A small ball of fire cracked above Lon's wrist and the hissing sound echoed up the dark stairway. He fed the glowing construct more smilk to keep it alive and found he could govern its size by adjusting the flow.
The young lad climbed for what seemed like an eternity. The exercise was eerily similar to his ascent to Ephram's shrine except without the heavy weight on his neck. An hour passed and he took no breaks; he plodded steadily upwards and used the stainless steel handrail to climb the perfectly formed stairs.
The lad chuckled when it struck him that he'd gotten everything he wanted from Ephram. He'd asked for the Samardina and the great master had instantly helped him. He'd given him just what he'd requested but had seemingly put no thought into his health or well-being. Once he'd seen that schematic which showed the Secondsun, Lon had figured out how to make fire and ice all by himself. That was a defining moment. Even though he didn't totally understand the grand device he now had fire in his hand. He'd built the sign in his mind and that was the hardest part. Now he had a mighty weapon and useful torch.
Lon saw the top of the stairway loom above; here again was the four kingdom test he'd solved with Melcart. The portal was open, the two doors likely worked in tandem.
The Traveled Path was just as he'd remembered. It was dark and dirty and smelled like death. The alabaster white panel had been reset and was closed. He wouldn't open it. The nightmare returned and he felt his fear increase with every step; he could feel the rat turds and dirt underfoot, this place haunted his dreams. Lon remembered how he'd dreamed of being down here with the others and being so scared that instead of doing battle with the beast they'd run down the stairs! Was that a dream- augury? Maybe he didn't have to kill this creature or even face it; if he could just get to that armory again and close the door he'd be safe. That's what had happened when he'd visited here with Mel. Bah. He'd never get so lucky now by himself.... He knew he'd have to face it. He'd have to kill it. With fire.
This was a stupid idea. He could turn around. I should turn around. I should find another way. He couldn't face this beast alone, with bare hands and feet in the rat infested catacombs. He wasn't ready for this.
But there was no other way. He had to stay and do this, come what may... I have to try. Even if this is where I die.
Stop it! He'd do more than try. He was a monster. Nothing could touch him now and he didn't need a weapon. I am a weapon! He had smilk in his mind and he could make withering balls of fire just like Gladragos. But he'd never done it before in battle, and he was not as strong as his hero, not even close...
The manticor spoke. "Neeeoowgggrr." Lon froze. So much for sneaking past the beast. Its voice curdled his smilk and made him feel sick with fear. The cloying sound echoed down the dark corridor and rippled the stagnant air.
Lon increased the flames and raised his arm to peer into the darkness ahead. He could see nothing lurked and so took another step. His feet sank into the powdery turf and he shivered with fear. The fire burned bright above his hand but he knew he could not throw the blaze like this; once it was aflame there was no attaching the bor sign. To make a projectile he'd have to quench this construct and start over. But he watched the sigil work in his brain to make the sizzling ball of flames and it pacified him.
"Neeeoowggggrrrr," the cat beckoned from the shadows ahead.
Liquid terror coursed through his bloodstream every time the cat meowed. He heard his heartbeat in his ears and realized the fear he felt was not entirely his own. It was the cat's not-so-secret weapon. The creature's most cunning attack came from its voice; its piercing meows were a mutation that painted the worst imaginings in his mind.
"Lonastasius Treanole..." The voice belonged to Minister Horne. "Lon come this way." He could hear his arch-enemy speak to him even though the priest was nowhere to be seen. Was this the cat? The tangy stench of its feces and dirty fur was in the air. The guardian was close. There were no rats around and that was another sign the cat was near. He'd just go slow and manage his fear by concentrating on his fire. He knew the enemy priest was not present either but he marveled at the beast's ability to make that voice in his head, just as Horne had done.
"Lonny. Turn back," his mother spoke in his head as clear as if she stood beside him and the sound of her voice shocked the lad. He knew right then that's how it worked. The cat's command makes mental misfires which cause the target to hear the voices of the people he considers most important; it mixes memories with emotions.
Once he realized the truth, Lon was imbued with increased courage; the working theory greatly strengthened his resolve. He reckoned he could overcome this beast's ploy simply by remaining calm and carrying on.
"Neeeoowggggrrrr," the cat spoke again.
"It'ss Gillum," Lon heard Tharus say amidst the rattle of deck chains back on the Annabelle. He remembered how the body of Gilum Vlox was unshackled and thrown overboard. That was death my blunders caused. I'm not a savior. I'm a screw-up, and I always have been.
