Heresy E-Book

C.J. Pyrah

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Betrayed and left to die in the bowels of Karpella Castle, Torben's plan lies in tatters. He's lost his fortune and an ancient threat has been unleashed on the world of Ulskandar, leaving him to fight for his life.

A resurgent evil once again threatens the Kingdom of Dazscor & Aramore. Torben must join friends old and new to thwart the mage Aristotles, or risk the land falling under the shadow of a malign deity that wishes to enslave all to its will.

Will Torben have the strength to join a fight hundreds of years in the making - or will he fall prey to the Dead God?

Leseprobe

HERESY

THE DEAD GOD SERIES BOOK 2

C.J. PYRAH

Copyright (C) 2021 C.J. Pyrah

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Elizabeth N. Love

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Next in the Series

About the Author

To my parents, for their constant support and encouragement.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once more my most sincere thanks to Rebecca Frew, Emma Sanford and Hannah McGregor-Viney, for giving so much of their time, and to all at Next Chapter.

PROLOGUE

The noose was tightening around the city of Karpella. It had been many weeks since the Aramorians had begun their siege. Their lightning advance up northwards from the Uplands of Ara into the Kingdom of Dazscor had been barely checked by the few Dazscorian troops who had decided to stand in their way; it had only been the stout walls of the capital city that had stopped the relentless force. Everyone knew, however, that in reality, the Aramorians had not been stopped by the grandiose defences of Karpella; they had merely been stalled. Every day more and more of King Sarper’s under-trained and barely paid troops had deserted, some slipping over the wall and taking their chances surrendering to the Aramorians, some trying to make the swim across the River Arlen; and some lying low in the dark corners of the city’s slums, waiting for their chance to claim their share of the spoils when the enemy outside eventually overwhelmed the defences.

Few in the city, however, were aware of what Hrex knew. Reports had come in late the night before that the wall to the east of the city’s main gate was unlikely to survive another day of bombardment, that it was close to crumbling. What was more, the reports that had come in on the movements of the Dazscorian relief force had been even less welcome. In short, the Dazscorian army in the north of the country had defected en masse to the Duchy of Aramore. A curt note sent directly from the force’s commanding officer gave no illusion to the fact that Sarper IV, his family, court and the people of Karpella were now on their own.

All those in the court of Sarper IV who had been told this directly, and the many who had subsequently managed to find out through one dishonest, nefarious source or another, knew that this was the end. As soon as the general population found out about the desertion of their only hope for salvation, the only trained body of troops outside the city close enough to offer any assistance, the people’s fear and frustration would doubtless boil over, and they would try to take matters into their own hands. The opinion of the court was that it would be better if the weakened section of wall collapsed before the dire news became common knowledge. At least the Aramorians were likely to offer mercy…

 Preparations for the evacuation of the royal family had been moving at a breakneck speed. As Hrex shuffled as quickly as she could through the halls of Karpella Castle, she could see people running in all directions over the teetering pile of books and scrolls that she cradled in her arms. Guards clattered through the echoing marble corridors, servants carrying trunks, bags, and even the odd piece of furniture weaved to and fro through the castle, weighed down by their charges, whilst fraught-looking courtiers shouted panicked orders into the tumult.

Despite all of this activity, all the people that Hrex came across parted to let her through, but this wasn’t any form of deferential nod to her position, far from it. The looks of fear were plain to see as the diminutive Lupine made her way through the corridors, and the whispers that followed her rang louder than the shouts and commotion of evacuation through the castle’s chambers. It had always been thus, ever since Hrex had been brought to Karpella in the first place, but now the whispering had taken on a more panicked edge than usual.

 ‘She can kill you just by looking at you…’

 ‘The king has her and her Master working on a trap for the Aramorians.’

 ‘Rubbish, he’s getting them to place a curse on every scrap of gold in the treasury…’

 Hrex ignored the mutterings that followed in her wake. She had learned long ago that most people had no idea about magic, sorcery, witchcraft, whatever they chose to call it. For the majority of the population of the Kingdom of Dazscor, and for those that lived far beyond its borders, magic was something that was to be feared, with those able to wield it classed as outsiders, outsiders that should be treated with caution and respect, but outsiders, nonetheless. However, the looks of fear that Hrex received were nothing compared to the way that people viewed her master. Hrex had seen even the bravest, most aggressive of people turn to quivering bundles of nerves when they found themselves in the presence of the Royal Mage to the Court of Sarper IV. Her master oozed power, but only Hrex dared to think that she knew the extent to which he could wield the arcane forces.

