Silver Cathedral Saga (29 page)

The people
soon realised captain Mileena of the Shade Sea was not seen again
after the mist covered the area, nor the bodies of the
Battle-caster, Fire-caster and Beast-caster—the deceivers. All of
them.

There was
still some questions to be answered about her, Mileena, and this
fight taking place.

They got to
the entrance—finally—and had never been so relieved to see that
their War Swans were still there, just standing, looking at each
other. One looked as if it hugged another, and it warmed the hearts
of Ematay, Christian, Eleanor, Selphira and Oddius briefly.

They all
went to their swans and quickly untied them, making sure the stones
all this was for were tightly fastened on at the side of the swan
where their stirrups were. With rope that came out of one of the
Spell-casters pouches who were gone now.

One tied to
Ematay’s swan, and one to Oddius’s. They then let their birds run a
little before they flew off into the sky, their wings stretching
like that of an angel.

“It will
take us several hours to get to the Silver Cathedral. This time
there will be no stopping, unfortunately.”

They all
knew this before Ematay shouted it through the air. They were all
fairly close, but not close enough to cause an accident if
something sinister happened for whatever reason.

Numbers in
flight

The
king knew the people where on the battlefield already, and he had
to leave his son to own will; hoping that he would resist the
powerful lure of the Silver Dust, if he would ever find it; or go
looking for it and find what it is he desired.

“I am
strong now, father,” said Prince Etch in bed still. His face looked
like it had more colour in it than it had for a long time, and only
he knew now why that was. “Let me ride into battle. To show you I
am worthy of the crown; regardless of my past mistakes and short
comings. Let me prove that I too can fight, when it comes to
it.”

“I applaud
your bravery, my son. But I do not dare take you like this,” said
the king feeling rather heavy in his silver, polished battle gear;
gear that was tinted with a slight red to it in a different light
and angle. He was about to leave with the other five men ready in
their armour also.

“They are
all awaiting you in the ready room,” said one of the Swan Knights
who must have been the leader, after the king. They all were about
to leave.

“Father, I
will never prove my just cause for ruling if you never come back
and I laid in this bed and worried about what I could have
done.”

There was a
five second silence where the king stared at his son, wide eyed,
but looking as if he was thinking more than feeling.

“You can
come, but only under a three man guard party,” said the king. “It
would be more but we need the numbers today.”

“Then let
there be more,” said Prince Etch. “I can handle myself, even if you
have never seen it yourself yet.”

“No,” said
the king, sternly. “That is the offer, stand by it, or stay here in
worry.”

“Then I
will… have to stand by it. I will come as you say,” said the
prince, hesitantly, but only for a moments notice.

“Best not
tell your mother you are going though,” said the king. “But you
better see her nonetheless. Where is your mother, anyway? Find
her,” he said to one of the guards there by his side, “and we will
meet you in the ready room.” He rushed without even replying, more
than likely because of what was ahead.

They
all went down to the depths of their home. Where the multi layered
place that housed all the War Swans were.

All of the
people were there, waiting. There was so few of them left. But
there was enough to give the one hundred swans they had inside the
Silver Cathedral a departure.

The other
Swan Knights, the knights who were about to go on the swans,
listened eagerly to whatever was about to be said:

“Fellow
Swan Knights, you have become a fine lot of warriors under this
silver roof that has kept us safe this long. But now it is time to
keep other people safe also. To give them the opportunity they
never had before.” His echoes, encouraging, inspiring, yelled with
a might and passion that all minds comprehended.

“We will
not sit here looking down to the Shade Sea and see a different
shade swallow the land of those who live above. Never in all my
ruling years have I seen such an army strike at so—hard—so fast. So
I ask this of you all. I ask this of you now, and till the day, or
days, end, until the nights are finished. So long as any Shadows
stands. I ask you all—to strike—not just as hard, but harder. Like
rock upon glass, we will shatter this coming darkness. This
darkness of the land that will never be forgotten, but tempted to
guide our courage, our valiance, our true strength of Astora, and
for the gods above us… we will not fail them… not this day.”

The full
ten floored room was standing tall, cheering, even with a hundred
men it sounded like there was so much more; as their echoes made
them so loud and deafening, frightening, trembling the walls around
not just the Ready Room, but down the halls, corridors and rooms
near.

The crowd
continued to cheer as this knight the king sent on an errand
returned. The one he told to find his wife. He turned to him:

“She is not
here, my lord. The servants don’t even know of her where abouts.
She seems to be missing.”

“No, I wish
she was missing; there would be a chance of her survival then. No.
I know where she is.” The king yells again. “Helmets on,” said the
protector of Astora.

The two there go to their posts, the rest
waiting.

The
king mounted his swan first. “Ready yourselves,” said the king to
the rest. His sword poked at the swan’s left side. The others, on
the opposite.

They all
soon enough were mounted upon their War Swans. Each person looked
down as the floor in the middle, the circular platform, opened up
with a slow but steady movement, with the sound of stone scraping
and crawling.

Each saw
outside, below. The ten mighty levels were then gushing with a
sudden breeze. They all looked down to see no clouds there, only
the Shade Sea with little specks of light.

“Ride my
Swan Knights,” said the king loud and forceful. The ones at the
bottom went first, as if they had always done; because they were
taught to derail form the bottom layer to the top. One layer flew
off, then another, then another and another, until all ten had
fallen through the air, two or three at a time, falling through the
hole in what was once part of the ground.

Their
numbers looked few from afar, but potent: As large wings made the
War Swans look monstrous and dangerous; even though their white
beauty was unrivalled.

