Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen) (20 page)

“Each race and kingdom has certain specialties. Those from Stonehollow have earned their wealth carving living rock. When you venture into their lands, you are amazed at the enormous evidences of stone carving all around. The hills are littered with giant boulders and dark evergreen trees. Some families of Stonehollow helped lay the foundation stones for the first castles of Wayland. Building the island city of Kenatos was one of their shorter projects.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

P
aedrin watched Annon emerge from the woods, ashen-faced and quivering. That he had seen something startling was no mistake. He looked rigid with fear.

“What is it?” Paedrin asked.

Hettie turned sharply, seeing her brother for the first time. “Annon?”

The Druidecht’s voice was thick. “I nearly died.” He gestured back toward the waterfall. “There is a creature hidden in the mist of the falls. This is its lair. We are in danger.”

Erasmus’s face scrunched, and he began flickering his fingers, counting.

“What was it?” Hettie asked, approaching Annon and putting her hand on his arm to steady him.

Paedrin was a little surprised at the show of tenderness. He squeezed the shaft of his staff, peering into the woods, alert now for danger. His ears reached out, listening for the sound of the creature.

“The spirits in the Alkire call it a Fear Liath. There are few spirits in this area. They are terrified of it. It moves at night.”

Erasmus scratched his cheek. “In that case, we should not linger here. Better to get in and out of Drosta’s lair before the sun sets. You said that your uncle gave you a key to enter?”

“Yes,” Annon replied.

“Then we had better hope it still works. This way.”

Erasmus took them down a scrabbling trail at the base of the ravine, one that meandered back and forth, with heavy, stunted trees clawing at their faces and arms as they walked. After passing a dense tangle, they arrived at Drosta’s lair.

It did not require the Preachán’s eyes to spot the place.

The clearing was wide and littered with abandoned campfires. Trees had been hacked down and used for fuel. Broken fragments of stone and branches littered the ground. Paedrin moved ahead quickly, for there was a dome-shaped rock in the center of the clearing. It was likely a boulder, probably up to his waist in height, and smoothed around the edges from the elements. All around it were broken hammers, pickaxes, shovels, and crowbars. The ground was pockmarked with indentations, but on quick observation, showed a layer of stone, of solid rock. A few scraggly bushes had sprouted up amidst the debris. The wood from the spade handles showed their age and sharp spurs jutted from the lengths.

Hettie wandered to the other side, searching the ground for signs of motion. Paedrin watched her from the corner of his eye as she bent low to the earth and touched broken fragments of rock. Her eyes flicked this way and that, studying the scene.

“It’s the dome of rock,” Erasmus said, sniffing loudly. “In case you hadn’t figured it out, sheep-brains.”

“No one has been here in some time,” Hettie muttered. “These tools are well rusted. The wood has rotted. There are signs of at least five or six different camps that have stayed here.” She
rose and walked around the base of the dome. “They tried many different ways to pry the rock.”

Erasmus hawked and spat. “It would require a steel beam and fulcrum to pry it loose. The beam would be too heavy for any horse or two horses, let alone making it safely down the trail. Twenty men might be able to lift one down here, over a matter of weeks. When Tyrus showed me this place, I told him that no one man would be able to open the dome.” He jammed his walking stick into the solid ground. “No digging to the treasure either. As I said. You need a key to open it.”

Paedrin rested his foot against the stone and pressed his full weight against it. It was unyielding.

Annon approached and rubbed his hand over the face of the stone. “Many have tried to move it.”

“And failed,” said Erasmus.

In Annon’s mind, he could almost hear the ghosts of the dead. The air was thick with memories. A hammer lay nearby, pitted with rust. He grabbed it and hefted it. The handle held firm. The head did not wobble. He looked at it as a remnant of the efforts of many men. The hammer represented failure.

Paedrin straightened, watching the Druidecht.

Annon breathed out softly, then inhaled the dusty air. “Tyrus said that only a keyword will open the entrance. He taught it to me.” He closed his eyes. “
Vickensatham. Restimos. Alloray morir.”

