"Adzel Chapter IV" by John H. Blackham

Chapter IV

The earth shook and the rock tunnel engulfing them began to crack and shiver apart, spreading up and around themselves and the statuette. The ground on which they stood held fast, as did that beneath the statuette, leaving a raised stone floor as the earth about them began to sink readily, like a sand pit emptying into a hole in the bottom. The walls and ceiling of the tunnel seemed to melt away, the stone dripping like wax over a flame, and through the cracks of the sinking earth below, the reek of sulfur reached them with a staggering thickness, forcing them all to wrap their cloak ends around their mouths. The pebbles and dust of the rock above rained all around their tiny haven of stone, never so much as a granite speck touching their platform. Despite this, Malagent and Swagg crouched defensively, covering their necks with their hands, bracing themselves for the worst. Sanadred, on the other hand, stared on with wonder and awe at the world melting around him, seeing for the first time in his life so much beyond his understanding; and Dirhem still knelt before the statuette. It was as though a dome was placed over them, invisible as it was invincible, thwarting all attempts to breach it, like hail falling upon blind iron.

            So far the chamber had expanded that Sanadred was sure that the mountain could scarcely contain all that space. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the crumbling and melting away had stopped. It had become suddenly, unbearably hot, and the stench of sulfur only added to the sensation. A red, wicked glow engulfed the entire chamber from below, and looking over the edge of the small platform on which he stood, Sanadred saw that it was just that—a platform suspended by thin air over a fiery lake of magma, stretching forth as far as he could see.

            Slowly, Swagg and Malagent removed their hands from their ears and gingerly began to stand, drinking in their surroundings with the same wonderment that had done Sanadred. Dirhem alone seemed completely unperturbed by the drastic change. Malagent peeked over the edge, and then shot his attention roughly from the endless pit of magma below to the stone floor of the platform, looking as though he might be readily sick.

            DIRHEM, came a great booming voice, enveloping them all in a torrent of vibration. The man looked up from his bowing to the faceless statue, WHY HAST THOU CALLED UPON ME? The words echoes all around, for miles and miles, until the words faded to a dull murmur.

            “My lady, these three men bear three of the Weapons, each of them one. If we are to succeed, then we shall need your aid. We must rejoin the rest of the villagers to find the last of the Weapons, and then escape the torrent of The Enemy’s armies’ efforts to retrieve them.” He replied to the motionless stone. Had the statue not replied, there would have been no doubt in the minds of the men that he was quite mad.

            I SEE, it said, then paused for a moment, as if in thought. The eeriness began to bother Sanadred, who looked away from the statue to avoid its faceless gaze. Malagent seemed to feel similarly, though it may have been that he was still feeling sick. THY CAUSE IS WORTHY, EARTH-MASTER, BUT HAST THOU TOLD THEM OF THE ENEMY’S PLOT?

            “If it pleases My Lady,” Dirhem replied, politely but bluntly, “we had not the time for such a discussion. When we do have the time and a safe location is provided, all will be revealed to them.”

            DO NOT TELL ALL UNTIL THE WEAPON HAS BEEN RECOVERED, ELSE THE DANGER OF BEING OVERHEARD IS TOO GREAT.

            “Yes, My Lady,” Dirhem chimed, almost cheerfully, and then added under his breath, “as if I were looking foreword to it.”

            I SHALL SEEND THE ALL AHEAD OF THY PEOPLE TO FOREWARN THE LORD OF LENDALA OF THEIR COMING.

            “I thank you, My Lady” came Dirhem’s reply, again adding under his breath, “knowing the man as I do, it may take some time to persuade him to be generous.”

            GO THEN WITH MY BLESSING. The words echoed and ricocheted though their heads as a sudden inexplicable dizziness, and slowly darkness crept over their eyes, clouding them as a flange engulfed their ears, dying gently with each sweep of the sound, until they saw and heard no more. Only the reek of sulfur remained to remind them of their consciousness before it, too was taken from them.

