Volume One - Revelation
Southeastern hinterlands of Riyrannad, that name being 'King's Sanctuary' in the language of the Etirii; one month after the loss of Asair Etirranen, present day. . .
Shiden Muiras was off seeking out a hellish ruin the western dominion had once kept secure. Men in the dead lands of Niriu were feral. They had even forgotten speech and reasoning. Runners, they were called now. Shiden had forgotten the name for them in the ancient language, but he knew they were a fell race of wild men. The runners inspired terror in the commoners who met them fleeing eastward. The runners were always seeking to drag food and young victims into their hovels.
Shiden was barely alert and strong enough to reach the Company outpost now. He wandered alone over the weedy, ravaged land, and escaped the dark woods called Ha'lais Iren, remains of a forest burned long before his birth. This land skirted the edge of an ancient country, where the Runners were first ensnared by an entity known as the Master. It was a haunted place. The fumes coming up out of the ground were a part of the Master's power that never waned. Shiden had been in and out of the forsaken, lonely woods over the last four years, searching for hidden tombs and memorial sites, and relics from the days before the ancient Cataclysm. He was not alone on most of these expeditions, and because of them, he'd rekindled a romance with the daughter of his captain.
The spellcaster seldomly let thoughts of her wane, wanting desperately to get away from the ruined land he was in. He fiddled with the ring on his left hand as he knelt next to a weathered standing stone. Shiden was in the grass beside the dreary, muddy road. There were no signs to be found. He was angered by the thought of the grave robbers who must have broke open the coffin at his feet. He whispered words in a sing-song way, words in his native tongue, a prayer to the Light which made the world. So it was written down in lore, by ancient men.
There were prints in the mud beside his own, but the trail ended, disappearing at the treeline, which was not far from his position. He sighed. There was little time to check for further signs. He rose up after taking a moment to reset the casket in its place, and pushed some of the dirt back over it with his booted foot. His horse neighed restlessly, and Shiden went over to the steed to calm him. It was actually Captain Aurien's property, his former riding horse, a quicker and stronger animal than Shiden's own. Called Toldar, meaning 'Ancient Stone', the horse was a sturdy brown beast with white spots, and he'd been a bargain purchase from a descendant of ancient Northmen. The elderly seller's kin were of a race descended from seafaring raiders, the man had said, and his forefathers had bred Toldar's line from their own stock of horses over many generations. Shiden recalled, with amusement and some affection, the seller's strange accent and his adventure stories, and the white wolf-hound he'd allowed the spellcaster, and his own grandchildren, to play with in his fields.
Despite the memories of a brighter time in his life, Shiden knew he had to continue on, if he were to ensure others could have a chance at making memories like his. He continued along the snaking path. Darkness fell while he pondered the many riddles in his thoughts. 'Saga' had told him of his mother's passing, and the lightning spell she used. Shiden had taught her to use it himself, but she was gone. He hoped, 'not forever', as he rode on.
The Company was waiting; Shiden climbed up and continued his wandering trip outside the confines of the gap in the black mountains – Odairin – which supposedly shielded the north countries from the evil southern one full of enemies. He'd long ago grown tired of rumors and folk stories. There were no enemy empires left – there was only a scourge of fell, man-shaped devils capable of killing you with a single sting.
The woods rose up in elevation ever so slightly with every bend in the way. Shiden cut through brambles he was sure someone else had already hacked through with their own blades. It had been a week since the Company lost two of their number to a runner attack, and Shiden himself had been wounded. Luckily, his dagger was resistant to spells, and the blood of runners, which ruined most weapons that touched their accursed flesh. The dagger was only the hilt-shard of a curved sword, made of a special kind of iron in a faraway archipelago, owned by an ancient man; the man had set its hilt upon the ground, and threw himself upon it, in grief and a fit of madness that had come upon him – or so Shiden had read in lore about it. He'd had a laugh with his wife about how absurd the tale was, at the expense of the scribes who'd made the guild records he'd checked. Shiden believed the tale to be fictional, like others he'd read. He assumed it was another ridiculous attempt at making a relic more 'valuable'. Less honorable scholars often did fabricate tall tales about such relics, in the hopes of gaining riches by selling whichever ones they managed to find.
