Menthliot approached, dangling a large object from his right hand—a bloody dagger in his left.
Before Silurian recognized what Menthliot carried, the Voil wizard heaved it at him.
The spheroid object bounced with a sickening crack in front of the gouge left behind by the uprooted chunk of marble crushing his legs.
The object was some poor creature’s head. The atrocity skidded into the gouge and came to rest, staring vacantly at him. Wisps of grey hair covered part of the face. A long grey beard, stained red, lay twisted around the agonized face. Alhena’s vacant gaze stared back at him.
Silurian gagged. Adrenaline screamed through him. He no longer felt the weight of the slab He glared murder at the Voil wizard.
Menthliot smiled, exposing row upon row of jagged teeth. The makings of another lightning bolt crackled along his dagger’s edge.
Seething, Silurian slammed the Sacred Sword Voil into the marble slab pinning his legs. The massive rock exploded in a shower of stone shards.
Menthliot stopped walking. The energy sizzling along his dagger winked out as several marble slivers penetrated his hide.
Before the Voil wizard had a chance to defend himself, Silurian jumped to his feet and hoisted his sword high. The feral roar escaping his throat drowned out the crackling of white-hot energy materializing along Menthliot’s dagger.
Silurian’s sword slashed toward the marble floor, cleaving the vile wizard from shoulder to hip. As the dead wizard fell away, the unnatural lighting winked out.
Silurian stood in the ghostly semi-darkness, the tunnel lit by the muted light of smoldering tapestries and the waning glow of his sword. He dropped to his knees before the head of his dear friend and wept.
The charred tunnel became still as the remaining light failed him. He knelt, shaking with grief, desolate and alone in the absolute darkness of the Under Realm.
A wave of vertigo spun the tunnel around him as his exhausted body relinquished its hold on consciousness.
Pursued
The burbling Marrow Wash played havoc with Rook’s nerves. He had no idea how Thetis put up with his crushing grip on her arm, but he wasn’t about to let go. His bow dangled uselessly in his left hand. In his own realm, he was lethal with it. In the Under Realm darkness, the bow was dead weight.
Thetis’ movements were self-assured as she led him over, around and through obstacles unseen to him. She hadn’t offered much in the way of conversation since the darkness fell, other than the obligatory, ‘step right’ or ‘step up.’
During brief periods of time when Rook was able to calm his mind, he thought about Silurian. He knew the man better than most. As such, he appreciated the fact that he was still alive after their recent incident. Ever since their time in the Wilds, Rook had come to know that as benevolent as the old Silurian used to be, the new Silurian had no qualms of killing anyone who stood in his way. Thank the gods for whoever had shot that poison dart.
He tightened his grip on Thetis.
The Voil. Nothing else made sense. The Voil must have coerced Silurian into believing Thetis was evil.
Seafarer’s words echoed through his mind, “Heed my warning, Rook. Our hope, Zephyr’s hope, depends on you two staying together. If you become separated, we may all be lost.” Perhaps the Voil also knew this to be true, and now he walked alone but for Thetis.
The Marrow Wash slapped loudly beside them. He swallowed. If the Sentinel rose from the river and slew them, would the result really be any different than if Silurian had killed them yesterday?
He shook his head. He shouldn’t have allowed yesterday’s events to dictate his future. He had been manipulated by…
He pulled up short, yanking on Thetis’ arm.
“What is it?” Thetis asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
“I shouldn’t have left the company.”
“What are you talking about? They cast you out.”
“No, they didn’t. The Voil did.”
“More like the Voil cast me out.”
Rook let her arm drop. He located her shoulder and gripped hard. “Whatever. It was a ruse. The Voil are in league with the Sentinel. I don’t understand how they convinced Silurian to think you’re evil, but they did. What matters is we are separated, and that’s not good.”
“There’s not much we can do about it now,” Thetis said and spun around, breaking his grasp.
Rook couldn’t see, but he knew by her reaction that something had caught her attention. “What is it?”