*          *          *

            The moonlight was strong, enough so that Aeronwen did not require the aid of the sputtering candle in her hands to see where she was going that night. The broken cobblestones cracked together as she trod over them in her softskin boots, though the benighted city was silent. As it should be; none had lived here for nigh half a century. This part of the city had been walled off, all those years ago, when eerie happenings became so commonplace that the inhabitants had been so afraid for themselves that they had abandoned their homes; those who had not were never seen or heard from again. The nature of the hauntings had been unmentioned, aside from “funny sounds” occurring at night and having a “bad feeling” when alone, even in the day; it was not long before people began to disappear.

            It was reflecting on this, perhaps, that caused her to imagine a shadow darting about the corner of her eye. Heart racing, she turned and held the candle over her head. Nothing was there. Almost at once, the hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end, and a shiver crept up her spine. Nothing stirred in the darkness, and not a shadow broke the moonlight, save those of the derelict buildings that haunted the streets. This is stupid, she thought to herself, I cannot believe that I am doing this. The reward for her work, however, would more than compensate her for her sacrifices, or so she had convinced herself. But that was before she had actually seen where it would lead her. Now, however, she was not so sure. The clicking of another set of boots on the broken cobblestone caused her breath to catch in her throat, and cold sweat began to bead on her forehead. Stronger grew the sound, and thicker came the air to her throat; yet her legs did not seem to want to respond to her brain’s frantic demands of them. Frozen where she stood, she could only wait in cold terror as the footsteps made their way directly behind her. She took one last breath, and held it, squeezing her eyes shut. The footsteps didn’t even pause; they continued directly past her. Relief flooded her for some reason, or at least until she eased one eye open. She had always believed that what she could see could frighten her, but what she couldn’t could kill her. The footsteps continued clicking their way along the otherwise silent street-way, though there was nothing there.

            Her mind made up in that instant, and she turned directly around toward the broken wall that she had entered through, her sole intent to escape with her life.

*          *          *

All was vague and blurry, as it was silent. Black shapes walking about the grey-blue infinity of the world around him. What was this? Was he dead, perhaps, and this was some sad excuse for an afterlife? Had he gone completely mad? Why was he here? Too many questions, he mused. One would get no where by questioning everything that struck them as strange, even if it were everything that struck him thus.

            A shape plodded silently toward him, its edges blurry and holding in place after it moved, before dissolving into the grey-blue void around it, like an echo of a shadow reverberating around a bright chamber. As it drew nearer, however, he began to perceive that it came into sharper focus, details canceling out the vague confusion that he had initially felt. It was humanoid in shape, inasmuch as it had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head; though none of these matched anything remotely like a human’s. The head was like that of an eyeless vulture, and the limbs were far too long, with hands the size of platters and clawed fingers that seemed sharp enough to rent him apart, should it choose to.

            Fear should have filled them, but it didn’t; instead he felt calm, and even eager. At length it approached him. He stared at it for a time, and it stared back with its sightless eye sockets. A rushing sound reached his ears, one with an oddly familiar ring to it; and unsurprisingly, as well, for within a moment, from below floated a massive, framed mirror, obscuring his view of the creature and replacing it with a view of his own face. It was identical to the vulture-creature.

            Sanadred woke from the dream with a cry that sent Swagg running to his aid. They were yet underground, though not in any mines, but a cave. Bright daylight shone in from beyond the stone mouth, and at it stood Dirhem, keeping watch.

            “What happened, lad?” he asked urgently. Sanadred slowly caught his breath, and then shook his head.

            “It was nothing,” he told Swagg, “just a dream.” However, whether he admitted it to Swagg or not, he knew that there was something about it, though he could not say exactly what, that told him that it was not merely a dream. Swagg nodded slowly, and then sat down next to him. Sanadred then noticed that he was wrapped in a torn blanket near the remains of a fire.

