The most telling revelation struck him as he related to the chambermaster, the high bishop no less, about Bregens succumbing to his injuries. The prelate of Zephyr listened with what could only be perceived as feigned interest. In fact, if someone asked how the high bishop had taken the news, Avarick would have said their spiritual leader appeared bored.
As if Avarick hadn’t spoken a word, the high bishop returned Silurian’s icy gaze. “What of the blade? Is it still enchanted?”
Silurian glared at the callous man. Had he not heard? A young man had died. Needlessly. If the Chamber hadn’t voted the way it had, he wouldn’t have had to sneak away in the middle of the night. Bregens would still be alive, performing his duties upon the stable grounds. Not waiting to be interred beneath them.
Fighting an urge to vent on the heartless high bishop, Silurian shook his head ever so slightly, seething.
The chambermaster stared back at him for a few moments before gaining his feet. Without preamble, he declared, “I’m convening a private meeting of the Chamber.”
Silurian stood up just as quickly. “Why? My mind is already made up. I only came back to save the boy. I’ll be leaving for Madrigail Bay with or without the Chamber’s sanction.” Silurian glanced at Avarick, about to say something to him as well, but decided not to. Instead, he stormed from the chambermaster’s living quarters, the door closing firmly behind him.
Avarick followed Silurian from the room—the door closed more respectfully in his wake.
In the passageway, Avarick called out, “Mintaka! Wait!”
Silurian’s shoulders stiffened. If Avarick intended on stopping him, it would be his last action as Enervator of Gritian.
Avarick caught him at the corridor’s far end, his weapons clinking and clanging loudly in the tunnel, still in their holders.
Silurian spun about, almost taking Avarick’s left eye out with a pointed finger. “Don’t even think about it, Thwart. I’ll not warn you again.”
Avarick stepped back, arms out, palms up. “Easy, Queen Killer, I didn’t come to stop you.”
Avarick’s unexpected words gave him pause.
“I came to join you.”
The abruptness of the revelation stunned him. “Stay outta my way, Enervator. You’re the last person I want help from. If you hadn’t engaged those men in the first place…” He left the rest unsaid and turned to face the heavy door.
Grasping the brass lever, he pushed down. Nothing happened. He pulled up. Nothing happened. Grabbing the handle with both hands he pushed up and down on the handle, pushing and pulling on the door, his movements becoming more animated—the door was locked.
“Damn!” He pounded the oak with the side of his fist. “Guard! Open the door. Guard!”
“Only the chambermaster can unlock that door,” Avarick muttered.
Abraham’s door opened at the opposite end of the hallway.
Avarick and Silurian turned as one.
The red clad high bishop leaned against his doorjamb and raised his eyebrows.
Silurian stomped back down the corridor, Avarick hard on his heels.
“I shall assemble the Chamber at once,” Abraham declared. “I cannot allow you to leave without a full understanding of your intentions.”
That said he disappeared into his quarters and latched the door.
Silurian stopped. He stared helplessly at the Enervator.
Avarick shrugged.
Within half an hour, the chambermaster managed to convene a private session of the Chamber of the Wise. A contingent of armed men liberated Avarick and Silurian from the locked tunnel and escorted them to the Chamber.
No one waited at the double doors of the vast meeting hall to announce their arrival. There would be no pomp and ceremony tonight.
Once inside the Chamber, the escorting guards stopped to close the large doors. Two remained in the outer tunnel while four more took up a position just inside.
Silurian strode down the marble aisle, through the symmetrical array of grey marble pillars. He had accepted that the meeting of the Chamber, a sham though it promised to be, was at this point unavoidable. The sooner they got it over with, the sooner he’d be on his way.
Avarick walked silently beside him.
Approaching the carved steps at the far end of the Chamber, it became apparent that the majority of the chambermen were absent as well. It struck Silurian as odd, but nothing about how the eclectic group of policy makers conducted their business fazed him anymore. Solomon had warned them.
Coupled with the angst he felt toward the council, he considered what role the Enervator had to play in this whole charade. Uncanny as usual, the Chamber whip gave him a smug grin and raised his eyebrows.