If the people living in this pathetic city knew what my Master was capable of, they’d have all fled long before those Aramorian pretenders showed up at our door…

The chaotic hubbub of the castle began to recede as Hrex turned off the marbled artery of the main building and began to climb a tightly twisting spiral staircase that led up towards the rooms that acted as the quarters and laboratory of the Royal Mage. Though the staircase was completely windowless, Hrex had ascended and descended these stairs so many times that she didn’t need to see what she was doing. She knew each and every one of the smooth stone steps that the soles of her bare leathery feet touched, could feel the familiar grooves worn into them by her claws. She paused at the small landing at the top of the stairs, unconcerned by the fact that the solid stone wall she stood opposite had no visible doorway or other way forward. Shuffling the books and scrolls so that they were balanced in one arm, she drew a quill from within the folds of her robe and traced a symbol in the air, whispering to herself as she did so. As the nib of the quill cut through the air, it left a glowing blue outline, hovering in space, and once the symbol was complete, it drifted silently forward and sank into the stonework opposite. A split second later, the landing was bathed in the light spilling from the room beyond, now visible through the arch that had materialised there.

 Entering the Royal Mage’s laboratory, Hrex blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light that poured into the room from the three floor-to-ceiling arched windows that lined one side of the space, windows that Hrex knew were disguised as solid masonry to an outside observer. Shelves stacked to bursting with books, jars and boxes of ingredients, potion bottles, crystals and an array of delicately crafted spindly metal equipment, most of whose uses Hrex was oblivious to, lined almost every inch of available wall space. The only openings, other than the way Hrex had entered the room, were two small wooden doors, one leading to her broom cupboard of a bedroom, the other to her master’s more sumptuous living quarters. The centre of the cavernous room was dominated by an enormous table, over which were strewn all manner of tools, pieces of apparatus, bottles and scraps of parchment. Hunched over a large round metal disc that lay on the tabletop, his face illuminated by the faint green light emanating from the metal, was Hrex’s Master. He straightened up as Hrex entered the room and surveyed the Lupine as she staggered towards him under the weight of her burden.

 The Royal Mage to the Court of Sarper IV, Aristotles, was tall and willowy with pale grey skin, which along with his long, sharply pointed ears gave him away as being a Shadow Elf rather than a human. His piercing, ice-blue eyes stared at Hrex from over the bridge of his long nose as she approached. Even from the other side of the room, she felt as if he was looking into her very soul. As she deposited the books and scrolls messily on the table, he stalked over to the pile, a long-fingered hand smoothing back his white-blonde, shoulder-length hair.

 ‘You got all the volumes, I presume?’ he spoke in a refined drawl, the words oozing into Hrex’s ears in an unpleasant way as if they had a will of their own.

 ‘Yes, Master, every speck of parchment with any reference to Kulittu.’

 ‘Good, then we should have everything that we need. I’ve sketched out a pattern for the summoning circle, begin drawing it out. You should know all of the minor sigils and spells that go into it.’

 Aristotles dismissed her with a wave of his hand and began to shuffle through the pile of books and papers on the table, one hand rubbing his smooth, sharp jawline as he did so. Hrex moved beyond the work table and pulled back a large thick carpet that covered the floor at the other end of the room. The wooden floor beneath was faintly stained with a multitude of coloured lines that had been drawn in chalk and subsequently erased. In the spot where Aristotles had been working was a large piece of parchment with an intricate diagram of the summoning circle drawn upon it, complete with numerous annotations, testament to the care her master had given to ensure that they would be as safe as possible.

Creatures and entities that had to be summoned using such circles were almost always highly dangerous and devilishly cunning. In her experience, such a creature would begin searching as soon as it was summoned for a way to exploit the slightest crack in a circle’s defence so that it might break free of its bonds and attack those who had dared to summon it. Taking the document, Hrex’s gaze fell upon the metal disc nearby. She could feel the power of the magic that her master had imbued into the metal, magic designed to make the object as resistant to damage as possible, ready to receive whatever power Aristotles asked the summoned entity to imbue it with. Tearing her eyes away, she took a stubby piece of blue chalk from a pocket and began to painstakingly draw out the circle onto the floorboards.

* * *

After nearly an hour of intense concentration, Hrex’s fingers ached from clutching the chalk, which had stained the fur of her hand blue around the fingers, and her head was beginning to throb from the effort of drawing on and manipulating so much arcane energy. As she straightened up to relieve the tightness in her back, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. The floor space before her was now almost completely covered by the summoning circle, whose broad, thick perimeter shone with the arcane symbols of strength and protection that Hrex had enchanted it with. The interior of the circle was crisscrossed with a myriad of other lines, whose linked arcane symbols did not shine as brightly as those in the perimeter but which were no less potent. She had chalked four large diamonds, one in each quarter of the circle, where Aristotles would place the more powerful and more dangerous magic that would summon whoever, or whatever the circle was intended for.