She didn’t respond right away. When she did, he heard the concern in her voice, “I’m not sure. Something is happening within the canyon walls.” She paused. “I detect a strong magical disturbance somewhere behind us. A struggle is happening.”
“What?” He located her arm and stepped closer. “The Sentinel?”
“Aye, yes,” she said at once, then corrected herself, “no, actually, not the Sentinel. It’s hard to tell. Someone conjures a powerful sorcery. The quest is in peril.”
“We’ve got to help them,” Rook said, trying to peer through the inky darkness in a futile effort to discover a passageway into the cliff face. He released his hold upon Thetis, ready to run blindly toward the canyon wall.
A distant laugh echoed up the canyon.
Rook sensed the malign sorcery at play—the foulness almost palpable in the air. He winced. How had he let himself become separated from the quest? Seafarer and Alhena had warned him not to let this happen.
He located Thetis again and pulled her to him, his free arm about her waist. He felt her shudder, and then the presence of the magic was gone.
He whispered, “I sensed it too.”
“Aye. Such power rarely goes unnoticed. Perhaps it was the Sentinel.”
Rook bowed his head. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have allowed us to part company. If anything happens to Silurian…” He didn’t know how to finish that statement.
Thetis started upriver.
He let his hands slide from her waist.
She stepped back and embraced him.
He buried his face into her neck and wept.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Their loss is profound. Let’s hope we are equal to the task ahead.”
Rook shook his head rapidly. “We shouldn’t have left them. You and I aren’t strong enough to do what must be done.”
“And what could we have done to prevent their death?”
Their death? Silurian, dead? Her words confirmed what he refused to believe. It hit him like a battering ram. Tears rolled off his cheeks. “Anything. Everything! We should have tried. You could’ve made a difference.”
“No, my love. My presence may have prolonged their death, but in the end, we would be dead too. I am not strong enough to face the Sentinel. We made the right choice.”
“The right choice?” Rook shouted. “How can you say that? They’re dead. The quest, is dead. Silurian is…” His voice cracked, “My best friend is dead. Without him our mission is impossible. Helleden has won.”
“No. Never impossible,” Thetis declared. “If we had been in the realm of the cliff dwellers with the quest, then yes, it would’ve been impossible. But you and I are still alive, and as long as we are, we maintain the ability to try. That much we can do.”
Rook didn’t respond.
Thetis hugged him, running her fingers through his matted hair.
When his heaving breaths abated, he broke free of her embrace and held her at arm’s length, his bow still clutched in his left hand. “The cave dwellers offered the quest sanctuary from the Sentinel. They claim to have lived long within the wall of stone without the Sentinel reaching them. If what they say is true, how has the Sentinel managed to invade their domain now?” He fell silent for a moment. Everything seemed so confusing. “Unless.”
Thetis completed his thought. “Perhaps the cave dwellers are the evil ones. I fear it is as I said, but Silurian’s mind was poisoned against me. I sensed a vileness from the moment we d
escended into the canyon. I didn’t know where it emanated from until it was too late. They poisoned Silurian and the rest of the quest against me before we even knew they were there.”
Rook swallowed. He released her arms and prodded her into motion, never losing touch as they continued upriver. Anger started to overpower his grief. If this was how it was going to play out, he was up to the challenge. “Let’s get on with it then.”
Thetis took a few steps and stopped. She stared back the way they had come. Her whisper raised the hair on the back of his neck, “We’re not alone.”
Rook’s blood ran cold.
“Several creatures trail us. None of them gifted, but two are much larger than the others.”
He neither sensed, nor saw a thing. “Attack or run?”
“If we wish to prevent them from following us, we need to take them out. Other than the Sentinel, I’m sure I can handle whatever comes our way.”
She grabbed Rook’s arm and led him toward the canyon wall, taking him behind a mound of fallen rock. He crouched low, keeping his eyes downriver, although he couldn’t even see the rocks they hid amongst.