Silurian sighed and concentrated on ascending the stage.
Chambermaster Abraham Uzziah, Vice Chambermaster Solomon Io and Vice Chambermistress Arzachel Gruss were already seated. Three more grey bearded chambermen stood beside Gruss, but Silurian had never seen them before, other than briefly at the last council.
Avarick remained by his side as he stopped before Abraham.
The chambermaster was involved in a heated, yet hushed discussion with Vice Chambermaster Solomon Io. When he finally pulled himself away, he gave Silurian and Avarick a knowing smirk, not bothering to welcome them.
Silurian glared at the high bishop. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Very well,” Abraham said, loud enough to include the few in attendance. “I have convened an emergency meeting of the Chamber—”
Silurian frowned. “Convened the Chamber? Only half the ruling body is here.”
Abraham ignored him. “—to discuss Sire Mintaka’s intention of travelling to Madrigail Bay.” He paused.
As if on cue, the three chambermen Silurian didn’t recognize piped up. “Why, that is mere folly.” “You should be heading north to Carillon.” “The king needs every available sword. What good will you be out on the coast when Helleden comes at us from the north?”
Abraham entertained the dialogue for a short time before holding his hands up. “According to Silurian, Madrigail Bay is where he will be of greatest service to the king. On the far side of the realm. A talking crocodile has beseeched him to ignore the wisdom of your counsel and set off on a reckless journey at the whim of the Lord of the Frogs, no less. Silurian believes he must embark upon a hair-brained foray in search of a mystical realm straight out of a child’s nightmare. The Under Realm, no less. He aims to immerse his sword in the waters of a magical stream, thus restoring the enchantment to that cold piece of steel strapped across his back.”
Silurian’s cheeks flamed hot. His armpits moistened and his breathing quickened. Listening to the high bishop tell it, he started to doubt the merits of his plan. It did seem like an irresponsible course of action if he thought about it.
The massive Chamber doors flew open, interrupting his self-recrimination. Abraham and the others jumped to their feet.
A ragged, middle-aged warrior scuffled up the aisle, his colours depicting him as one of Archimedes’ men. His torn and stained attire attested that he had recently seen action.
Two of the guardsmen posted inside the Chamber doors flanked him as he struggled to make his way to the stage. With their assistance he mounted the steps and stumbled to a tenuous halt before the assembled group.
“My lords,” he wheezed, coughing up bloody mucus. He wiped the spittle upon a filthy cuff. “Forgive me, my lords…” He coughed again. He would’ve fallen had the two guardsmen not held him by the elbows.
“Damn it man, spit it out!” Avarick shouted at the teetering militiaman.
Gulping a few deep breaths, he tried again, “Sires,” he gasped, but did not cough. “The high warlord has been gravely injured.”
“What are you on about?” Abraham demanded.
The man didn’t respond. His eyes rolled back in his head.
Avarick grabbed the front of his torn cloak and shook the frazzled man. “How?”
&nbs
p; The militiaman wheezed, his head lolling to either side, “While searching for…” His head rolled in Silurian’s direction. His eyes narrowed. “Him! Lord Archimedes took a quarrel in the back because of him.”
Avarick released the man. The high warlord’s duties would fall upon his shoulders, at least temporarily, should Archimedes succumb to his injuries.
If not for the guardsmen, the militiaman would’ve fallen to the floor. Without prompting, the man said, “We were attacked south of Alpheus’ Arch by a roving band of Kraidic warriors.”
“Kraidic warriors? That’s impossible,” Solomon declared.
The man gasped. “I was sent ahead to warn the Chamber of its imminent peril.”
Everybody turned to the high bishop for direction. When Abraham didn’t respond quickly enough, Solomon nodded toward Avarick, and the Enervator bolted from the Chamber. With the high warlord incapacitated, the defense of Gritian was now in Avarick’s hands.
