Farmers & Mercenaries (43 page)

Ragnor shook his head and shot the barman a hard glance. “That be no up to you to determine. The Essence owns its will. We be merely servants. Clytus did send us this boy. Aye, he did bond him, and that may cause this lad no end of trouble. Still, that be no for the likes of us to discuss.” Pointing to the far wall, Ragnor stood to his full height. “You be the keeper of the way, of this I no challenge you. Yet, and do hold this well within you heart—Clytus bade me bond myself to this boy, which I did before we came here. If you no admit him, I can no abandon him.”

“You say you do not challenge me, yet you force my hand all the same.” Throwing his hands up in disgust, he walked to the far wall. “Oh, very well! The Essence owns its own and my feelings shall not deter it.” Mort reached into his shirt, pulled out a necklace, and lifted it over his head. An amulet, made of a plain circle of iron covered in rust and pocked on both sides, dangled from the man’s fist by an old piece of string. It looked about as worthless as anything Arderi had ever seen. Why the man wore it, Arderi could not fathom. Holding the amulet out at arms length, the man stared at it with an intensity Arderi found almost comical.

Has he lost his mind? It is a worthless old trinket.

Yet, as Arderi watched, the amulet began to glow. At first, Arderi thought the glow was simply a reflection from the strange lanterns hanging in the corners of the room. Soon, however, there could be no mistake. The reddish glow emanated from the medallion itself. The medallion started a slow spin upon its string, and the intensity of the glow increased. A red, jagged light, bright as the midday sun, soon pierced Arderi’s eyes, and he was forced to throw up a hand to deflect some of its intensity. When the room began to dim, Arderi, to his amazement, saw that Mort no longer held a simple iron disk hanging from a string. A thin silver chain now laced its way between the man’s fingers. It cascaded down to thread through a golden loop embedded into the top of a blood red Crystal.

“Like the one in Dorochi’s pommel.”

Arderi’s whispered comment received a grunt of a laugh from Ragnor. “Aye, lad, yet it no be the same. It be a Ka’gana Crystal, like the one that be in your sword, yet this one do no have the powers that yours do.”

The barman nodded. “Aye, this is merely a key.”

Still staring at the Ka’gana Crystal, Arderi loosened his grip upon the hilt of his sword. “A key to what.”

Mort flashed a sharp look at Ragnor, who motioned for him to continue. Letting out a sigh, the barman strolled to the far side of the room and removed a tapestry depicting men on horseback hunting in a wooded area. He re-hung it overtop one on an adjacent wall. The uncovered wall held beauty of its own. A small round fresco was etched into the wooden wall. Its intricate design of lines and curves all culminated into a carved circle at its center. Slipping the Ka’gana Crystal into the center hole, a loud click resounded through the chamber. The entire section of wall that contained the circular fresco snapped forward, then swung into the room like a door. It revealed a long stairwell descending into darkness.

Two unlit torches sat on either side of the entrance way, and Ragnor walked over and retrieved them. Picking up some flint and steel that sat on the fireplace’s mantle, he first struck one then the other, until both were lit. He held one out to Arderi. “Take this. You will need it for the rest of our journey.”

Striding forward, Arderi peered down the steps. They curved away to his right and disappeared from view. A deep, musty smell filled his nostrils. “Where does this lead?”

“To your destiny.” Ragnor thrust one of the torches into Arderi’s hand and slipped past. Arderi watched as the man descended the stairs, disappearing around the bend. The light from his torch played off the stone walls as it followed the man down.

“Best get a move on, Young Master.” The barman stood looking at Arderi. “The Undercity is a dark and confusing place. Not somewhere you can find your way out of alone.”

“What is the Undercity, and where is Ragnor taking me?”

“He is taking you to Bin’Satsu. The only protected place that our Order has. You will be safe there and receive all the answers you seek.”

Glancing again down the dark stairwell, a sense of foreboding crept into Arderi.

We could choose a path and be led to ruin, or be thrust into something that may lead us to greatness.

Swallowing hard, Arderi started down the stairs. Before he rounded the bend, he heard the door close behind him. A loud click ricocheted past him and echoed further off in the depths of the Undercity.

My only hope is that this is not a path that leads me to ruin.

A
lant Cor lay on his bed staring at the ceiling when the knock resounded throughout his tiny sleeping chamber. His door swung open, and it astonished him to see so many standing in the hallway. Prince Aritian stepped into the small room, followed closely by Vanria Delmith. Alant swallowed his anticipation, and with muscles complaining, rose from the hard thin mattress that covered his stone-slab bed. Swinging his feet to the floor, he stood, trying not to let the shaking of his knees show.

Calm down, I am not a boy anymore! I must keep my mind sharp for whatever they are planning for me.

Alant did not even flinch when his Tarsith fell cold.

"Good. You are ready."
Prince Aritian smiled down at him with his thin, dark-black lips.

A smile that does not touch his eyes.

"Do you ever plan on enlightening us as to how you have come to understand our tongue?"
After a moments pause, he shrugged his bony shoulders.
"No? I did not think you would. The better for me, I guess. I absolutely detest speaking in the Human dialect. It is such a crude tongue."
The Prince gestured with a thin gray arm, and Alant stepped out into the corridor.