            “Dirhem brought us here,” Swagg explained, “when we passed through that portal at the mountain goddess’ statuette. Malagent and yourself were knocked out cold by the portal, but I haven’t the slightest clue as to why.” Sanadred cocked his head at Swagg, and then asked,

            “And where are we?” At this, Swagg smiled and gestured out the mouth of the cave, beckoning Sanadred to arise and see for himself. Though he was lightheaded and perhaps a bit dizzy, he stood and walked up to the mouth of the cave, where he saw a gorgeous view spread out about him, beneath the vaulted skies that spread white clouds across brilliant blue. The trees were largely of pine along the base of the valley below them, though along the hill that led up to Daem Lendala were thick expanses of aged oaks. A small river cut through the side of the valley, and separated the hill on which the keep stood from Sanadred’s current location. They were but a mile away from the Daem Lendala, which in itself was a very tall and majestic, though strangely well defended, from what Sanadred could see, completing the scene that filled the mouth of the cave like paint on a canvas. The castle, it seemed, was part of the mountain range that surrounded it and the valley below, as though carved into the very rock that it stood upon. This was, however, impossible; it was almost a perfect rectangle, and nearly as tall as the mountain itself.

            “Well,” came Malagent’s voice from behind him, “We can reach Lendala by within an hour. It will likely take the rest of the day to get inside, and every second from then until the rest of Narthazel arrives to convince Lord Grodrim to let them take refuge there.” Sanadred nodded, though said nothing. Daem Lendala stood like a fist of stone against anything that would dare provoke it, and he could not help feeling, for some reason, that he was doing exactly that.               

*          *          *

            It was Aeronwyn’s trade to wait just inside the gates and attempt to pickpocket the rich lords and ladies who entered there, before the other cat-purses and pickpockets got to them in the marketplace. Of course, her trade was not limited to picking pockets or locks alone; she was well versed in any arts of stealth, and frequently used them to make her living in the streets of Lendala. In fact, there was a single employer in all of Lendala bold enough to hire her; her reputation was so poor that there were very few among the rogues of the city who would even associate with her. The price on her head was not high enough to give the city guard cause to devote an entire bounty poster to her, though the names she shared with were certainly not those of amateurs -- Bricriu Clustfeinad was a relatively well-known outlaw of the area who had been sharing a bounty poster with Aeronwyn Nadezhda for three years now -- and anyone who appeared on the bounty posters was almost instantly shunned by virtually every rogue and lowlife in Lendala; it was considered a sign of incompetence to be caught so many times that the city guard knew your name by heart.

            Today, however, being caught was the last thing on her mind, after the fiasco the night before. She slept most of the day off, huddled into a corner near the entrance corridor of Lendala, though she dared not sleep in the aisle for fear of being trampled by the horses that were always bringing in and taking out goods and wealth. Good targets at times, though the merchants leading the horse were never incredibly rich to begin with.

            The gates suddenly opened for the umpteenth time that morning; she looked out the corner of her eye to see not one merchant, but four men striding through the corridor. It was perhaps for the reason that, judging by their appearance, they were not incredibly wealthy that she decided to test this morning’s luck on them.

            It was Dirhem she tried first, which proved to be a fatal error. He looked quite a fool, wearing such an overcoat when in truth it was warm enough, hours from noonday, and she naturally assumed that with all the goods he very likely had stored all over himself, a few coins wouldn’t go amiss. How wrong she was: the instant he felt her collide sharply with him, he knew precisely what had happened, and twisted around to grab her by the arm.

            “You know,” he said in a melodic tone, causing Swagg, Malagent, and Sanadred to stop sharply in confusion, “there’s nothing in that pocket.” She glared back at him, and knew she was done for. A guard was watching from the gateway with suspicion, and as she predicted, he approached with a rather unhappy-looking gait.

            “Is this woman bothering you, my lord?” he asked Dirhem, who regarded him for a moment before replying.