Where the other part supposedly was, if the tale was true, Shiden did not find out, but his alleged 'part' of the knife was able to be set inside his scepter as though the object were a scabbard, by the power of a spell – he'd procured the scepter during a brief, perhaps hypocritical, lapse in judgment. Shiden was pressured to take it out of a plundered tomb he'd discovered in his twenty-second year of life. It had saved him many times afterward, and with the scepter he had saved many others. So, he bargained with his conscience, many times, over the guilt and the victories he'd earned by its usage. It was the dangerous land he now frequented that was the reason for his many battles, not a 'cursed dagger', he thought. It must have been a coincidence – but regardless, many runners came at him frequently. Evil creatures seemed drawn to it, and so he slew them wherever he found them.
'Ridiculous notion', thought the spellcaster. Then again, his training expeditions and experiences seemed to reinforce this notion. Four horrible hours passed as he searched many more desecrated graves. There were still bodies in all but two. It made Shiden think of the cult he'd once encountered, a cult of spellcasters, who believed the strongest of them could gain a power to reanimate dead bodies. Yet, they could not be in the south. No one Shiden interrogated had ever heard of the 'Orchid' cult in these parts. Still, he rode past the empty graves, the looted coffins, and the sparse trees on the edge of the ancient deadlands. The night sky was probably cloudless, but the Fog was blocking his sight.
It did not matter. The spellcaster knew the roads, and knew exactly how to get back. He only reached his company's camp at dawn. Or nearer to dawn. Shiden wasn't clean, he could barely see, and he was famished. The rations had been used up almost to the last package, not that he'd enjoyed the heavily processed food he'd been given. Shiden smelled smoke and a roasting meal before he got to the camp, and heard the obnoxiously loud chatter. He used his scepter to shoot an orb of white light towards it before riding the rest of the way. Ahead was a high gate. It led into a widened ravine, a barrier which led into the northern regions of Niriu. The barrier had held, for the Raiiya supposedly defeated the enemy forces, and their enemy had been forced to cross the rest of the deadlands, and the marsh roads.
Shiden hated the Raiiya people – he even distrusted the more peaceable members of their race, and he loved only four of their southern descendants. The spellcaster missed the twins and their frequent banter with him. Still, he had some he could call allies, if not friends. The gate was open to him: a black, metal fortification, left when the Raiiya moved north through it earlier in the year to bolster another garrison with more reinforcements.
The company's latest recruit, called Saga, was putting a helmet on by the fireside when Shiden arrived at the gate, and had already found a set of used plates in a store room, somewhere in the gloomy outpost.
“You found a way to put a repairing enchantment on a helmet?”
“Hm. Report me, 'champion'. Try gratitude. So, all the new armor I discovered fits, then. Good. It's all we have left. I thought there would be more personnel here. Keep your wound clean. Now, then. Move out. The caster will catch up – the spell-light was his signal.”
The company mounted their horses and moved further into the ravine. Over time, the southern races vanished, and their lands were given over to nature. The captain gazed up at their empty guard towers as he passed them by. He was exhausted. At least he'd found his favorite animal, alive – which meant others in the company had passed before them, and gone somewhere in the accursed region. Aurien knew it was cursed. The deadlands were not only called dead. Some filth was setting in, a rotting of all life occurred there. The rusting metals and the ancient wood of the vast gate had been enough evidence. He knew what they'd seen over the past month was not the worst of it. They'd soon have to visit the town Aurien knew was the burial place for many dangerous experiments.
Many secrets lay below the depths of King's Sanctuary. He'd helped to bury them in his early twenties. The captain hurried along the muddy pass. On either side, lining the sheer rock faces, were many stairs of slate wood out of the northern deadlands, and many homes had been made at varying levels along the barren stone. There was a burrow on the eastern side, full of tools of war and stored food and about 1,000 company men, at some point in time. Now that he could see the damage up close, it seemed to the captain a battle might have been fought outside it. The tunnel was collapsed. He thought he understood what had happened – bombardments from the cannons he'd heard about in the previous month.
