Legend of the Swords: War (32 page)

“Maybe,” Hesiod grunted. “I don’t think so, though—see where the lava’s exiting the building? It’s rejoining the main river.”

Renek nodded. “Yes, I do see that. Well, maybe it’s just being used to heat the part where people lived.”

“It is warm, here.” Hesiod smiled. “But it certainly wasn’t heating the part of the mountain that we were in before!” He stuck his feet out toward the red river, wiggled his toes, and sighed. Renek smiled and pushed his booted feet towards the river as well.

They sat for a few minutes. Suddenly, Hesiod laughed, pointing at Renek’s boots. They had begun to steam.

 “Well, what the gods think and do is beyond me.” Hesiod sighed and looked at Renek more closely. “That was some amazing fighting, back there.” He gestured back to the building across the river. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move that fast before.”

Renek looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. I kind of … wasn’t really paying attention to the battle. I just relaxed and moved.”

Hesiod nodded wisely. “There is a text I read, long ago. It was for court people like me. ‘Political’ people, I guess. It said: ‘Tension often exists. Sometimes, it is easier to go around it, than relax it—but you will go farther, faster if you can relax it.’” He looked at Renek. “I hadn’t thought of it as battle advice before, but it fits.”

Renek nodded, then stood up and held out his hand. “We should get going. The swords must be in the mountain somewhere.”

Hesiod nodded, and let Renek’s hand pull him to his feet.

“I just hope the swords aren’t behind that door," Hesiod said, gesturing across the magma. “We’re not going to find them if they’re in there.

“Also,” he continued, “we should be
very
careful as we leave. Who knows what James and that blasted Singer of his have done.”

“Or where they might be waiting,” Renek added.
 

Questing for Strength

Renek and Hesiod were thoroughly lost. They had been wandering the tunnels beneath the mountain for at least a couple of hours after the prince had fled them.

“Do you think you could even find your way back to the lake?” Renek asked with a sigh.

Hesiod paused to consider. “Probably not.” He held his guttering torch up. “But it’s a good job that you thought of only using one torch. This one’s burning out.” He held his torch out as Renek searched in his pack for the other one. “We’d better start going up whenever we can, or we’ll be lost down here forever.”

Renek lit the other torch with the flame of the one that Hesiod was carrying, and held it up. He peered at the walls.

“Is it just me or are the walls … moving?” He asked. Hesiod leaned over, peering at the wall.

“I think you’re right.” He touched the wall with a finger. “Ay!” He pulled back quickly, embarrassed for yelling. “It’s wet and cold," he said in explanation.

Renek reached out with his free hand slid his fingers down the wall. “Maybe we’re actually below the lake, this time,” he mused quietly.

There’s something about these weeping walls…
he thought.
They’re … familiar?

Aloud, he said, “I think I may have been here before.”

Hesiod stared. “You remember something?”

“No.” He shook his head, and slid his fingers over the walls. “I feel like I’ve touched these walls before, is all.” He looked around, and held the torch up even higher, so that its smoke was coursing into the ceiling above. “Are those sconces?” He asked, gesturing.

Hesiod turned and strode down the hall, Renek following a bit slower than usual. “Yes, they are…and the torches are unburned.” He pulled one out of the sconce, which matched the ones they had seen earlier. “Let me light it," he said, gesturing for Renek to come closer.

Renek did, and held his torch out. While Hesiod lit the torch, he studied the wall that held the sconces. It was another archway. This time, instead of the arch being on the right hand side of the passageway, it was at the end of the hall. It also seemed more ornate.

Hesiod’s torch sputtered and lit. It seemed to burn more brightly than Renek’s, and with less smoke. He looked over at the doorway that Renek was inspecting.

The top of the arch had an ornate keystone, larger than the other arch stones. It had a carving of a strange frog-like creature, like the one that they had dredged up from the lake’s shallows. It was standing in an odd position: one hand was pointing at them. It was carved in such a way that it seemed to point directly at whoever was gazing at it. The other hand was held up flat, as if to bar entrance. Behind it were two crossed swords, simply carved, but with relatively large, round pommels.