It was the Vaettir tongue, and it surprised Paedrin that he knew it. Spoken a bit haltingly, but the words were correct.
Awaken from your sleep. Rise from the dust. Open the gateway to death.

The domed rock shuddered. Annon and Paedrin stepped back as the enormous mass of stone separated from the earth,
trailing dirt and flecks of debris. The boulder rose, hovering in the air, casting a shadow over the gaping circular hole now uncovered.

“Well, well,” Erasmus muttered, smiling with chagrin. He approached and waved his hand beneath the stone, through the empty air. “I suppose that explains why it never opened for me.”

Annon stared into the black depths, his eyes widening. “It will hover here for a time and then it will close. It will not open again until the next dawn.”

“What is it?” Hettie asked, looking at his face. “You look worried.”

Annon wiped his mouth, his eyes intent. “It is speaking to me.”

“Another spirit?” Paedrin asked, scoffing.

“Yes. There is one trapped down there. I can hear it.”

“What is it saying?” Hettie asked intensely.

Annon looked at her, his eyes widening. “It whispers that I must kill you all.”

“I have great respect for the cunning of the Paracelsus order. I was tempted to join it myself, but I lack the willpower it demands in addition to the physical capacities. Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation. While the Archivists record the lessons of the present to be useful to future generations, the Paracelsus order rediscovers the wisdom of the past to be used in the present. These are cunning men. They spend their time feasting on the runes and symbols that have long been forgotten, and they uncover various magics which are useful to mankind. There is a great deal of study regarding heat, power, energy, force, and the properties of various gemstones. They protect their craft with elegant and sophisticated traps. Some Paracelsus have been known to unlock secrets of power that they should not have. It is wise that the order is kept under the close scrutiny of the Arch-Rike of Kenatos.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

P
aedrin snorted. “A friendly spirit you’ve found. How touching. Well, I suppose we should get started.” He approached the lip of the hole, peering down into darkness. He quickly sucked in some breath, feeling himself start to float like the stone itself. Then he stepped over the hole and slowly let his breath out, descending gradually, floating down like a speck of gossamer web.

There was a shaft of light coming from the gaping hole, revealing a depth to the chamber as he descended. It was a cave, nature-made, probably three times as tall as his full height. It expanded away in every direction, making the hole the apex of the chamber. Paedrin floated downward, searching the gloom for signs of disturbance. Much was hidden in the shadows. He was expecting a Paracelsus study, but there were no tables or flasks or cauldrons. No aging books. The floor was made from stone tiles, each one cut and fashioned into a grid-like surface. Beyond the dusty haze of light, he could see very little.

“Some torches would be helpful,” he called up as his feet touched down on the ground.

As if in answer to his suggestion, three lights appeared in the chamber. There were three glass orbs mounted into the walls, and they sparked to life instantly, causing a reddish glare to fill the dark void. They were on opposite sides from one another, as if he stood in the midst of a triangle, with one in front and two in the rear behind him.

“Actually, there is light,” Paedrin said, testing the sturdiness of the floor, for it had begun to tremble. He glanced around the room quickly, trying to adjust his vision. The floor trembled, shuddering, sending little pricks of worry into his stomach. He was as tense as a bowstring, listening, waiting, sensing each breath in his body, each rapid, fluttering heartbeat. The tremors increased.

Turning around quickly, he saw it.

It was a massive hulking shape, made from solid stone. It was easily half as tall as the chamber, vaguely man-shaped with huge, hammer-like arms and enormous trunk legs. It did not walk so much as shift its weight, and it was the shifting that caused the tremors in the floor. It came at him directly. No creature of speech, just a faceless mass of stone, shuddering the entire cave as it moved.

Paedrin did not wait to guess its intention. He darted to the creature’s left and whipped his staff around as hard as he could, gripping one end with both hands to increase the force.

The staff collided with the creature, causing a loud whip-crack sound as the wood struck at its vague, leg-like structures. The power of his blow went all the way back up the shaft and jolted his arms. It was like striking a mountainside.