The siege had started at the Raiiya fortification, and those leading it had decided to attack the countries along the way with flame and stone manipulating spells. Combative spells were often banned, as even accidents could ruin his people's way of life. The captain lowered his gaze to avoid looking at the wreckage around them. He wondered if the others were in the same foul mood as he was, but did not even look back until the midway point. The spellcaster was riding fast in his direction, probably with another report.
He had finally returned from wherever he'd been. His clothing was as badly rent and dirty as ever, there was some portion of venison in his hand. Aurien had left it by the fire for him. In his other hand was the damned scepter he always used. There was a sapphire on its end, alight with a blue glow, bright and comforting in some strange way, which the captain hated admitting to himself. He raised a hand to his visor and shut it. The spellcaster stopped Toldar – they'd found his own horse, dead, in the Raiiya stable. It was not a pleasant thing to think about. Shiden was looking at the decaying wood homes along the floor of the ravine. Aurien watched where Shiden's eyes were looking: they were taking in the damage to either side of the pass.
“Ha'lais Iren – it was as bad as this. I saw a mass grave, Captain. Priests, maybe.”
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“We saw a few, too. What else have you found?”
“Only myself, Captain Aurien. Why have you stopped, and why here? I know the way through. There are many things in the deadlands, to harm us!”
The captain snarled. “Don't discourage them, idiot. We've lost two more since you left, and our 'champion' is wounded. Did you get up to the lookout? No one waiting to attack us ahead?”
Shiden did not answer at first, only getting off of his horse to check their surroundings. He seemed to find something quickly, an image on the wall, scratched in with a blade and covered with something which might have been red paint. There was a pit sheltered behind the largest house. He returned, and got back on his horse.
“More bodies, Master Aurien. And no, I didn't. Your people left the usual warning marks on the passage to it. The road to the overlook was blocked off, anyway. Landslide, maybe.”
The captain shook his head. “The same symbol as before?”
“Three broken swords, hilt up, in the dirt,” replied Shiden. “We both know it. There is a banner back there, too. Bloodstained. You think it's Hollan's work?”
The captain signaled the others and began riding off without answering, and Shiden followed after him.
The rest of the company followed after the Captain's new second-in-command. Shiden was not used to giving orders to anyone, but he'd accepted the role in the company without question. His scepter raised, the spellcaster rode further into the ravine. At least they were nearer to the end of the horrible journey. When Shiden caught up, it was only because Aurien had stopped again at a wooden barricade. The captain disabled the traps hidden behind it, with a wave of his hand – two of his silver rings glowed brightly as he did – and he continued on, the company following in single-file past a final, ruined gatehouse. They passed the gate and into the place they'd dreaded returning to, each of them having their own reasons for it. The northern half of the deadlands region were usually avoided. Aurien took point and moved onto the road leading into the dead trees on the outskirts. They'd already been through the so-called 'Lonely Woods', twice. Shiden had been exploring them for signs – but Rivelas was crafty. The illusionist had left no signs of his presence.
The forest was dead. Yet by the power of some ancient madman, the trees still appeared as they had in centuries past. Birds and beasts reigned in the wild regions of southern Niriu. There was a constant, dreary fog covering the dreadful wastes. If the country had ever been given a name, none living could tell it. There were no residents of the place any longer, even if the lands for miles around appeared as a peaceful, idyllic kingdom. To unwary travelers who used the roads along the foothills of the mountains which bordered the southlands, the trees still lived, and they still showed the signs of whatever season the place was meant to be in at the time – water looked clean, and everything appeared harmless. But the captain and his companions were not deceived. They'd heard the rumor of the dark and abysmal land of ash that was the remains of King's Sanctuary. They'd been in it several times. They knew it was in reality the ruins of a state populated by a race of spellcasters, a race of spellcasters who had allegedly vanished completely in an unknown age.
Creatures within were only mockeries of real animals, and monstrosities in truth; the mercenaries knew they'd have to ration their water, too – most of the water within was an undrinkable, brackish filth. The trees were dead, leafless husks, which exuded some poison in the place of sap when they were hewed down for their wood. Most of the work was done by crazed outlaws. Aurien himself had detained many, who'd tried to brave the landscapes and had gone mad by what they witnessed. Others among these outlaws met grisly ends whilst trying to gain spoils out of the many ancient graves they attempted to plunder.
