What Remains of Heroes (40 page)

“It’s hard to see down here,” she said quietly. “Why don’t you make light like you did with those hobblers?”

Bale shook his head. “Those are divine powers. My order frowns upon their use when mortal means are available.”

Lorra huffed and continued on, her pace cautious.

They walked for what seemed a good distance—perhaps a thousand yards or more—shuffling through the zigzagging halls of stone. After a time, the masonry gave way to what seemed a naturally formed cave, with a higher ceiling marked with rock formations and a rough floor that grew increasingly slick.

Lorra stopped. “There’s a sound coming from ahead.”

Bale froze, his apprehensions overpowering his curiosity.

“It’s not what we heard earlier,” said Lorra, craning her neck. “It’s a rushing sound, like wind or water. And the air… Do you smell it?”

Bale leaned timidly forward and inhaled. He
did
smell it. There was a freshness, a smell like springtime rain. He nudged closer to Lorra and sensed moisture condensing on his cheeks. They moved ahead another several steps and he saw a light far ahead. It was a dim light, but a light nonetheless.

The cave suddenly seemed to assume a feel far different from the oppression of the temple above. Bale felt revived, inspired. His heart shifted and seemed lighter, less encumbered by his earlier fear. He was invigorated by his faith, feeling whatever lay ahead was something righteous, something
good
. He placed his hands on Lorra’s shoulders and urged her forward. “Let’s go!”

Lorra turned and grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t be a fool, Bale. I still think there’s something dangerous here.”

Bale clucked his tongue. “My order is skilled in such things. Our divine gift is wisdom, part of which is judging good from evil. We are illuminators of truth, and I feel whatever is ahead has been touched by Illienne the Light Eternal. We need not fear!”

She looked at him skeptically. “Then you go first.”

The cave expanded as they moved forward, widening from a restricting tunnel to a broad passage. The light ahead grew stronger, illuminating the dark as much as Lorra’s torch. And the sound became stronger too, growing from a faint hiss to a loud rush. At times it seemed the very stones about them shook from the noise.

Soon the light ahead glowed with such strength the torch was no longer required. Lorra tossed the burning shaft into a puddle gathered near the cave’s rounded edge, and the flame died with an angry hiss. The light was cast with a yellow hue, which struck Bale as being quite similar to the light he was able to summon with his divine incantations.

He found himself moving with more urgency, spurred by curiosity and wonder. His fear diminished as he pressed forward, and he was filled with a certainty that whatever was ahead was the ‘Sacred Place’ to which Lector Erlorn had referred. The passage ahead turned and the light emanated intensely from whatever was beyond. Bale’s brisk walk turned nearly into a sprint.

“Careful,” Lorra said, tugging at Bale’s sleeve.

He nodded impatiently, slowing but still walking with swift strides. He’d never known Lector Erlorn was an immortal Sentinel when the man was alive. Now that he was privy to this incredible truth he was filled with awe, a sense he’d been touched by divinity. And here he was, on the cusp of meeting yet another. He thought of all the books he’d read, all those dusty tomes he’d studied. It seemed to him the tales they told and the histories they recited paled when compared to encountering such powers in person.

They neared and rounded the corner, and what was before them was utterly stunning in its splendor. It was a cavern of astonishing breadth, at least a thousand feet across, set aglow with an ambient light that shimmered from the stone in many brilliant hues. Just before them, near the mouth of their cave, thundered the edge of a waterfall. As they crept closer Bale could see the water plunging into a chasm far below. About the sides of the cavern grew lush plants, leafy trees and vibrant flowers. It seemed a paradise.

The Sacred
Place
.

Bale stood there for a long moment, moved by the majesty of the place. As his eyes wandered he caught sight of a pavilion at the cavern’s far end. It was a circular slab of white stone, ringed with seven tall pillars. Bale narrowed his eyes to sharpen his vision, and there seemed to be a solitary figure standing within the circle of pillars. He drew a shuddering breath, for he knew in his very bones this was the immortal Sentinel Lyan the Just awaiting him.