The lad collapsed against the corridor wall and wept. His flame ball set silky shrouds alight and spiders scurried to safety. He cried for five minutes in honour of Gilum Vlox, a great merchant and master trader. The whole company had been ruined by Lon and his big mouth. While in Havista with a cargo of smuggled goods he'd told his adventures to a pretty lass who worked for the harbourmaster. He spilled their secrets simply because she asked so sweetly only to find he'd completely sold out his mates. Twenty four minuchin were taken by the Crols that day. That was his life's greatest mistake. He would always feel that pain...
There it was. Fifty feet away. A pair of yellow cat eyes reflected the flame in his hand. Oh Kluth save me now.
The manticor stepped forward and Lon choked with terror. Lon saw its mangy coat and how it was missing tufts of fur on its face and body . The creature had short spiky whiskers and its eyebrows bent in a cruel expression that conveyed a hungry curiosity. Its ears were behind its head which made it look ready to pounce. It was a horrible sight that would paralyze the bravest warriors, but in that moment something comforted him.
A sudden warmth melted down Lon's spine and he sensed he wasn't alone. Someone prayed for him and he felt their prayers. If Gilum could see me now he'd be proud. the thought came unexpectedly, and then another; Kluth himself is my instructor and I'm on a clean path to the innocents in the world above. He needed to quench his emotions and become the unfeeling monster this cat most feared. He calmed himself by pouring more smilk into the fire bubble on his wrist; he increased its size and felt its heat and bravely took another step forward toward the beast.
"Neowwwgerr," the manticor spoke and Lon felt the smilkripple. The cat was the size of a bullock and its jaws were bigger than his head. When the creature hissed it showed all of its teeth. It was absolutely terrifying and when it meowed it sent smilk into the air to make itself appear even more dreadful.
I should back-up. I should run. Run! No. Stop. That's what it wants. Lon thought back on all the wicked feigor and fantastic creatures he'd faced. His journey thus far had been filled with blood thirsty terrors that sought to panic opponents into reckless flight so they'd be easier prey. Even the yak in the stables preferred to strike when a trespassers' back was turned. In that instant the young lad considered Ruby Key's famous bestiary, The Beasts Below the Beasts We Know. He'd just seen the book in Atar's library three days ago. The front of the text had a checklist appraisal process and the writer stressed that every creature encountered below had both strengths and weaknesses. What was this creature's flaw?
The manticor turned and showed its spiky tail before it disappeared away again farther ahead on The Traveled Path. Lon exhaled in relief. He only had another hundred feet to walk before he'd get to the crumbled corridor that led to the armory.
The guardian was likely just as scared of him, he hoped. It'd seen him now and it was probably frightened of the fire he kept above his fist. That was its great weakness; it was covered in fur. Or at least partially covered and so flames hurt. Maybe it'd been touched by a torch or two over the years. He could hear it growl up ahead, but he was in the last stretch...
Lon came to the cracked ledge that'd calved under his feet during his last retreat. Just beyond that hazard he saw the side passage which he knew led to the oaken door and the monastery's secret weapon stash. There was a hole in the ceiling in there. Another twenty steps... Lon carefully approached the edge...
"Caaahisss"
The cat attacked. It wasn't far away in the distance but right here in the junction. It'd waited in the shadows and thrown its voice to beguile. Add that to its list of strengths for the bestiary. Now it hustled forth with open jaws and its claws poked out from its paws and it crouched and made ready to pounce.
Lon poured smilk into the blaze above his outstretched wrist which slowed the cat but didn't stop its attack. "Stay away!" Lon said, but it came forward anyway. The creature had long arms and it swiped at his outstretched hand with its razor sharp claws. It scratched his skin and shredded his shirt and pain coursed through his forearm under the fire. He saw blood flow from the wound. The cat saw it too and came again.
The pain transformed Lon's fear into anger. He jammed a bor rod on top of the fire-from-air sign that already burned in his brain. He pushed it back down onto the smulcrum for a refill. The flame ball faded right when the manticor opened its mouth.
"Fei Gum Gei..." Lon shouted and his words boomed in the darkness. The cat stabbed his other shoulder with its claws. The creature opened its jaws to bite off his outstretched hand. "Bor!" Lon finished the intonation.
A fountain of flame crackled forth and the blast shot-up into the manticor's open mouth. Phooosh. The blast shook the beast from the inside out. Lon couldn't get his hand back in time and its teeth took more skin from his forearm. The beast's eyes went wide with surprise and it died with a horrible throaty cry that was its last exhale. The blast baked its voice box and its whole head roasted and smoke came from its ears.