A pinprick of orange light emerged around a bend in the canyon wall. In the dead silence of the gorge, the scrape of boots sounded harsh on the rocky terrain.
As their pursuers got closer, the bobbing light grew and separated into three burning torches. Rook discerned a silhouette jogging several feet in front of the burning brands.
He felt Thetis move away from him toward the lead runner, the one without a brand. It wasn’t unusual for creatures to see in the dark. This type of darkness, well, who knew, but Thetis and the Sentinel obviously saw well enough. So did the sailor…
“Thetis, no.” Rook scrambled forward, almost knocking her over.
At the sound of his voice, the torch bearers threw their brands to the ground and dove behind cover.
Thetis gained her balance and scanned the banks of the Marrow Wash. “Great. Now I have to search them out.”
Their pursuers spoke hastily amongst themselves, and then a familiar voice echoed toward them, “Bowman? Is that you?”
Rook almost collapsed with relief. The voice belonged to Pollard Banebridge. That meant the rest of the quest wasn’t far behind. They had realized their error in time.
“Over here. By the canyon wall.”
Blindsight traipsed up to them, followed closely by Pollard, Olmar and Longsight, the latter three had reacquired their torches.
Rook shook their hands. “Are we glad to see you. We were afraid the Voil had killed you. How far back are the others?”
The newcomers looked at each other.
“They ain’t,” Olmar said.
Rook gaped. “What do you mean, they aren’t?”
Pollard had sheathed his sword, but he quickly drew it again. “What’s wrong? Are they in danger?”
Rook couldn’t speak.
Thetis grabbed his free hand and squeezed. “We fear they have been betrayed. Offered false sanctuary and led to their doom.”
Pollard let the double tips of his sword “chink” into the soft stone at his feet. “That cannot be. They are safe within the wall. Safe from the night terrors. Safe from the hell beasts skulking about. You are mistaken. The Voil keep them safe.”
Thetis’ braid waggled as she shook her head. She pursed her lips to speak but didn’t look the big man in the eye. “The Voil are the hell beasts.”
Forbidden
Knives continuously being thrust into his skull without killing him. That’s what Silurian thought was happening to him as he fought his way back to consciousness. His stomach also pained him, but neither condition was worse than what greeted him when he opened his eyes.
He lay in a room with the same ceiling lighting that had illuminated the entrance tunnels. Several mutated faces hovered over him, talking in earnest amongst themselves. Seeing he was awake, their conversation ceased. As one, they leaned in to inspect his face.
Silurian tried to sink deeper into whatever he lay upon, but the bed held firm. He threw his hands up before his face, to ward off the press of Voil bodies.
A chair scraped on stone somewhere behind him. “Easy Silurian. They mean you no harm.”
That voice?
The strange creatures parted to allow a wispy haired, old man with strange white eyes to step between them.
What kind of demonic trickery is this?
“Easy, my friend,” Alhena soothed. “You have endured more than any man should.”
Silurian peered around his upraised arms. “Alhena?”
Alhena smiled as only Alhena could. “Aye, my friend. It is me.”
Silurian’s eyes filled with tears.
“Let it out Sire. You have endured a lot.”
Silurian’s lip’s trembled. He tried to say something but couldn’t. Instead, he wrapped his shaking arms around Alhena, pulling his head to his chest. He held his face against the top of the old man’s head and wept. Nothing made sense anymore, but all he cared about at the moment was that Alhena was alive. He opened his eyes wide—that meant the rest of the quest were probably alive as well.
They cried together for a while, Silurian unwilling to let him go.
When Alhena straightened up, Silurian clasped his wrists and pulled him closer.
“I-I can’t believe it. I saw it myself. You were…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Just the thought made him shudder. “I thought you lost.”
Alhena smiled. “Nay, I still dodder about with my head attached.”
“But…” Silurian trailed off.
“It wasn’t real. My death at least.”
“But I saw you.”