There was
two, then four, then six, until a little area on the Shade Sea was
covered in War Swans, them riding up as soon as they leapt down
from the Sky Room.

At a
distance it looked as if it held a portrait in motion in the real
world, one which would be placed onto the Silver Cathedral’s wall
itself. With few rays of light shining from above, in just a few
tiny specks, swans in motion coming out the Silver Cathedral
fortress, some flying up to get to the hole that could be seen far
in the distance.

They all
shot up, two or three at a time again through the hole that took
them to the land, and went and started their short journey to
Swansie. Where they knew the last stand would begin.

It was only
one hour later after the king had left with the Swan Knights—that
another something took hold.

A sudden
wake of waves flustered beneath the cathedral for some time, even
before the Swan Knights left.

All before
hundreds of anchors with large, strong chains attached to them were
flung up into air, penetrating the rock part of the floating Silver
Cathedral with ease, latching on. Giving whatever was beneath the
water—a way up. It seemed whatever was beneath the sea… was waiting
all this time until the War Swan riders left.

Synced Up

The
Swans got to the Silver Cathedral in nearly five hours by the speed
of large angellike wings flapping almost simultaneously together
next to one another.

They broke
apart as they dived below the hole that led them under the earth,
and to the land of the Shade Sea.

They
noticed the large doors were open in front of them, ready to
return. Not the ones beneath the floor, the ones that were not
open. These were on one side of the wall and were huge. Easy to fit
two swans in at a time, though they only done it one at a time.

Christian
noticed as the swan got near the stable from where it came, that it
seemed to go on a kind of autopilot and landed on the exact place
at which they took off, the same platform they dived away from when
the Battle-caster tried to stop them.

They all
landed now, and got off, not even fastening the reins, as the swans
would not take off so easy or carelessly here; here is where they
felt safe. The swans ate as soon as the latter Astorians got off
their transport.

They all
met at the lower level, at where the floor would open for them to
leave on swanback.

They were
all about to leave, but Ematay nodded and held out his arm straight
in alarm. “It’s too quiet. This can’t be right. Even if the armies
are away, the Spell-casters should still be here, and there are
hundreds of loyals.”

“They are
here,” said Oddius, “like captain Mileena said.”

“Be on your
quickest guard. The Anchor Men will be rageful, bitter and full of
misery. And possibly could be still hallucinating from the residual
magick.”

They all
moved as cautiously as they could now, still trying to make it to
the location the swan needed to be placed. Ematay opened the map as
quick as his nimble hands allowed him, and their was a light where
they were, only the map changed to a image of the cathedral now.
The light changed places with a dim, then a sudden glow appeared
somewhere else entirely.

“This light
shows us where this specific stone swan belongs. It looks like it
is up two more levels; in the outside garden by the looks of
it.”

“Then
that’s where we must go,” said Christian. They all seemed to ignore
his words, and carried on to the stairs. When they got there, their
eyes were not impressed with the stairs in front again; though
these were not so bad, as they were not deep; not like the stairs
to the Heart of the Mountain.

They all
ran up the stairs as fast as they could, in some ways they longed
for the deep stairs; because then their movements then made some
kind of dent in moving to where they needed. They stopped when they
got to the right floor.

There was
nobody, but the scraping of something—something heavy and being
pulled, making a clanking sound. It was quite slow, and all they
could hear was this scraping, as if it was marking the floor as it
done so; whatever it was.

Then the
sound seemed to be coming from the hall the door in front pointed
them to, which was half opened, and it became obvious this thing
was near, just behind the partially closed wooden door.

Then a tip
of something grey became evident with a great thud—a mighty chain,
long, longer than the children had seen free upon the ground
above.

A foot
became clear next, a long, broad one. It was a man, if you could
call him that. His hair was wet, like his face, and his clothes
sank onto him, revealing his emaciated frame that looked
unnaturally painful.

“Is that an
Anchor Man?” asked Christian.

“I can’t
believe you just asked that, Christian. That great big grey thing
attached to the chains—that’s an anchor.”

“Eleanor is
right; though a man like him should not posses the strength to move
his anchor around so easily,” said Ematay. Just as he finished
saying this, the man took the chains and brought the anchor closer
to him, seeing the full extent and size up close. Eleanor gulped
just seeing it placed near the skinny, tall man. And it didn’t seem
to put much, if any, strain on him when he done it; the wet man
then swirled it around, like a mere weightless rope, and chucked it
at them.

They were
about to move, but Oddius stopped it mid air.

“That is
not possible,” said Ematay. “They shouldn’t have this kind of
strength. Where has it come from?”

The Anchor
Man’s face was incredibly white, looking as if his colour had been
washed out by the sea. He also had such great dark bags under his
eyes, that it was not all absurd to think he had never slept before
in his life.

The anchor
floated, and also the man that was attached to it. With the chain
and one metal shackle around his right foot, also attached to the
anchor.

“Do we
attack him?” asked Eleanor. “He doesn’t look like he is in his
right mind.”

“Most of
them won’t be until a few days goes by,” replied Ematay. “And I
think the situation demands it this time.” The man was slow moving,
but had somehow acquired strength beyond any sense. When he needed
it most, for whatever reason.

“Of
course,” said Christian looking at the Spirit Stone, also known as
the Apostle Stone. “The Spirit Stone from the Heart of the Mountain
is what is causing the disturbance in magick. But only old magick.
Because the stone has to be at the Heart of the Mountain to create
the physical balance throughout; the Anchor Men are controlled by
an old magick from ancient swords passed down from king to king.
This Anchor Man here is so strong because the balance of old magick
is out of whack. That’s how they are free, and walking here. The
Dark Queen must have planned to do this for some time.”