Before he turned down the hall, Alant glanced up into the deep pools of Delmith’s black eyes, and found it rewarding when the Elmorr’Antien averted his gaze. Stepping past a host of waiting Elmorr’Antiens, most of which he had never seen before, he headed out of the Human quarters.

The door to Shaith’s room cracked open as Alant passed, and he saw a glint of ebony skin and one piercing green eye peek out. Tightening his lips, he closed his eyes and gave one slow shake of his head as he marched past her door. It eased shut, and Alant felt a wave of resolve slide over his heart.

If
not for me, then to insure she will never have to go through this. Whatever I must do, this ends this very eve!

Once he passed through the archway that separated the Human sleeping chambers from the main hall, a pair of Gralet’nars joined them. Each carried a massive crossbow at the ready, along with their sickle-like blades strapped to their sides. They stood blocking one side of the hall, leaving no doubt as to which route Alant should take. After forcing Alant to turn down the main hall and deeper into the building, the two Warrior Servants fell in on either side of him. Their huge frames filled most of the wide hallway, leaving just enough room for Alant to walk between them. One of them gazed down at the boy with its lifeless, empty eye sockets, and Alant felt his air of confidence shatter like glass.

They do not even care to continue the deception any longer. I am no longer a student. I am a prisoner.

With the Gralet’nars in position, The Prince slipped forward and took the lead.
"I must commend you, Tak’ju’nar. Most Humans are not so willing to meet their fate. Yet, you seem almost eager."

The now familiar coldness of the Tarsith bore into Alant’s flesh as the amulet translated the Elmorr’Antien’s words in his mind. He resisted the urge to reach out and snap the Prince’s scrawny neck.

It would be of little use. The Gralet’nars would cut me down before I could wrap my fingers around his skinny throat.

Alant had no idea how late it was, yet the main hall sat deserted as the group left the Initiate quarters and headed for the rear of the Chandril’elian, and he knew that dawn had not yet broke upon the land. With the Prince in the lead, the procession walked past the empty classrooms and offices that lined the long passageway. The grandeur that adorned the walls—which had so enthralled Alant upon his arrival to the school—did nothing to lift his spirits now.

Reaching the rear exit, Prince Aritian thrust open the twin doors, allowing the chilly pre-dawn air to rush into the building. Gooseflesh ran the course of Alant’s body under his thin robes, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Low-lying clouds covered the sky and silvery moonlight played off their undersides, bathing everything in haunting, silvery shadows. A light breeze blew across the garden, sending a locket of Alant’s bangs over one eye. Following the Prince down the stairs onto the gravel path that splintered off to the various buildings of the school, Alant gazed around at the garden area he had enjoyed so much in the past few moons.

Without pause, the Prince Aritian continued on the path that led deeper into the gardens. A shove to the back sent Alant staggering forward, informing him that he must follow.

The small party entered the hedge-maze and threaded their way without deviation to its center. Though darkness bathed everything, it did nothing to detract from the beauty of the place. The white of the Chandril’chi tree statue was subdued, yet its tormented branches were clearly visible. The broad, snow-white stone leaves—blood red on the real tree that sat in front of the school—glistened with dew, as did the benches that sat upon the lush grass surrounding the art piece.

Prince Aritian stepped up to the base of the statue.
"Delmith, I will give you the honor."
He took a step back to let the Vanria approach.

Nix! Not Vanria! Not anymore. He is not my instructor, he is simply Delmith, an Elmorian. I will not honor any
of
these creatures!

Placing his hands on the upper corners of the base, Delmith bowed, his wispy white hair draping over to cover the sides of his teardrop shaped head. Almost immediately, Alant felt his former teacher Melding the Essence. It appeared as if a great weight had been placed onto his thin gray shoulders. Alant noticed his small ribcage expand and contract rapidly as the Elmorian gasped from the exertion.

Throwing his head back, Delmith took a step away with his arms still raised. The side of the base of the tree-statue started to shimmer. Then, as if made of ice, the rock melted away, revealing a stairway descending into blackness below. Alant stood stunned.

All the times I sat in this place gazing at that statue, I never suspected!

The Prince produced a glowing orb from his pocket and proceeded down the stairs. Delmith, giving one last pained looked in Alant’s direction, followed.

Knowing the Gralet’nars would give him no choice, and not wanting them to push him down a flight of stairs he could not see the bottom of, Alant stepped forward, pausing only briefly before plunging down after the two Elmorians.

At the base of the stairway, a small limestone tunnel curved around, heading back in the direction of the Chandril’elian’s main building. The tunnel itself, with rough walls and an uneven floor, seemed to be a natural formation.

As if
it were carved by running water.

It was wide enough for two or three people to walk abreast, yet the Gralet’nars had to stoop to avoid scraping their heads across the ceiling. The tunnel stretched off into the distance, and even though enough of the Elmorians who followed had produced light orbs to illuminate the surrounding area for several paces, the darkness seemed to stretch on forever.