The companions knew the rest of their journey would not be an easy one. They knew their final destination, of course: a mining town built over remnants of a city, which was in turn constructed on top of yet another ruined place. It was north of the dead forest. The Company was on its southern edge, and traversed the roads silently. As they went on, most of the grizzled mercenaries kept their heads bowed, in deference to the many lives lost in the ancient war, and the Cataclysm following the conflict. There were deep wheel ruts and narrow crevices in the barren ground. Stone walls hemmed them in and prevented leaving the roads for many miles, and the company made no lasting camps in the clearings for fear of the trees' poisons and the snarling things stalking them throughout the forest. None but Aurien and one of the other company captains among them could see through the illusions, despite knowing how it was meant to look – some said it was worse not seeing how it truly looked.
Aurien was pale, and thirsty, tempted by the water in his canteen, which he dared not take a drink out of yet, for fear of the spores in the fungal growths high up on the upper boughs – the growths spewed them out to ensnare the weary. Even robbers knew not to take a chance on the paths Aurien was now treading. Their waterskins on the packmule, an old beast being led by Saga after his own riding horse, was in the midst of them; the company was disciplined and well-trained. The skins were full when they set out again from the ravine – these were meant for their steeds also; but the waterskins were nearly empty, as well. The gallant captain was hyperventilating in the fell gloom of the evil land of ash. Twice in the night he thought he'd heard the yelps and growls of feral runners out in the darkness. None attacked them, even if he had. They rode slow along a road flanked by low and worn stone walls from days gone by.
The captain paused to let the spellcaster reach him, and continued on riding side by side with him on the damaged stone roads. “I did not think you'd ever slow down,” said Shiden. His voice was hoarse and shaky. “It's as though you want to escape without having to check for something – then again, why on earth would anyone want to waste time here? Family to protect, after all; food to buy; many pleasant locales to see. . . .”
The captain said nothing for another half-hour. He was not even looking up, and slipped something small back into the pocket of his overcoat; but he was guiding his horse on as though he knew where he was going. Their companions followed Aurien and his compass bearing. He recalled the crack in the tool's face as an omen before shaking off his absurd, superstitious thoughts. “I was close to coming up with a plan, earlier. Do not interrupt my thoughts again.”
After some time, Shiden spoke again. He had been looking into the dark forest at the abandoned houses on their left flank, imagining threats in the dark windows of them. “Apologies, Captain – but perhaps we should move faster. . .until we get to the other town, so we are not discovered by some animal that is deadly to us. Forget the sight-seeing. The fog is much more potent here. Twice I thought I saw a scouting party, moving through the woods.”
“So then, you're changing your mind about rushing through this pleasant forest ride? Anything else, then? While you're at it?”
“A haze, and something like a white smoke – there was a shape much like a man, in the midst of it, but it faded as we moved nearer to where it was.”
The captain looked at his other companions for signs of deceit, or an attempt at desertion, then back at Shiden. “We've passed it? Then ignore it – a phantom, an illusion of this forest. Nothing to fear, lad.”
The company continued on, and entered a clearing about an hour before dusk. There was a wide pit in the ground, beside the road but some distance from them, full of long-dead bodies. Before the captain could say a word, Shiden and one of the other mercenaries dismounted. As the spellcaster got closer to the mass grave, a torch lit up, on the far side of the pit. There were two men knelt there next to it – appearing with a bright flash – sitting on the ground, wearing cloaks, with silver masks on their faces. The second had on some odd, tan garb beneath his cloak. It frightened the spellcaster, but he did not say anything to them. Neither figure said a word, but rose up, and bowed to the captains, who were watching tense on their horses in the ruined street. Despite pausing, the taller man walked away into the dark treeline with a hand on the sword at his waist, and vanished when his companion restored their concealment spell with a wave of a hand. As before, a bright flash was emitted when their spell's effects came back over them. Shiden went with the mercenary back in the direction of the rest of the company.