"Fei Gum Gei" Lon spoke alive his flame ball back above his bloody fist. He gasped in real astonishment when he saw his size of the cat and his blood soaked arms and wrist. These lacerations were painful and now he knew they must be treated right away.
Lon already felt dizzy and he worried he faded too fast. This was a new fear and it gave him a chill. He was almost out of smilk but he knew he could just go that strange cube room and refill. The fire burned and he heard the rats return. Now he'd bleed and they'd feed on him if he passed out here. He must keep moving.
In the rubble below the broken ledge he spied something and it gave him hope. He saw there hidden amidst the jagged stone, a little white object... Could it be? Yes. It was the candle he'd picked up in the porridge room on his journey here with Melcart three nights ago. He'd dropped it when he'd fallen and never given it a second thought; back then they'd been so worried about keeping the torches lit that he hadn't even noticed he'd lost it. Now that little wax object was precious.
Rats squealed and he knew they smelled him. He worried they'd smell his blood and maul him before he could get to that solid oak door but of course they went right for the dead manticor. They sang with joy as they tasted their oppressor. The fearsome king of their disgusting world was dead and now something else would surely rise up and rule this wicked realm.
Lon found the door to the armory and marveled again at the scratches. The same claws had cut him too, and now he bled. These incisions would have killed him a few days ago, but he was much stronger now after being Doubled twice more. His shoulder ached and his feet were sore but he'd proved himself a much stronger monster than the manticor. Still he knew he was losing blood and the catacombs were no place to bleed.
The armory door opened (the bar was not set!) and the room was just as he remembered. He closed the portal and sealed the passage. The room was ten by ten square and it was a part of a longer corridor that'd been blocked-up here.
The four inch wax candle was broken but easily repaired. It'd save his life now as he needed both hands to bandage his wounds. He removed his shirt, what was left of it, and he tore it into strips which he tied about his arms. They were soaked with blood right away but these tourniquets worked to staunch the flow.
Lon set the flickering candle on a shelf in the rock and looked around the room with his flame ball added to this new light source for illumination.
This subterranean strong-point was a square chamber that'd been made by blocking up both ends of a smooth-sided tunnel. There were a hole in the ceiling here and two stout hardwood doors, one in the center of each wall. The door frames were encased in green granite, cut and assembled with mortar between the blocks. Dozens of eight-foot long steel tipped halberds were bundled into one corner like sheaves of corn. Inside the secret weapons cache were half a dozen wooden sword racks, each about six feet long and four feet high.
Lon saw the sword he'd pointed at Melcart during their previous visit. The creature had sat outside and called to them both back then and it'd planted such fear and mistrust in their brains they'd almost killed each other. Well, he'd almost stabbed Melcart was all he really knew for sure. His friend was the one who'd laughed and broke the illusion.
None of the equipment matched and Lon reckoned it was all recovered material. The Crols didn't use this kit because it didn't mesh with their gear. Uniform equipment is psychologically devastating to raiders and brigands who count on speed and fear organized resistance. One of the reasons the Crols were so efficient was because of their flush appearance. Stop it. Why think about all that now? Solve the problem at hand before you bleed to death down here.
Lon gazed up at the hole in the ceiling. He remembered how their ladder had twelve rungs and still didn't quite reach the top. So it was about fourteen feet he needed to climb and that was not impossible. What was he going to do? The answer was obvious. He'd make a ladder. For any other wanderer this would likely be impossible, but Lon was a woodsfeigor and he could weave timber into whatever he pleased and any piece of steel was a valuable tool in his hands. He scouted about for a hammer, and something he could use for nails? A bucket of crossbow bolts would serve. Here were six inch spikes in a bucket which he knew required greenwood because dry timber would split. Then Lon realized the biggest problem he had was that none of the wood could span the distance. The sword racks were only six feet long and four feet high...
Lon paced around the room and thought about the problem and then realized he didn't need to make a ladder. He deduced that if he dumped the swords and stacked the racks two by two he could make a mini-tower. He used halberds as diagonals around the bottom to give the scaffolding more stability. He saved the two smallest armatures for the very top and found he only needed one because from that point he could reach the iron spike that held the blood pipe in the gap. Once up in the hole he grasped the floor above and used the same spike as a footrest to get his belly above the rock and slither forward. When he stood and looked back he saw the blood trail he'd left on the racks below and felt even weaker.
Darkness. He lit his fire-orb and stumbled forth. Lon knew just where he was and where he had to go. But what would he do at the next hole? There was no lumber there to make a riser there was likely no opening above; he remembered how a wooden cover had first hidden that secret entrance down. Maybe he should have taken something from the armory... Wait. There was light ahead.