            “Not as such,” Dirhem said, pulling her closer to him until she was caught between his torso and his arm, much to her alarm, “I simply haven’t seen my lady love for quite some time, and she didn’t recognised me when we first met. Of course, we’re fast at being reacquainted, and all is well, isn’t it, Branwyn?” The girl nodded, though in a way that could hardly be described as enthusiastic.

            “Right, then,” the guard said, his eyes dropping, “Sorry to bother you.” He took a step backward, shot one embarrassed glance at Aeronwyn and Dirhem, and turned away. Aeronwyn made a dash for freedom, but not in time to catch Dirhem by surprise. She found herself caught quite roughly again in his arm, though she didn’t struggle, for the encounter with the guard had her shaken enough.

            “Do let go of me, sir,” she said in a low, desperate whisper that betrayed her calm demeanor. Clearly, she misinterpreted her circumstances, and quite understandably, “I want no quarrel with you. I am sorry that I tried anything, but I didn’t succeed; I haven’t taken anything from you, so please, just let me go!”

            “Actually,” said Dirhem in a light, dismissive tone, “You rather did. That bit of paper in your hand that you managed to fish out of my pocket, I’m sure you didn’t know, is something of great importance to me as much as it is to you. I think, love, that we’d best discuss this at your earliest convenience.” Aeronwyn froze: was she free? If there was to be no discussion at present, it stood to reason that she should be allowed to go until such a convenience arose.

            “Yes, I’ll talk all you want, just let go of me!” she whispered in a quite sharp voice, but Dirhem didn’t let go.

            “On second thought,” Dirhem said, “Let’s talk at my earliest convenience. Tonight, as soon as the sun goes down, greet Kane at Medredydd’s Folly. He’s the owner, and he’ll direct you to our rooms,” he gestured around him to Sanadred, Malagent, and Swagg, “and if you do as I’ve just told you, you will be so well compensated, you need never pick a lock or a pocket again.” After these words, he released her, and she leapt forward a step or two. When she felt a safe distance away, she turned to look back at the strange man, only to find that he was nowhere to be seen, neither were his companions.

            “What was that all about?” Malagent asked Dirhem with an air of suspicion, “Why did you invite her to what I presume was intended to be a secret meeting?” Dirhem dismissed this with a sigh.

            “It is yet a secret meeting, Master Malagent,” he replied, “We’ve simply let another in on our secret.”

            “But why did we do that, may I inquire?” Malagent continued mercilessly.

            “Because she was in on our secret when she tried to pick his pocket, if you really wanted to know,” Sanadred said suddenly, surprising everyone, including himself. Malagent turned toward him with an expression of intense focus, as though trying to find a tiny detail in him that was not out of place; Swagg merely watched him, startled, while Dirhem actually looked rather impressed.

            “Well,” said Sanadred, “think about it, what kind of man would defend a pickpocket when he caught one, even letting her keep what she had stolen? It would draw attention to him, although I can’t see why we would want to avoid attention.”

            “Now, that,” said Dirhem with an air of a teacher beaming at a bright pupil, “Is something we shall discuss with her at our next meeting. In the meantime, I suggest you keep with me as I secure our lodgings at the Inn. A…friend…will be meeting us there.”

            “Who, may I ask,” asked Malagent, “is this friend?”

            “I tell you, all will be explained in time!” Dirhem exclaimed, though quieter than one could believe possible, given the intensity he spoke with. He then strode off in the general direction of the Southern Chapter, from what Sanadred knew of the city, though he knew only what was written in the old maps his father had left him. Swagg began to chuckle in a way that was clearly no indication of mirth, but rather a means to calm a nervous or anxious man.

            “Well,” said he, “A right fine adventure this is turning out to be, isn’t it? Not a week passes and we’re thrown out from our town, and led by a lunatic through Lendala to who knows what kind of trouble.”

            “Don’t remind me,” Sanadred said ruefully.

