Fireblood
Page 52
Annon stepped forward into the ring of light. “Alloren morir,” he said softly in the Vaettir tongue. The stone hovering over the gaping hole slammed shut, sealing them inside the darkness, blocking out the screams from above.
In the darkness, there was no time. There were faint breaths, ragged breathing. The orbs of light had winked out after the blade had been retrieved and sheathed. Even the creature that had attacked them, the Goule, was motionless. Whatever power that had charmed it was gone. The feeling of fear was ever present.
Annon knew he could summon light by his fingers, but he could not sustain it all night. “Are you all there?” he asked softly.
He heard all of their voices murmur in response.
“Paedrin, you are hurt the most. How is your shoulder?”
“If you want, I could twist your arm, and you would know the feeling. Broken, I think. I need to bind it so that it doesn’t move.” His voice grunted as he sat down. “But without any light, it will be difficult.”
“I can help bind it,” Hettie said.
“How is your head, sister?”
“Bleeding still. Nothing is broken, though. It is so dark. I dread this place.”
Annon also sat down, tucking the sheathed blade in his belt. He dared not release it again. Even with it in the sheath, he was starting to hear it again. “We will do our best, even in the dark. There are no spirits here I can summon to help. The only spirit here is in this blade. It is a dark creation. What I do not understand is why Tyrus sent us to find it. Surely it is worth a treasure to Kiranrao, or he would not have hunted us. But a man like him with this. It would make him do awful things.”
Erasmus’s sigh echoed. “All is not as it seems, which is usually the case. If that boulder will not move again until dawn, we will be here for a while still. Better here than up there with that creature.”
“I am not so certain we are better off,” Annon whispered, again feeling the subtle urge to draw the dagger and kill them all in the darkness. He knew he would not sleep that night, knowing the others might be drawn to the weapon to try and take it from him. He doubted any of them would sleep.
The feeling in the chamber changed. Something had happened above. Was it dawn? Had the Fear Liath returned to the waterfall? Annon was bone weary and weak from the strain against his mind. As if awoken from a dream, he spoke the words again and the giant rock floated upward again, exposing the silvery-blue light of dawn.
There was a collective sigh of hope from the companions. They had lasted the night.
Paedrin stood beneath the open hole and inhaled deeply, floating effortlessly up to the opening and emerging from it. The signs of death were all about. Preachán bodies littered the debris field. But there was still some rope and he used it to pull the others out, using the floating stone for leverage and letting his bad arm rest.
One by one they emerged, dusty and pallid. Hettie began to crisscross the area, searching the ground for corpses and for signs.
“It was big,” she muttered, pausing at the distinguishing tracks it left. Paedrin noticed the claw marks and quickly averted his eyes.
“What are you looking for?” he asked her. But as he asked the question, he already knew. They all knew the answer.
That they would not find Kiranrao’s body amidst the corpses.
“There is much to be said about the Cruithne as a race. They are great experimenters. They study causes and effects. They are tall, in general, and robust, having great physical strength. Having spent thousands of years living among the volcanoes of Alkire, they are adept at trapping fumes and vapors, at learning which smells harbor danger and which can be curative. They have mastered the arts of the forge, creating new metals in their vast underground caves fed by living fires of blackrock. They excavate gemstones from the rock and shape them intricately. It is claimed that Cruithne have soot-colored skin because they dwell in a place full of smoke and ash. The pigment of one’s skin has little to do with chimney smoke. It is said that their race originated in the great deserts beyond the mountains. That seems a more logical explanation of their pigmentation. Some even accuse the Cruithne of slowness due to their great size, but that is a common misperception. Cruithne are large and quick, giving them ample force against smaller men like the Preachán. They learned long ago that to survive the Plague, it would be wise to settle amidst the highest mountains, thus making it difficult for traders to reach them. Some in Havenrook believe that it was their meddling in the earth’s depths that caused the Plague. A fool’s rumor.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
In the darkness, there was no time. There were faint breaths, ragged breathing. The orbs of light had winked out after the blade had been retrieved and sheathed. Even the creature that had attacked them, the Goule, was motionless. Whatever power that had charmed it was gone. The feeling of fear was ever present.
Annon knew he could summon light by his fingers, but he could not sustain it all night. “Are you all there?” he asked softly.
He heard all of their voices murmur in response.
“Paedrin, you are hurt the most. How is your shoulder?”
“If you want, I could twist your arm, and you would know the feeling. Broken, I think. I need to bind it so that it doesn’t move.” His voice grunted as he sat down. “But without any light, it will be difficult.”
“I can help bind it,” Hettie said.
“How is your head, sister?”
“Bleeding still. Nothing is broken, though. It is so dark. I dread this place.”
Annon also sat down, tucking the sheathed blade in his belt. He dared not release it again. Even with it in the sheath, he was starting to hear it again. “We will do our best, even in the dark. There are no spirits here I can summon to help. The only spirit here is in this blade. It is a dark creation. What I do not understand is why Tyrus sent us to find it. Surely it is worth a treasure to Kiranrao, or he would not have hunted us. But a man like him with this. It would make him do awful things.”
Erasmus’s sigh echoed. “All is not as it seems, which is usually the case. If that boulder will not move again until dawn, we will be here for a while still. Better here than up there with that creature.”
“I am not so certain we are better off,” Annon whispered, again feeling the subtle urge to draw the dagger and kill them all in the darkness. He knew he would not sleep that night, knowing the others might be drawn to the weapon to try and take it from him. He doubted any of them would sleep.
The feeling in the chamber changed. Something had happened above. Was it dawn? Had the Fear Liath returned to the waterfall? Annon was bone weary and weak from the strain against his mind. As if awoken from a dream, he spoke the words again and the giant rock floated upward again, exposing the silvery-blue light of dawn.
There was a collective sigh of hope from the companions. They had lasted the night.
Paedrin stood beneath the open hole and inhaled deeply, floating effortlessly up to the opening and emerging from it. The signs of death were all about. Preachán bodies littered the debris field. But there was still some rope and he used it to pull the others out, using the floating stone for leverage and letting his bad arm rest.
One by one they emerged, dusty and pallid. Hettie began to crisscross the area, searching the ground for corpses and for signs.
“It was big,” she muttered, pausing at the distinguishing tracks it left. Paedrin noticed the claw marks and quickly averted his eyes.
“What are you looking for?” he asked her. But as he asked the question, he already knew. They all knew the answer.
That they would not find Kiranrao’s body amidst the corpses.
“There is much to be said about the Cruithne as a race. They are great experimenters. They study causes and effects. They are tall, in general, and robust, having great physical strength. Having spent thousands of years living among the volcanoes of Alkire, they are adept at trapping fumes and vapors, at learning which smells harbor danger and which can be curative. They have mastered the arts of the forge, creating new metals in their vast underground caves fed by living fires of blackrock. They excavate gemstones from the rock and shape them intricately. It is claimed that Cruithne have soot-colored skin because they dwell in a place full of smoke and ash. The pigment of one’s skin has little to do with chimney smoke. It is said that their race originated in the great deserts beyond the mountains. That seems a more logical explanation of their pigmentation. Some even accuse the Cruithne of slowness due to their great size, but that is a common misperception. Cruithne are large and quick, giving them ample force against smaller men like the Preachán. They learned long ago that to survive the Plague, it would be wise to settle amidst the highest mountains, thus making it difficult for traders to reach them. Some in Havenrook believe that it was their meddling in the earth’s depths that caused the Plague. A fool’s rumor.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