“There,” he said.

“I see,” said Lorra. “Is that someone there, or just another dusty old statue?”

“I’m sure of it. It’s Lyan.” He turned to Lorra and held her gaze. “You needn’t come. I don’t quite know what to expect.”

“Nonsense. I’ve come this far and I’m not going to abandon you now.”

Bale smiled. For some reason this woman comforted him and he knew he’d be braver with her at his side. “Very well. But let me handle the talking.” He set off toward the pavilion upon a path of whitewashed stone that wound along the cavern’s wall.

“You’re sure about this, then?”

“Yes,” he said. “Well, no. Not entirely. But I must follow through with it. Believe it or not, much depends upon me, and upon the success of my mission. If I succeed, it may be the entire world is saved from a horrible upheaval, a reign of terror and tragedy.”
And if I fail
… He bit his lip and trudged forward.

“It
is
pretty. I guess there are worse places to have something bad happen to you.”

Bale glanced about, noticing flowers of every shape and shade imaginable. The waterfall produced a heavy mist, giving the place an almost dreamlike quality, and the shifting colors of the light from the cavern walls looked very much like an ever-changing rainbow.
Certainly nothing awful could occur in a place such as
this?

He heaved a sigh and focused on the figure within the pavilion. Lyan was facing them. Bale could make out neither a face nor features, but felt the discomfort of being closely inspected. His heavy robes were draped about him yet he felt naked. He averted his eyes but did not slow his pace.

In time they’d cut the distance in half. Bale raised his head and looked toward the figure and again sensed that penetrating gaze, that unsettling feeling of unwanted eyes upon him. His pace faltered. He thought of all the questions he’d have for a Sentinel in any other circumstance, of all those many curiosities he’d ask to have satisfied. But alas, his purpose here was a grim one, and that troubled him.
What will I say? Will a mortal’s desperate plea persuade a Sentinel to save the very people who cast her aside?
He slowed nearly to a stop.

“No,” came Lorra’s voice as she placed a firm hand upon his arm. “Finish this.”

Bale breathed and took a tentative step forward. They were close now, less than a hundred feet from the pavilion. He clasped Lorra’s hand with his own and redoubled his pace, determined.

“
Castor, at last,
” came a voice, stoic and commanding.

The sound was not one sensed by Bale’s ears but rather his thoughts, words spoken within a hollow of his mind. Bale glanced to Lorra but her face betrayed no hint of disturbance.
I alone hear these words
.
How must I
respond?

He looked ahead, seeing Lyan upon the pavilion before them. She appeared to be quite tall—taller than was natural for a person—and her skin, most of it left uncovered by a shift of white silk, looked as though it was dusted with gold.

“
You are not
Castor
.”

Bale felt his confidence wavering. He could see now the Sentinel’s eyes were entirely black and her bald, golden pate bore the image of a set of measuring scales. As they drew closer and ascended the pavilion he realized she was even taller than he’d guessed, perhaps eight feet in height, and her frame, while feminine, was rippled with sinewy muscle. Her features were severe and her expression harsh, and she appeared quite willing to use the gold sword strapped to her exposed thigh.

“I-I am n-not Castor,” Bale said, looking down to his feet. His voice shook and uncertainty swelled within him.
I am too weak an instrument!
He clenched his jaw and decided upon the introduction he’d learned by rote. “I am Acolyte Zandrachus Bale of the Ancient Sanctum of Illienne the Light Eternal.”

She studied him for an uncomfortably long moment. “One of Castor’s pupils. I sense his teachings in you. He is here, yes?”

Bale jerked his head upward. These words had been spoken aloud. “No.”

Lyan regarded him with an unsettling look and took a step forward to loom over him, her gold skin radiant in the cavern’s shifting light. “Where, then, is he? I journeyed far to come here, and have waited many days. He dares send a mere pupil in his stead?”