Vice Chambermistress Arzachel got up and strolled to the nearest guard supporting the militiaman. She whispered into his ear. The large man nodded. Leaving the responsibility of the wounded man to his companion, he turned crisply and marched from the stage. The Chamber doors remained open long enough for him to follow the departed Enervator.
Abraham glared at the floundering man, beseeching him to continue.
The militiaman spoke in short spurts, “We were besieged by an intense storm.” He cast Silurian an angry stare. “It washed away all traces of him.”
“We scouted east, toward the Forgotten Shrine. Nobody knew where to find it, so we headed back to Alpheus’ Arch, hoping to catch this man on his way west.” He coughed up phlegm. “At the Arch, we found traces of people passing south into the Muse.”
The man fell silent, on the brink of unconsciousness. The guard shook him.
The man’s eyes opened, unable to focus on anyone in particular. “We were ambushed by a Kraidic warband. They must’ve realized Archimedes was our leader. He was the first to fall.” He broke into a coughing fit. “The brutes came from everywhere at once. We took to fighting them, but there were too many. A few of us were sent ahead with the injured high warlord, while the rest were ordered to remain behind and slow the Kraidic advance.”
He shut his eyes tight, fighting through his pain. When he opened them again, a profound fear replaced their earlier intensity.
“Scouts were sent out to ward our flanks. They never returned. We found the grisly remains of our forward scouts.” He coughed and his eyes misted up. “Their heads and limbs torn from their bodies. They hadn’t even drawn their weapons.”
Everyone looked at each other, confused.
The militiaman steadied himself long enough to find Abraham’s stare. “I don’t think the Kraidics killed them, Your Eminence. Nor any man, for that matter…” He trailed off, wracked by pain. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped into the guard’s arms, unconscious.
“Enough!” Silurian declared. Too much time had already been squandered. The militiaman’s tale drove that sentiment home. If a Kraidic warband had ventured this deeply into Zephyr, unopposed, the kingdom was in worse shape than he thought. He stormed from the stage.
An irate voice chased him from the platform. It came again, shriller, but Silurian chose not to hear it. It thundered a third time and the Chamber opened to admit the two guards stationed outside, joining their two comrades already brandishing their weapons.
Silurian stopped in the middle of the cavern. Surely Abraham didn’t mean to forcefully detain him. Strange things were indeed happening within the Chamber but Silurian didn’t have time to figure out what.
Abraham pointed. “Seize him!”
The high bishop had gone mad. That was the only explanation for his bizarre behaviour.
Silurian shook his head and strode with purpose toward the Chamber exit. The huge men standing at the exit, bladed their stances, their heavily muscled bodies tense. They meant to fight him!
Silurian raised his eyebrows. So be it.
Despite their toughness, the four battle-hardened Chamber guards flinched when Silurian reached over his shoulder and unsheathed the Sacred Sword Voil. The guards had never witnessed Silurian in a fight, but he could tell by the wary look in their eyes that they had heard tales of his exploits. He also knew, that as members of the Chamber’s elite guard, they were sworn to uphold the chambermaster’s orders.
Silurian stopped out of their reach and gestured for them to step aside. “Come on guys. Let me pass.”
The men stood defiant.
He sighed. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, but I will only say this once. I’m leaving here, and I’m leaving now.”
The guards shuffled uneasily but didn’t step aside.
Surely, they wouldn’t cause him injury. Wasn’t he their supposed saviour?
“You leave me no choice.” Silurian raised his sword, unconsciously finding its balance. He narrowed his eyes and focused on what he needed to do. Emitting a low growl, he said, “This isn’t personal.”
Before the last word reached their ears, his sword had engaged the two men directly before him. The sound of metal blades coming together resonated throughout the Chamber. Faster than thought, Silurian forced the two men back against the door. The guards on either side rushed in to grab him, only to collide with each other as Silurian gracefully dropped low and backstepped, coming up behind them.
Before the large men recovered, Silurian smacked the flat edge of his sword off the back of the largest man’s head.
The guard fell against his partner, who turned in time to see the butt end of Silurian’s sword coming for his temple. He never saw anything else.