“Huh,” Renek grunted, and started to walk through the door. Hesiod’s hand on his shoulder stayed him for a moment.

“Make sure you know what you’re getting in to, before you jump ahead, Renek.” He gestured on the floor in the room ahead. There were several bones scattered around a table that held the empty armor of a Crown Knight of the Realm.

Renek shrugged Hesiod’s shoulder off and strode up to the knight’s armor. He recoiled as he saw the grinning skull’s sockets staring up at him.

“He died here,” Renek said to Hesiod, who was coming up behind him.

“I’m more concerned with what killed him than the fact that he died here.” He kicked at the small bones that surrounded the table.

Renek looked around the room, a sense of dread in his bones. It had once been lined with velvet curtains, but they were now in tatters. Several small bodies’ worth of bones lay around the table. There was an ornate throne on the other side of the table, raised on a small dais. He walked around the table to get closer to the throne, stepping carefully to avoid the remains.

As he put his foot down between two small, thin sets of arm bones, he noticed that there was a spout coming off of the table’s base, right next to his foot. It was covered with a caked brown substance. He bent over and touched it, and the brown powder flaked off, powdering and smearing on his fingertips.

“It’s like blood," he said quietly. Hesiod came around the other side of the table.

“It
is
blood.” Hesiod gestured to the table. “Probably
his
blood.” He looked around the room. “It looks to me like this might be their ‘sacred place of sacrifice.’” He kicked the arm bones that Renek had so carefully avoided stepping on.

Renek winced, but ignored the violence to the dead. He turned to the throne. It was made of gold and the crystal that he had become familiar with over the past few hours. The crystal parts were covered with droplets of water; the gold was ornately carved, cut with channels forming various geometric patterns.

“Look at this. The crystal is like the hallway outside … it’s wet.”

Hesiod rubbed it with his fingers. “It’s not as wet as the stuff outside, though.”

Renek nodded. “True. But it’s still wet.”

“What about the scepter? It looks wetter.” Hesiod gestured at the arm of the throne, where a scepter sat in a hole.

Renek swiveled his head, bringing his eyes to the scepter. Its head was a beautiful example of the mountain’s crystal, perfectly clear, and sweating a bit. It was certainly less than the crystal outside, but a few drops occasionally coursed down the crystal’s face, and flowed into a small channel at the junction between crystal and gold.

“I wonder where it goes…” Renek said, and reached out touch it with his fingertip. As he stroked the wetness, there was a loud click, and the floor started to shake as the throne sank a bit into the dais below.

“What did you do?” Hesiod yelled, over a loud grinding noise. He pointed at the throne.

The water from the crystal had begun to flow down onto the throne, where gravity seemed to be struggling in reverse. The droplets on the throne wavered back and forth, and traveled upwards a tiny distance before stopping.

Renek shrugged, not wanting to yell over the noise. He looked over Hesiod’s head and saw a sliver of light open in the wall, behind the tattered curtains. The grinding sound quieted, and then stopped. He lifted his arm to point back behind the throne.

Hesiod turned, and Renek saw his shoulders straighten in anticipation. The older man leapt around the throne and threw himself at the crack of light—but stopped abruptly, staring at the floor.

Renek walked around the throne. There was a fully formed skeleton staring up at them, its bones much larger than the others. Its skull was wide and flat, with no teeth to speak of. Its hands were in the same pose as the carving on the door—one of them was pointing at them, and the other was held, fingers up, palm flat towards them.

Hesiod snorted. “I don’t think he wants us to go in.” He turned to the sliver of light, frowning. “It may succeed in barring our path—the door didn’t open very far.”

Renek looked at it more closely. The door had only opened about three inches.

“Seems like with all that noise it should have opened all the way,” Hesiod grumped. He put his hands in the crack and pulled, grunting, but nothing happened.

“No, that’s not going to work,” Renek said. “Something’s wrong.” He wandered back to the throne. “I don’t know what, though.” He looked back at Hesiod. “How much food do we have, now that we have torches?”

“Probably enough for two or three meals, if we’re careful, before we have to head back out.” He snorted. “If we can find the way out, that is.”

Renek nodded, and walked over to one side of the room. He sat down, cross-legged, and stared at the throne, the table, and the remains of the dead.