Was there someone in that snail farm tending the yellow horns? They'd be harvesting the slime for medicine (that he would need). The young lad increased his agonized stride.
"Hello?" Lon called and waited but nobody replied. He made his flame ball a little brighter above his arm and stumbled closer to the smelly snail farm.
Flies buzzed and spider webs glowed orange and flickered; there were torches in that clam-shaped cavern and voices...
Lon emerged into the opening and saw four templekin in brown smocks and sandals and two held lanterns. One was shoveled muck into pens while another worked the fences. These were the snail farmers.
"Oh thank Kluth you're here..." Lon said. He walked with difficulty into the slippery space that was subdivided into pens with short fences made from sticks. The workers were junior attendants that he didn't recognize and they didn't seem to know him either. They gasped and squealed in terror.
Lon's emergence from the catacombs startled these timid folk who must have feared the very worst; they believed he was a visitor up from the below. They saw only a deranged intruder who'd come from the depths half naked with fire in his hand. The stranger had blood soaked rags tied about his arms and he was barefoot and covered in grime. He spoke to them in Common which apparently none of them understood for they all stopped their work and backed away in horror as if he were an abomination. Which I am.
"No come on. Help me... Please." Lon collapsed to his knees. He let the fire sign fade from his mind and as he dropped to all fours.
In time the workers gathered round and he heard them speak their slithering tongue and felt them lift his arms and take his weight on their shoulders. They carried him limping away and he saw the dark tunnels slid by his eyes until they came to the hoist they'd rigged at the next hole. Torchlight flickered at the scene. The templekin didn't bother with the rickety ladder but rather they'd rigged a rope loop over a jib-arm to raise the buckets of goop they harvested from their snail farm. Lon blacked out during the rise for they'd tied the ropes around his chest and the squeeze knocked him unconscious. They didn't wake him.
-
"Oooowwwwe," the sea drover moaned and opened his eyes only to find it was nighttime and he lay on a bedroll outside the infirmary. Smoke filled the air and made the world seem dreary but there were torches everywhere and lanterns overhead. He now received proper care and was well illuminated. It had been morning back when he'd fallen down the falls and so that meant he'd spent the whole day underground. What had happened in the time that'd passed? He lay on the pavement and heard the fountain gurgle behind his body; he was quite naked and four templekin nurses cleaned his wounds with rubbing alcohol. The untied the tourniquets and sponged away the foul smelling blood and dirt. He lay by the water fountain outside the infirmary on the hard ground and there were many other patients on bedrolls all around him. Nurses crawled about on their knees and each had a separate task. Only the critically wounded were taken inside for surgery.
"I must.." Lon tried to sit up, "my friends...?"
"Hushhh," a Calbian nurse said. She turned his head and scrubbed his neck and face with a hot washcloth. When the sponge bath ended he opened his eyes and saw her white bonnet and he knew it was the same matron who'd cared for Saeya. Now she loomed over him with a swab and bucket while her sisters poked painfully at his arms with needles and thread. "Husshhhh,' she said again and he suspected these were the only words of Common she knew. The healing goop was next applied and then clean bandages were cut and tied and finally his dignity was covered with a clean linen sheet.
Bells rang out from the west wall and a willow tree by the pond burst into flames.
"Stay!" a nurse said in Commom.
"No. I must go." Lon tried to sit up again.
"Would you spend a moment longer..." a deep voice boomed, "if I told you I've someone bringing new clothes and boots." Hamlin stepped out from behind the nurses.
"Yes," Lon lay back down and the templemaster knelt beside him.
"You've lost a lot of blood." the moss-bearded elder inspected his face. "I've also sent for a bowl of stew and a spoon." Hamlin studied him, "you look well though."
"Is everything okay.. The battle?" Lon nodded toward the willow tree which burned and made even more smoke in the still air. "Horne shoots fire now?'
"Oh he ravages us with flame shot but he still can't get past the walls."
"Is Saeya back? Melcart and Valari? Have they returned?" Lon looked around as if to see them but nothing could be discerned beyond the temple yard and the tree that burned.
"They returned safe," the templemaster looked up at the supreme deity, "Forgive me Lord, I've been so busy I haven't thanked you for that yet." The old medico closed his eyes and scratched the un-mossed section of his beard absently as if listening to the Creator's reply. Lon didn't interrupt.
"Did you kill my deep cat?" Hamlin asked after some meditation. He opened one eye and pointed at the young lad's arms, "is that how you got these injuries?"
"Yes. No need to feed any more blood..."