As he moved, over-encumbered by his heavy pack, the spellcaster tripped on the exposed roots of a tree near the road. He did not fall, but only because he grasped the trunk of the tree in front of him to catch himself. The branch snapped off from the young man's weight, and the noise of it may as well have been a signal to enemies nearby. Nothing came out of the dark, despite the loud crack. The spellcaster looked up ahead to the right of the company and a strange sense of vertigo came upon him, and he could see how fouled up by spells the land truly was. As he looked on, as if he'd stepped back into an earlier time, perhaps the very moment of the place's demise, or its last moment of bliss, the trees decayed before his very eyes, their leaves falling to the ground instantly, as though they were as heavy as stones; the trees cracked and warped and a bubbling sludge oozed from them, and Shiden glaced down at his hands, fearing what he'd done.
His hands were now covered in some terrible, burning, numbing, irritating grime. The tree he'd touched was bark-less, and had an appearance of weathered stone when he checked it. There were glyphs in the wood from knife-scratching. Shiden gasped as he felt a hand touch his back. The captain Aurien had dismounted, and had come to fetch him. Aurien guided the spellcaster back to the rest of the company and helped him climb back onto his saddle. Shiden barely heard the captain's whispering voice.
“Don't touch them again, caster. It'll get worse, trust me. Before you ask – no, there's nothing we can do. It will never look to you again as it did when we first got to the outer treeline. This is not some autmnal paradise.”
Aurien signalled the company to follow. He turned suddenly, as though he'd forgotten to do something, but returned to his own horse. “Wipe the grime off your hands, caster. Might make you sick. We know very little about it, though healers have often taken the substance to study it, many times over the past decade.”
After another three hours of travel and short periods of resting, the company reached the western part of the forest. They strode single-file past more low walls during a gloomier night than any thought they had lived through. Twisted, bent, and rusted iron bars were still set in the mossy stonework. Houses sat before them, long abandoned. Most had collapsed from either decay or fire. There was an incessant creaking and sounds like murmuring about the company. Black smoke shot intermittently from cracks in the ground, issuing forth from the deep slits and fissures in the earth even up to the roots of the dead trees, mingling with the fog, like sprays of blood from sword wounds. There was some faint rumbling under them, perhaps another illusion. The company made camp for the night at last in a clearing, finally lighting a fire with the kit they took from the Raiiya outpost.
Shiden gazed at the ruin. Most of the buildings laid desecrated before them, their great pillars and white-washed walls falling to pieces after long years of looting and vandalism had taken its toll on the place. The roads below their feet were cracked and hot and would be terribly hard to traverse. Shiden had a fitful hour or so of sleep, his dreams full of terrible signs and sigils. The spellcaster woke up before dawn and explored the closest ruins, going as far as he dared to check the husks of once tall buildings of unknown purpose, finding nothing but abandoned wreckages.
The signs he recalled from his nightmare might have been influenced by the markings he saw scrawled in black or red ink upon the walls and pillars around him. They were signs left by vandals and bandits, renegades from Raiiya lands up north, glyphs in their own language left as cryptic messages for one another. The company gathered quickly after using up most of their stored rations, and left swiftly along the road. Shiden used his scepter to light the way. He saw another pit in the ground as they went on, nearly falling from Toldar's back twice – he felt anguish and physical pain in his gut, but Shiden continued on after his companions. The oppressive energy and extreme dizziness were almost too great to bear.
“Master Aurien! – what have they done here? What is this sensation?”
“Ignore it!”
The captain waited at a forked road before taking a path leading northwest. “Don't touch anything else until we're past this area. All this country was consumed. You know of the wars against the tyrant caster. There was a conflict too lengthy and tragic to discuss now, but get moving. It will pass. It is only the imprint of the anguish and evil acts they suffered.”
Shiden adjusted his makeshift scarf over his face, and continued following. He did not tell the captain about the scouts in the distance, who retreated when their leader made eye contact with him. He might have accused Shiden of hallucinating; but he saw the scouts go into a building at the center of ruined foundations barely visible in the Black Fog.