“Please, Sire, I’m not easily offended, but I do hope I look a wee bit better than that,” Alhena said.
“Where is the Voil wizard, Menthliot? He attacked me.”
Alhena nodded. “Aye, that he did. The Sentinel had taken control of him. If not for the aid of the rest of these kind creatures, we would all be dead. Trust me when I tell you they lost many lives seeing us out of harm’s way.”
Silurian didn’t know what to think. He closed his eyes. Was the company still under the spell cast by the hypnotic ceiling lights? The air was close and a bit musty, not sweet like before. He studied the ceiling, still basically the same, but the light seemed different somehow. Brighter perhaps.
Avarick burst into the chamber, out of breath. He started to say something, but seeing Silurian awake, he stopped. His eyes grew wide for only a moment before he declared, “Pollard and the others have returned. They bring Rook and Thetis with them.”
Captain Thorr’s voice sounded from a corner of the room, “Where are they? Take me to them.”
“This way,” Avarick said, pointing into the corridor. “They’re being fed and briefed on last night’s events.”
Thorr brushed past Avarick and left the chamber.
Avarick lingered long enough to say, “That was some demonstration you put on. Remind me not to anger you.” He raised his eyebrows. “We feared you lost. Apparently, you had other ideas. As did Pollard. He ended up killing five Voil as he forced his way into the tunnels before we were able to calm him down. Thetis told him the Voil had killed us. Imagine that?” That said, the Enervator left the chamber to catch up with Thorr.
Silurian sat up, totally confused. He still wore his regular clothing, but the rock dust had been brushed away.
Alhena walked behind the bed and retrieved the baldric containing his sword and handed it to him.
Silurian unsheathed it long enough to inspect the blade. Whatever damage it had sustained during his battle with Menthliot, someone had taken great care to clean it up, leaving it in better condition than it had been before the confrontation.
“Avarick saw to its welfare, if you can believe that?” Alhena offered him a faint smile. “Come, if you are up to it. Let’s see what turmoil we can stir up.”
Silurian limped after him.
Exotic aromas of unknown
dishes reached them long before they entered a cavernous room carved out of the solid rock. Ornate marble pillars soared in concentric circles, spiraling outward, many stories high. Large shards of illuminated gemstones encrusted the domed roof, each one worth enough to purchase a small kingdom.
Servants scurried about the cavern delivering trays laden with food. A steady hum filled the hall—the voice of hundreds of Voil and sailors settling down to eat. As Silurian and Alhena entered the vast chamber, all conversation ceased.
Silurian turned to walk right back out, but a familiar voice called to him.
Pollard lumbered forward, beaming a mighty smile. He slapped his hands around Silurian’s in a crushing handshake. “Well met, Silurian. You are a welcome sight.”
“Thanks Pollard. It’s good to see you safe.” Silurian said, distracted, searching the cavern for Rook. He found him sitting at a table with Thetis. Their eyes met briefly. He forced a grim smile. Rook nodded, his expression unreadable.
“Ach. Take more than a dark night and a river beastie to stop Pollard, let me assure you.”
Silurian sighed. He resigned himself to the knowledge that things would never be the same with Rook. He responded to Pollard as the big man’s words registered, “From what I’ve been hearing, this particular beastie isn’t your normal nasty.”
“Ach.” Pollard led them to a couple of empty chairs. Seated about the large stone table were Tara and several other shipmates he and Pollard had enjoyed sparring with on the voyage to the portal. The rest of the quest sat about the surrounding tables, trying hard not to stare at their strange host who occupied the remainder of the cavern.
After an oddly satisfying meal, Silurian talked quietly amongst those nearest him until an ancient Voil entered the chamber and hobbled up to him, bearing his weight with a knotted, twisted limb of some dark wooded tree. The short length of polished cane, etched in snarling faces of creatures Silurian had never seen before, sported rows of sharp teeth and forked tongues. The walking stick appeared to writhe in the creature’s scaly claws.
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