Hesiod looked at Renek. “We just need a pry-bar," he said, looking around the room. He bent over and picked up a thighbone from the large skeleton in front of him. He slapped it into his other palm to see test its heft.

Shrugging, he turned and put the bone into the crevice. It just fit. He pushed on it, gingerly at first, then with increasing force.

Renek gazed at him passively, then turned back to the throne and the water coursing over it.

Hesiod’s makeshift pry bar snapped in two and he fell over, cursing as he smashed the skeleton behind the throne into pieces. The broken bone stuck out between the stones for a moment before it started rattling, slowly spinning and jiggling as it slid down the thin gap.

Renek snapped his fingers and stood up. He pulled his water skin out and tugged on the top. He poured the water out onto the floor as he ran into the hall.

Hesiod got up, brushing broken bones and dust off of his clothes, all the while staring at Renek in confusion.

Outside, Renek held his open water skin up against the wall.

“This isn’t just water,” he called to Hesiod. “It’s the mountain’s life blood.”

He ran back into the throne room, water skin full. He paused for a second, and then poured the water slowly onto the crystal, watching closely.

The water flowed, but it didn’t enter the small channel around the base of the crystal. Instead, it pooled in a small shallow on the arm of the throne, then coursed in the carved channels, down the arm, then up the back of the throne.

The grinding noise returned as the dais began to sink slowly into the floor. Renek’s eyebrows shot up, but he stayed where he was, and continued to pour water onto the crystal.

The door behind the throne opened wider, but very slowly. The grinding noise got louder, and then louder still. The door was open about a bit more than a foot wide when there came a loud crack, as if a large stone had been shattered. The dais abruptly shuddered, then stopped, and the water splashed down off of the throne.

Renek dropped his water skin and torch to clap his hands over his ears. He wasn’t sure if the sound had stopped or if the cracking noise had made him deaf. His torch sputtered in the puddle around the throne and went out, but the room behind the throne was providing plenty of light. He walked around to meet with Hesiod, who was also holding his ears.

“What was that?” Hesiod asked. Renek was relieved that the question broke the absolute silence of the room. Lowering his hands, he grimaced.

“I think I broke it.”

“Well, the door’s open enough to get inside.” Despite all of his previous eagerness, Hesiod seemed hesitant to enter. He gestured at the gap. “After you, Sir.”

“I’m not a knight, don’t call me ‘Sir’,” Renek muttered, but he stepped up to the door. He turned sideways, and slipped through.

The room was spherical, except that the floor was flat. Small spheres attached the walls echoed the shape of the room itself. In the center of the floor, a slim piece of metal was embedded into the rock. It curved gracefully, ending in the exact center of the room, perhaps five feet off the ground. Its head held two circles, one on either side.

Hesiod grunted as he slipped through the crack of a door. He took the room in with a glance, and stepped up to the metal. He stepped around it, looking at it from every angle. He even got down on his hands and knees to look up at the bottom of the rings. Finally, he stood up and looked at Renek.

“We’re too late,” he announced. “They’re already gone.”

Renek nodded. Hesiod stared at him.

“How can you be so … peaceful?” Hesiod demanded, walking up to his taller companion. “The Triols have the swords!” He paused, considering. “Or James. I’m not sure what’s worse!”

Renek smiled. “I doubt that.”

“Huh?” Hesiod grunted. “Why do you doubt that one of them has the swords?”

“Think about it, Hesiod.” Renek gestured to the throne room outside. “Those frog-things have been dead for a while.” He grimaced. “That knight’s blood was drunk a long time ago. The door was hard enough for us to open, and I’m sure it will never close again.

“No, whoever took these swords did so a long time ago. Maybe decades.”

Hesiod’s eyes narrowed while he pondered. “Where are the swords, then?”

Renek shrugged. “I don’t know. But they’re not here.” He turned back towards the throne room. “And standing here isn’t going to change that.” He stepped out of the room.

Hesiod sighed, following. Renek was already sitting on the floor again. “We’ve failed, then,” Hesiod said quietly. “The Triols have a superior force and we will not be able to turn them.”