spears, bows, and even a mace. However, the vast majority of the weapons in the room were swords. These ranged in size and scope from the two-handed kind to a single badly rusted and corroded short sword that looked very much like a gladius. There was something about it that drew his curiosity. Had other Romans come to this world before the Ninth?
Karus reached out a hand. He considered picking it up, then changed his mind and moved on. It might once have been a fine weapon, but now it was nothing but junk.
“Would you look at this beauty,” Dennig said, moving closer to one of the racks on the other side of the room. Karus turned. The dwarf was studying a very large two-headed battle axe that was thick with dust. Under the dust the blade had a dull appearance to it, but without rust like all of the other weapons. Dennig looked over at Amarra, eyebrows raised. “This axe is dvergr make. I would like very much to examine it. Do you think it safe?”
Amarra joined Dennig and visually examined the axe. She held out her hand toward it, but did not quite contact the weapon. She closed her eyes, once again searching within herself. Everyone waited. Her staff pulsed, momentarily lighting up the room. Then it faded back to a dull, somber blue glow. She opened her eyes and reached out to touch the axe with a finger. It was a momentary touch, then she pulled her hand away, shaking the gray dust off her fingers.
“Unlike the sword belonging to the skeletal warrior, I sense nothing wrong with this weapon,” Amarra said. “That was different.”
“How so?” Dennig asked, both eager and concerned at the same time.
“It was almost as if touching the warrior’s sword might awaken the soul trapped within,” Amarra said. “But this is different. I believe it should be safe for you to examine it.”
Karus did not want to see the dead come to life or have to deal with the shades of those deceased, killed by the magic of the fortress. Dennig, however, seemed wholly unconcerned. He did not need any further prompting. He reached forth a hand and gripped the thick wooden handle of the axe and pulled it off the rack. Dust flew in the air as he swung around, admiring the axe in his hands.
“This is a weapon fit for a thane,” Dennig exclaimed excitedly. “I would very much like to keep it. Does anyone have a problem with that? Speak now if you do.”
Karus looked to the elves. “This is your fortress. What do you think?”
“I don’t have a problem with him taking the axe,” Tal’Thor said. “Elves do not use such weapons. Si’Cara, what about you? Do you care if the dwarf claims what was once his people’s?”
Si’Cara shook her head, indicating that she did not have an issue with him taking the axe.
Karus turned to Amarra. “Well?”
“He is the only one of us without a weapon,” Amarra said with a shrug of her shoulders. She gazed a moment more at the axe in the dwarf’s hands. “I would feel better were he armed.”
“It’s yours,” Karus said, turning back to the dwarf.
“Hah!” Dennig did a little dance. “I am very happy I elected to come along with you. I shall do the master smith who crafted this beautiful piece of art proper justice. It shall sing in the face of my enemies. Together we shall gain great legend … great legend indeed.” Dennig paused, looking down at the axe in his hands. “But first, my new friend, I must name you. A weapon such as this deserves a name.”
“Maybe it already has one,” Karus said, not a stranger to named weapons. It was not uncommon for legionaries to give their swords a name. The Celts did the same. The finer the sword, the more likely it was named.
Dennig looked over at him, a strange expression crossing his face. “You think so?”
“I don’t know,” Karus admitted, somewhat amused. “If it is as fine as you say, what do you think?”
“Hmmm … that is something to think on. Some say once named, it’s unlucky to rename a weapon.” Dennig gazed down on the axe, his enthusiasm waning slightly. “But it’s been here a while.” The dwarf ran his fingers through his beard. “I suppose even if it were named, it would be impossible to know, as the previous owner is surely dead and gone, feasting in the Hall of Ancestors.” He looked up at Karus. “I don’t think his shade would mind. No, there should not be any harm in giving it a new name. What shall I call it?”
“Something else for you to think on, I guess,” Karus said.
“Wise advice,” Dennig said seriously and gave a nod. “Such decisions should never be rushed. I will think long and hard on this and give it the thought it deserves.”
Si’Cara picked up one of the unstrung bows that had been lying on a rack. She shook the dust off and then turned the weapon over gingerly in her hands. Under the dust of ages, there was a slight gleam to the smooth wood, almost as if it were lacquered. She blew more dust off the bow and ran her hand along the smooth edge, feeling the grain of the wood with her thumb.
“Do you recognize this?” Si’Cara asked, handing the bow over to her husband.
Tal’Thor examined the bow closely in the dim light and then shook his head. “I do not see any marks which might tell me of ownership.” He looked up at Si’Cara briefly. “It was a very long time ago. Without a mark, it could belong to any of them or none. It may have simply been here before they came, a replacement or spare should one of the prison guards have need.”
A frustrated look came over Si’Cara as Tal’Thor set the unstrung bow back down, returning it where it had been on the rack. He was about to turn away to explore further, then hesitated, looking down at the floor by the table’s edge. He squatted down, peering underneath.
“What do we have here?” the ranger breathed.
A moment later, Tal’Thor emerged with a large leather-wrapped bundle, very much like the sealed quivers that the rangers carried around. The leather, coated in dust, was cracked and in poor condition. It had turned black with age. He set it gently on the table and began unfastening the knots, which, at his touch, disintegrated into bits, coming apart in his hands.
“What is it?” Karus asked, stepping nearer to the two rangers. Both were looking down at the bundle. Karus could sense their excitement as Tal’Thor opened it, slowly pulling back the leather sleeve.
“Arrows?” Karus said.
Tal’Thor drew out a blue-fletched arrow and held it up for Karus to see. The end of the arrow did not have a sharp point, but was more snub-nosed, almost flat.
“Not just any arrows,” the ranger said, with barely concealed excitement. “These are special, very special. My people once made missiles like this one, and in abundance. Sadly, we have lost that art. Only a handful of these remain. They are incredibly valuable, treasures to be conserved until a time of great need. Those few that remain are hoarded by the great families.”
Si’Cara took the missile from Tal’Thor, holding it as if it were a precious gem. She ran her finger along the smooth shaft.
“They are made with magic.”
“Magic,” Karus said. He felt uncomfortable at the thought of such things. Magic was something he did not understand and could not control. Certain items like the lanterns were practical enough, but there was so much he did not know, and that worried him.
“I’ve heard about those.” Dennig edged closer. “Never thought that they were real, just tall tales.”
“Oh, they are very real,” Tal’Thor said as he began to carefully remove the remaining arrows from the bundle, one at a time. He laid them out upon the table, lining them up. There were ten arrows all told, with a variety of different colorations and patterns on their fletching. Both he and Si’Cara gazed down on them with something akin to wonder and amazement.
“Are they dangerous?” Karus asked.
“Only to those who wish us ill.” Si’Cara flashed him a ferocious look before turning her attention back to the arrows. She took five. “These are mine. You can have the rest, Tal.”
“Can I have that one? You took two of the same.” Tal’Thor pointed at one of the arrows in her hand. It was the blue-fletched arrow with the snub nose. “I’ve always wanted to see what that type could do.”
“I don’t think so,” Si’Cara said. “It’s mine. Besides, husband, you owe me for what you did to me.”
Tal’Thor shot her an almost pained grimace. Instead of further protest, he withdrew his hand and gathered up the remainder of the arrows, adding them to his own bundle. He carefully tied the bundle closed. He glanced once more under the table, checking to make sure there was nothing else down there.
“If they are so valuable,” Karus said, “why just leave them lying about?”
“They were intentionally placed there,” Tal’Thor said. “Of that I am sure. One of the Warriors of Anagradoom left them for a reason. Then again, now that I think on it … perhaps they were meant to be retrieved later and just were not, forgotten until we came.”
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