A commotion arose from the stage. The sound of heavy footfalls descending the steps and charging up the aisle echoed within the Chamber.
He needed to be away quickly lest they overwhelm him. The last thing he wanted to do was kill a Chamber guard, but if he didn’t get moving fast, they would detain him, and that he couldn’t allow.
The two guards against the door did their best to delay him, allowing the remaining guard and the chambermen charging down the aisle, time to assist with his apprehension.
Silurian threw himself at the guards barring the door, his sword a blur. He unarmed the guard on his left, while parrying the other’s sword as it swept at him. With deft footwork, he manoeuvred the armed guard away from the door. A feigned killing stroke forced the man to lose his balance and stumble backward into the guard arriving at the head of the chambermen.
Unlatching the right door with his left hand, Silurian threw his shoulder at it and the massive door swung outward.
Nimbly stepping through, he pushed the door closed and hurtled down the tunnel—the inevitable pursuit echoed in the passageway behind him.
Dashing by the chambermen’s dining area, several chambermen were enjoying their dinner, apparently oblivious to the fact that a meeting had been convened.
Approaching the fork in the tunnel that led to Alhena’s quarters, he contemplated ducking into the side tunnel to see if his friend had made it home, but that would leave him with no egress from the Chamber complex.
The guards giving chase rounded the bend by the dining hall and spotted him motionless in the intersection.
“Halt, Silurian Mintaka. By order of His Eminence.” One of the guards ordered.
Jumping into a dead run, Silurian gained the outside exit quickly. As fast as he ran, the younger guards, even burdened by the weight of their chainmail, were able to run faster.
Passing through the wooden shack housing the exit door, he heard the approach of hoof beats from the direction of the stables.
The evening sunlight blinded him as he stepped onto Redfire Path. Squinting, he looked up to see a tall man sitting astride a black warhorse, blocking his passage.
The Enervator!
Splendoor Catacombs
Daft. The only way to describe the old man was daft. Unless Rook had missed seeing a hidden led
ge, or a stairway of some sort, or perhaps even, the gods forbid, a rope, there was no possible way to descend the falls. Not if one wanted to be alive when they reached the bottom. The old man had better be carrying a set of wings in that weathered bag of tricks of his or their descent would prove to be a quick one.
Rook crawled back to the lip of the shelf. On hands and knees, he leaned out farther than he was comfortable. He didn’t see any way to even begin descending the falls.
He glanced over his shoulder, trying to spot Alhena. The vertigo instilled by such a simple action almost had him rolling over the brink. He pulled back quickly, dropping to his chest and hugging the shelf rock. There was no way in hell he was descending that. He would sit here and starve to death first.
He crept backward until he felt safe enough to turn around.
Alhena stood calmly in the centre of the rock shelf, ignoring him. What the heck was the old man up to?
Alhena bent at the knees and grasped a thick, rusted iron ring between his feet and yanked.
Nothing seemed to happen at first, but astonishingly to Rook, the platform rumbled beneath him.
A granite hatchway swung upward in Alhena’s hands, its squeaky hinges swinging upon a counterweight hidden beneath the platform.
Rook approached the hole in wonder. An old wooden ladder, lashed together with frayed mariner rope, stretched several feet down to the floor of a tunnel.
Alhena offered him an impish grin and descended the ladder. He retrieved a blackened torch from a rusted iron basket at the base of the ladder and struck a spark to it. The torch flared into a fist-sized flame, flickering wildly in the draft created by the open hatchway.
Rook shouldered his sack and swung his legs over the hole. When he stepped free of the bottom rung, Alhena pushed the torch into his hand and climbed the ladder. Grabbing a loop of rope attached to the hatch’s underside, he shut out the daylight with an eerie scraping of rock upon rock.
Rook shivered. Even in the decent light of the calmly burning torch, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Other than the ladder creaking beneath Alhena’s weight as he descended to join him, and the torch’s soft hiss, no other sound reached their ears—the silence deafening after being subjected to the howling roar of the falls.
Soul Forge Page 16