The tunnel continued straight without curving one way or the other. The natural cut of the tunnel soon gave way to stone that had obviously been worked. The limestone walls flattened, the ceiling curved into a perfect arch, and large square marble tiles now covered the floor. The look of it surprised Alant more than the place itself.

This is not made from the white stone that everything else in this city is made of! This is much older. Someone’s hands carved these walls. And the floor tiles are the first bit
of
granite I have seen since arriving here in Hath’oolan.

Alant noticed intricate runes carved into the walls as well. He recognized several of them from the Old tongue. Yet, at the pace the Elmorian Prince set, he had no time to discern their meanings.

After another few moments of the brisk walk, they reached the end of the corridor. A massive set of double doors barred their way. Each door was intricately decorated with a picture of a Chandril’chi tree inlaid in gold, and made of a smooth black material that did not seem to be a metal nor a stone. Prince Aritian strode forward with an arrogant air, and Alant felt hatred mixed with fear pour over his body.

Whatever they have in store for me, it waits on the other side
of
those doors.

The Elmorian lifted his arms—his thin gray limbs slid out from the red folds of his gold embroidered silk sleeves, exposing his tiny three-fingered hands—and Alant once again felt the Essence being Melded. With a shutter that sent a thin layer of dust floating to the floor, the doors slid apart.

Though the glowing orbs of the Elmorian’s lit the hallway, a brighter, shimmering-silver light spilled out through the opening doors and into the tunnel. The bright light forced Alant to raise a hand and shield his eyes. He stood squinting into the blinding light, searching for details of what awaited him past the entrance way. Finally, with a sharp gesture from the Prince, a Gralet’nar shoved Alant forward, forcing him into the chamber.

Alant tumbled down a small flight of stairs that lay just inside the doorway and slammed hard onto the sand-covered limestone floor. Prince Aritian descended the stairs gracefully, and stood over him. Struggling to his feet, Alant gazed around at his surroundings. He was in a massive chamber. The glare from the light was now bearable, and the sight before him left him standing in awe.

The chamber—some sixty or seventy paces high and at least double that across—was as large as any public house back in the Hild’alan stead. The floors and walls were cut from the same rough limestone as the tunnel that led them here. Its reddish-brown hue gave a sharp contrast to the shimmering silver pool dominating the center of the room. The pool sat on a raised dais that looked naturally formed like the chamber. Surrounding the dais, he saw pillars of joined stalactites and stalagmites, which created a ring around the dais’ base, making it look like a large stone cage. Opposite the doorway sat a limestone ramp. The ramp ascended from the floor to the pool upon the dais.

The delegation of Elmorians spread out along the walls of the chamber. The Prince alone stayed at the foot of the stairs with Alant. The Prince stretched out an arm indicating the pool.
"Your destiny awaits,
Alant.
Do not fear it."

Looking up and into the deep black eyes of the blue-gray creature, Alant realized how foreign and alien the Elmorian appeared to him.

You are not the awe-inspiring beings I admired upon my arrival, and I shall not give you what you want. To this, I vow!

He glared at Prince Aritian. "It is you
Elmorians
who are the cowards. You who fear me and
my
race! Think
not
that I go into this blind!"

The Prince dropped his arm and took a quick step back. Fear is not what Alant saw in the Prince’s eyes…

He is terrified!

Prince Aritian made to reach out and grasp Alant, as if he would stop him from going to the dais. Forcing himself to smile as menacingly as he could, Alant turned and faced the center of the room. Steeling his nerves, he strode across the dusty floor and up the natural stone ramp to the pool as if it had been his choice to come here—as if the others had been his procession not his subjugators. Stopping at the top of the ramp, the edge of the silvery substance only a few inches from him, he was captivated by what he beheld.

The liquid did not form a pool as he assumed. It barely covered the dais with a thin sheen of a silvery substance. The reddish-brown limestone was visible through the surface now that Alant stood looking down at it. The bright silvery light emanated from it, however, and spread out to cast up and beyond, illuminating the entire chamber. Now that he stood directly over the pool, he saw that the surface looked more like a mirror—thin and delicate. Yet, it also seemed vibrant, alive in a way, as it covered the base of the dais. Leaning forward, he tried to catch his own reflection upon its surface. A gasp escaped his lips.

A reflection
of
me, aye! Yet one seen through the Sight
of
the Essence.

He marveled at the vision laid out before him. The swirls of colored Spectals spun around, filling all he gazed upon. They had a finality to them, a solidity. A reality he had never before experienced.

This is the way things should look. I am now seeing things as they really are. How I saw things with my normal vision—or in using the Sight to view the Essence—those were all false! They were nothing except lies to what reality should look like!

Removing his gaze from the pool, Alant scanned the room to see if he still held his regular vision, or if somehow he had slipped into the Sight of the Essence without realizing it. All seemed normal. He glanced over his shoulder to the group of Elmorians milling about the doorway. None of the white-robed gray beings looked directly at him. They all looked in his general direction, yet their gaze slipped past him as if they could no longer see him.