            Aeronwyn sat in her shelter, which was little more than a few old sheets sewn together to form a canvas tent of sorts in the corner of an alley in a reasonably safe part of the North Chapter of the city. The man’s offer could not be true--there was no amount of money that could grant her even a merchant’s life, for long anyway. Nevertheless, there would undoubtedly be money involved, and she would gladly talk in exchange for it rather than steal it. The inn, Medredydd’s Folly, was a place of good repute, as well. Nobility often stayed there, though there were few who remained alive after the War; well-off traveling merchants made up the majority of the costumers at that place. She supposed it was worth the gamble, and was about to set off, but not before she remembered the paper she had nicked from the strange man’s pockets.

            It was brown and worn, though not yet cloth-like, folded into a very neat square. She carefully unfolded it, and found written upon it:

            “My old friend,

I would send you a full account of the dire happenings of late in this haunted country, but I fear I cannot, lest this note fall into the wrong hands.”

            Aeronwyn felt a pang of guilt at reading this, but she went on.

            “Suffice to say, I cannot remain here any longer. The Omrigians have witlessly wrought much greater peril upon this world than they ever dreamed to, and only within the past few months have I realised even a portion of the extent of danger we are all in. I sent Evan and Caradoc to the Gravesite, and only Caradoc returned. He told me a great deal, and from what I could gather, I found myself obligated to return to Lendala and arrange a meeting with you. Caradoc will meet you in our prearranged place, at sundown.

                                                                        Until then,

                                                                                    Your friend, Dirhem Eredane”

            She put down the letter with a dazed look on her face. This was not going to be a discussion. She knew too much already, and she could see exactly why this man, Dirhem by name, wanted her to meet with him: he was going to either drag her into his conspiracy, or he was going to kill her. Either way, no amount of compensation would be worth the risk.

            A cold breeze swept across her makeshift canvas walls, and she shivered, looking about her. The sun was fading behind the western walls, and suddenly the city seemed less hospitable than ever. There was something great, something very dangerous abroad, and if she didn’t find out what it was, she would very likely be the first to fall victim to it. She couldn’t help but notice a strange man who passed her alley -- too many times. He kept doubling over, and every time he crossed the mouth of the alley, his head was inclined in her direction, face hidden by a cowl, yet she knew he was watching her. In a minute or so, she thought to herself, he would be back. In that minute, she made up her mind: she tucked the paper away into her pockets, donned her faded tailcoat with a short knife carefully tucked behind each cuff, and slipped out of her shelter, opening a door behind it which led to her cache of scavenged equipment, and most importantly, the roofs.

            It was not much warmer inside, but she felt safer. After shutting the door, she locked it with an old, rusted key which she quickly turned and placed back in her pockets, and with a sigh of relief, she slid a large deadbolt into place. She inched along the floor, making as little noise as possible while weaving a trail through the dust, and then reached down to the boards, sliding open the loose one which hid her cache. Within there was very little: a few rusted daggers, a bottle of wine that she had stolen from some fat nobleman’s cellar, and her lock picks. These she tucked away carefully into her abundant pockets, at which point she heard the lock slide open.

            She froze and stood straight up. The door was unlocked, and even now she could hear the deadbolt gently sliding open, flecks of rust breaking off the greasy surface. In a panic, she leapt to her feet and sprinted up the stairs which led to the rooftops. As she reached the top, she spared a glance downward in time to see the deadbolt fly open and the door start to inch inward. She somehow managed to keep her wits about her, and she flung open the trapdoor over her head. Sweet merciful skies greeted her, stars beginning to glitter amongst the burning purple and black of the dying twilight.

            Hoisting herself easily through the door, Aeronwyn spared another glance down. The man had entered the room with a slow deliberate gait; taking long, slow steps and looking about with a graceful, if sluggish demeanor -- he had not seen her. She stood upon the roof above and watched him for a moment, before realising how incredibly stupid that was.