Bale wanted to speak, but his head swirled and he could do naught but stammer.

Lyan leered over him. “I am immortal, pupil, but even my patience can be stretched to an ending. Tell me, where is Castor?”

Bale cleared his throat, stilled himself and stared upward into Lyan’s pitch-black eyes. “Dead.”

Lyan hissed sharply and leaned away. “Nonsense. Castor is immortal. If he’d left this plane I would have sensed his departure.”

Bale held her gaze though it pained him to do so. He cleared his throat again, hoping to subdue the tremor in his voice. “Castor summoned you, but before he could reach this place he was murdered.”

“Murdered… His mortal coil may perish, but his spirit
will
find another.” She slowly circled him and Lorra, her movements lithe yet threatening. “Nevertheless, it is troubling such action would be taken against one of
us
. And if this thing did occur, I hold no doubt the killing blade was wielded by one of the many ungrateful mongrels of Rune, one of the weak-blooded descendants of those who dared question our
righteousness!
” Her brow knotted, twisting the mark of the measuring scales, and her hand fell to the pommel of her sword. “You desecrate this place with your presence, mortal. Leave me, and when you find him you will send Castor to explain himself.”

“No,” Bale said, wringing his hands. He looked to Lorra and she nodded encouragingly. “You must hear me, Lyan. Castor is gone. I visited the place where he died and used the ways he taught me to observe his final moments. As far as my order can tell, his confession was never heard and his spirit never manifested among us after his death. He’s lost to us.”

Lyan paused and gazed toward some unseen place. “Castor is my brother, but he is a fool. Rather than treasure the gift bestowed upon him by our Mother, he chose a different path, one where only his spirit was eternal. And why did he choose this? To honor an oath to protect the very lords of Rune who’d betrayed him.” She walked to one of the white pillars and pressed her golden hand upon it. “Castor’s fate is a just punishment for so casually surrendering his true immortality.”

Bale pinched at his chin, uncertain of what to say. He knew he was meddling in things far beyond him, delving into thoughts and emotions hardened by many centuries. He could not hope to fathom this Sentinel’s mind or soften her heart. Yet, he
had
to do this. He thought of one of Lector Erlorn’s old sayings:
‘Character is doing what you don’t want to do, for reasons you cannot avoid.’

He breathed deeply before speaking. “Castor has asked you to return to Rune. Though I know not what he discovered, I know he warned Yrghul was returning and that Rune once again required the protection of its greatest heroes. Will you honor your oath, Sentinel?”

Lyan whirled about, anger dancing across her face. “Will
I
honor my oath?” She drew her sword and walked toward him. “You dare pose such a question?” She brought her blade even with Bale’s throat. “I no longer bother with soothing the small worries of mortals, nor do I assuage their tiny concerns. You will leave this place, now, and when you find Castor you will send him to me. Your time with me has reached its conclusion. Be gone.”

Suddenly Lorra sprang forward. She pressed Bale backward and moved to stand between him and the Sentinel. “No!” she screamed, her entire body trembling from the effort.

Lyan’s brow raised and her mouth curled with a hint of bemusement. “And what is this filthy thing?”

Lorra puffed her chest clenched her fists. “I’m nobody,” she growled. “I’m nothing to you. But I’ll not let you treat him this way. Do you realize how far he’s traveled to see you? The risks he’s taken? How hard it’s been for him? Do you? No, you don’t, because you know
nothing
of courage!”

Lyan’s slight smile turned to a vicious snarl and she whipped the sword to Lorra’s chest. “You will suffer for this, mortal!”

“Have at it,” Lorra said, leaning forward so that the tip of the blade pressed against her sternum. “I don’t fear you. But you wouldn’t know anything of fear, would you? Of course you wouldn’t. You can’t die, so you’ll never know what true courage is, or true strength. You’ll never have to stare down death, or struggle to survive those moments that nearly break you. We have, so you will listen to what Bale needs to say. And if you won’t, then to the old hells with you!”