"Twas one of the Cats of Amaran. Do you know that tale? "
"No." Lon said, but he'd suspected the cat was a storied monster. "Emerald eyes?"
"One of the true stories. Sperlane took a pack down and those creatures so frightened his companions they killed each other in a bid to escape."
"Ahh."
"How did you ...er best it?'
"Fire."
"Wonderful." Hamlin nodded approvingly.
Lon sat up on his bandaged elbows to watch the nurses clean and mend the cuts on his feet.
"My boots. They're in Winterhouse."
"Winterhouse is not as you remember I'm afraid." Hamlin encouraged him lay back down again. "Rest a moment longer."
An ambulance cart delivered another wounded soldier on a stretcher and two nurses began to triage the new arrival. Lon looked around and saw a couple dozen other bloodied warriors which had been laid on the lawn all around the white-haired lad. Here were red-skinned Calbian archers and feigor-at-arms but also members of the fire brigade who were being treated for burns. He searched these folks for any sign of his friends but only curious red faces stared back at him.
The monastery was loud with chants and two monks struck a thin metal sheet to effect a thunder clap at certain points in a musical ceremony .
"What's with all that racket?" Lon asked and nodded towards the open church doors and the candlelit interior where monks made the strange noises.
"A prayer of petition to stop the wind." Hamlin held out his open hands to feel the air. "It's working I think."
"Really?" The smog was so thick it choked their breath. A gentle breeze would be so much healthier. "Why?"
But Hamlin never got to answer. A bundle of new clothes appeared and the templemaster was peppered with questions relating to how Lon should be garbed. A scullery maid brought forth a bowl of beef stew with a great hunk of wheat bread and a giant spoon. The meal was set on the wide flat edge of the fountain and the tessellated likeness of Frederis Tolden watched the young master shovel great hunks of salty meat into his mouth. He dressed with the same urgency, and at the same time.
Bells rang-out on the west wall and the young lad stopped and peered in that direction. The disturbance was hard to see through the willow trees and other buildings on the far side of the creek. When Lon looked around the monastery yard he saw how everyone present had their eyes on him. Even templekin discussed his return and likely hoped he could save Atarskal before everything burned.
"What is the state of things?" Lon asked once the old timer had finished his slither-talk with servants.
"He tries his luck at night..." Hamlin nodded toward the bells. "Probes us from the shadows in every direction."
"But where is he?"
The old medic in the beanie cap only shrugged.
"Once I spot him..." Lon imagined what would happen next, "I shall attack him directly."
"If you trust your weapon..." Hamlin looked down at the lad's bandaged hands and he likely tried to picture the fire that killed his cat. "Look here. I have a present for you," the old timer pointed at two servants in brown smocks who brought forth a dusty box that was so heavy they both carried the weight. The set the crate before the magistrate who pried open the lid to reveal its treasure. Folded on top was a chain hauberk that is to say a gown made entirely of metal rings. It lay draped over other gear, shoulder bucklers and knee pads and a bowl helmet with nasal guard. There was also a pair of metal studded leather gloves on the very bottom. No wonder the box was so heavy. Lon knew right away this was Hamlin's deepcombing attire.
"I'm honoured but..." the young lad wasn't sure how he could refuse the gift; he worried he wouldn't feel comfortable with another warrior's equipment girding-his-loins.
"Just don this ringed raiment." Hamlin held up the very high quality chain mail. "It saved my life a dozen times."
The old medico proffered the coat that he himself had worn so many years ago with Atar and Ephram and the rest of the Stone Key Company. The two assistants that'd carried the box became squires and helped dress the youth in metallic attire. They draped the viscous silver metal suit over top of his white-haired head and smoothed its kinks all down his body.
Lon knew that this was expensive stuff; chain mail absorbs sword blows and the mesh would blunt points sent to puncture his flesh. It was very time-consuming to make and was therefore mainly used by nobles and warlords. The disadvantage of chain is that it burdens the shoulders. That's why Hamlin next held forth a robust leather waist belt which he knew redistributed some of the weight to the hips. Lon strapped it on but declined to take any further accessories; he shunned all weapons, gloves or additional bucklers. The chain rings jingled when he moved and it reminded him of the winter festival horse teams back in Dundae. He felt a little silly in the outfit but it had a real nice smell as the links had been well maintained over the years with gall soap and musk oil. There wasn't a spot of rust on the shiny rig which was unusual for something so old and Lon wondered if there was some Varget involved. Regardless he didn't want to be rude; he wasn't going to take it off now so he bowed in gratitude.
"Thank you. I must go."
Hamlin nodded his approval and the crowd cheered as the sea drover walked away towards the sound of battle.