by Michael S. Webster
Celene Border near the Kron Hills
Snowflowers 29, 5038 OC (Coldeven 29, 576
CY)
“The lid,” continued the cleric, “is interesting. It’s engraved, but with characters I’ve never seen before. I was about to take a rubbing of the inscription when you three came down.”
Tyroc turned and headed for the stairs. Ridorr looked at him quizzically. “Aren’t you forgetting something? The inscription is right here.”
“Huh? I need parchment to make a
rubbing, don’t I?” Tyroc smiled. “I have some in my gear.”
Ridorr, a chagrined look on his face replied, “I have half a dozen pages if you
need more.”
The Duelist joined the Cleric and climbed the stairs together. Ridorr activated the mechanism, reopening the secret door. They went to their baggage left near the horses and each withdrew sheets of parchment.
The horses were whimpering and shuffling against their hobbles. Ridorr noticed their nervousness. Handing his parchments to the cleric, he went to the horses to calm them. Stroking their heads and clicking to them softly seemed to do little to calm them.
The voice could barely be heard, but Ridorr instantly recognized it.
“Airawyn?” whispered Ridorr. He turned the spiraling stairs leading up. “Airawyn!” called out Ridorr louder.
Tyroc, parchment and charcoal stick in hand turned to look at Ridorr. “What is it?”
“Airawyn is here!” Doubt ringed his voice. “She should be in Celene. Why is she here? HOW did she get here?”
“Hael’ridorr...” floated down the stairs again.
Ridorr stepped towards the stairs but was held back by Tyroc’s hand.
“Ridorr, it CAN’T be her, therefore it ISN’T her.”
“I would recognize her voice anywhere!”
“Whatever it is, it is using her voice against you! It’s not your Airawyn!”
“Ridorr... Come to me, my love! Help me!” Tyroc’s head snapped around as he heard the voice this time.
Ridorr, stronger and desperate, brushed the cleric aside and headed for the stairs again.
Tyroc raised the symbol of Corellon Larethian, directing towards the top of the stairs.
“Aienae tal'kinar! Corellim, geal zu failim!” shouted Tyroc. "T'thal, balith Corellim, nial naeshail mol'tun gulaith!”
“AIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeee!”
“Halith!” Ridorr grabbed the cleric, shaking him violently. “You’re hurting her!”
Suddenly, the shrieking upstairs stopped, and an eerie silence congealed around them.
The twins burst from the secret passage, arrows nocked and bowstrings pulled, swept the area looking for targets. L’ree, unlike her brother had multiple arrows nocked and ready to loose.
Qucalion followed close behind, his sword out and a faint arcane nimbus around his free hand as he went to Ridorr who still had Tyroc grasped. “What’s going on?”
Ridorr slowly released Tyroc, his head bowed. “I am sorry, Tyroc of Corellon, I had let my emotions cloud my judgement.”
Tyroc laid a hand on Ridorr’s shoulder and smiled. “I forgive you, my son. But not for being deeply in love. Were that we all had such love for another.”
Ridorr smiled his thanks, then turned to Qucalion. “I heard Airawyn calling from upstairs. Tyroc banished it.”
“I’m afraid not,” admitted Tyroc. “Whatever it is, is far stronger than I am. I fear all I did was weaken it slightly.” Tyroc shrugged his shoulders, and said, “And made it angry.”
“Did you say it was upstairs?” asked Arty’ll.
Before anyone could answer the question, L’ree dashed for the stairs, “Last one up is an orc’s used codpiece!”
Arty’ll sprinted quickly behind her, “You would know all about an orc’s codpiece, wouldn’t you?”
Qucalion tried to stop the two wood elves but did not catch them. He sighed exasperatedly, and followed them, the others fell in behind him.
The twins were prowling around the mostly open floor. Doors against the opposite wall were open, revealing a couple storage rooms and one chamber with a plain bed. Ridorr searched the rooms looking for his love.
Qucalion turned to the twin rangers. “Find anything?”
L’ree, stowing her arrows back into her quiver. “Nothing. No tracks in the dust on the floor.”
Arty’ll followed suit. “No tracks going further up. No tracks going down, either. There was no one here.” He almost sounded disappointed.
Ridorr, having finished his searching, looked stricken. “I know I heard her voice from up here.
Qucalion nodded sympathetically. “We’ll keep searching. Ridorr, take Tyroc and go down and get a rubbing off the tomb. Maybe it will hold clues about what’s going on.”
Ridorr looked towards the curved stairs going up with sadness then nodded. Tyroc put a hand on the duelist’s shoulder, as they returned downstairs.
Qucalion watched them disappear down the stairs as Arty’ll and L’ree walked up to him. “That’s not the real reason you sent Ridorr away,” accused L’ree.
Qucalion turned to the sister, defensively. “Of course it is. No one should be alone in this tower.”
Arty’ll chuckled until his sister put an elbow in his ribs.
“You’re worried he might be a liability if we meet the thing that sounded like his lady-love,” said L’ree smugly, but tinged with something gentler.
“Not exactly. If we face that thing, we will have to destroy it,” sighed Qucalion. “He doesn’t need the trauma of killing his love, even it is a fake.”
“Assuming it doesn’t destroy OOF!” L’ree’s elbow found her brother’s diaphragm.
Qucalion turned towards the stairs leading up. “There doesn’t seem to be anything here. Let’s move to—”
In a burst of motion, the twins had their bows drawn and were running for the stairs, shoving each other. Qucalion just sighed and followed.
ù
In the crypt, Tyroc arrayed parchment on the slab, making a mark on each with a charcoal stick.
“So, what is it you’re actually doing?” asked Ridorr as he leaned on a stone wall.
Tyroc continued to work as he answered. “Well, it’s pretty easy. When I rub charcoal on these sheets, it makes a negative copy of the engravings on the slab.” Tyroc held up the parchment.
“I’ve numbered them on the top to…”
Ridorr’s attention drifted away from the cleric’s explanation and finally settled on something under the tomb-sarcophagus. Holding up a hand to halt Tyroc’s lecture, Ridorr stepped up to the tomb and leaned over to peer under it.
Ridorr turned to see the cleric suddenly thrown across the chamber to slam against the wall then dropped to the floor, stunned and gasping for air. He first became aware of the total silence in the chamber. Then he heard scratching coming from the top of the sarcophagus.
Turning his head back, Ridorr slowly rose to peer over the lid. A smoky shape rose up on the opposite side. Devoid of features until two eyes opened and settled on the elf. Two eyes that Ridorr recognized.
“Airawyn?” breathed Ridorr.
The eyes adjusted their shapes as if the owner was smiling.
It was not a comforting smile.
Both figures, Ridorr and the smoky shadow rose together. No other features resolved on the shape as the two stood there, looking at each other.
The thought that whatever it was wasn’t simply smoke or shadow briefly crossed Ridorr’s mind. The two tumbled backwards away from the tomb, landing on the floor of the cellar.
The thing hissed like a serpent as a claw raked Ridorr’s face. Flesh split open; freezing pain tore a scream from him.
The shadow hissed in triumph as its
form collapsed into a dense tendril of blackness, flowing into Ridorr’s
screaming mouth.
To Be Continued…
This is getting dark and very dangerous. Good thing I'm making a Healer Character
ReplyDelete