 ‘Good, you’ve finished. Let’s not waste any more time.’

Aristotles’ voice sounded directly behind Hrex, making her jump. He had an uncanny knack of moving as silently as a shadow, and she had to stifle the curse that rose in her throat.

 ‘Here, take this, keep it open on that page and hold it up so I can see it.’

 As he moved noiselessly past her, Aristotles handed her one of the large, heavy tomes she had brought up from the library, its pages encrusted in dust, small patches of mildew encroaching at the corners. As she manoeuvred the book in her hands so that the required pages faced her master, she caught sight of the title of the volume embossed in faded gold lettering on the spine.

The Heresy of Kulittu

Aristotles stood with his back to the window and faced the circle on the floor, taking great care not to step within it or disturb the chalked lines. The light that still poured into the room framed the Shadow Elf, casting all of his features into shadow. As Hrex shuffled round the circle, the book clutched awkwardly and uncomfortably in her arms so that Aristotles could see it, she saw him close his eyes in concentration. She felt the fur on the back of her neck begin to prickle up as he began to call on far more powerful magic than she had ever dared to use.

 Hrex was mesmerised by what her master was doing, by the ease with which he manipulated arcane forces that could so easily have torn apart a lesser mage. His frosty eyes darted periodically to the pages of the book she was holding, and slowly but surely, the four diamonds she had drawn within the circle began to audibly hum with magical energy. Aristotles paused for a moment, inspecting every last inch of the circle one more time.

 ‘You may put the book down now, Hrex, but stay close. I may need your assistance to keep the binding magic of the circle in check. Bring the disc with you, I want it close at hand. Watch and learn as much as possible, it will likely be many years before you see something of this ilk again…’

 Hrex scuttled back to place the book on the table, snatched up the metal disc and returned to the Elf’s side as he deftly drew the final activating symbol in the air with one of his long index fingers and then flicked it through the air and down into the centre of the circle. As soon as the symbol entered the boundary of the circle, all of the other symbols that had been drawn on the floor began to glow with an intense blue-green light, which vanished instantly as the activating symbol settled into its place in the nexus of arcane energy.

 For a moment, nothing happened, but then Hrex became aware of the unnatural stillness in the room. An oppressive silence, as if some unseen person had clamped their hands over her ears. Then the light began to fade from the room as the lines and runes of the circle began to glow brighter and brighter once more until they were the only things illuminating the room. She turned back to look at the windows, which should still have had daylight streaming through them, but they were now lifeless portals looking out on to a black abyss rather than the city beyond. Hrex’s head whipped back to the circle as she became suddenly aware of an intensely powerful presence there, far beyond the power of the magic she and Aristotles had put into the summoning circle.

 A humanoid figure now stood in the summoning circle, but it was definitely not Human, Elven, or any other race that Hrex could name. It was immensely tall, well over ten feet in height; its head, shrouded in a deep hood that obscured its face, brushed the ceiling. The long black robe that hung limply from the creature’s shoulders revealed its torso, legs and the tight knot-work of muscle through the centre split. The only other clothing it wore was a black loincloth. Its bare feet did not stand on the floorboards, but instead, the creature hovered about an inch above the floor and the nexus of the summoning circle. What struck Hrex most, however, was the stench of death and decay that rolled in a horrific wave from it, and she flinched back from the sudden sensory onslaught, trying to stop herself from gagging. Summoning all of her willpower, she dragged her eyes back to the creature. Its very being was pockmarked with patches of decay, bone poking through here and there from midst rotting flesh, and in the very centre of its chest was an enormous gaping wound, still stained with fresh blood.

 ‘Speak quickly, mortal, your defences will last mere minutes, and I shall claim your soul if you summoned me here for nought…’ Its voice rattled like a dying breath from out of the darkness of its hood; a stronger whiff of decay trailed after the words from the unseen mouth.

 ‘Divine Kulittu, master of death, I bid you welcome.’ Aristotles’ voice was as calm and collected as ever, but out of the corner of her eye, Hrex could see the slight tremor of his hands. ‘I have summoned you here to make a bargain with you, one that I hope you will find favourable.’

 Pulling a scroll of parchment from a pocket of his long, velvet jacket, Aristotles tossed it towards Kulittu, a small flurry of magical symbols guiding the scroll on its way. As it passed through the magical barrier, the parchment was briefly engulfed in turquoise flames before it was snatched up with surprising speed by Kulittu’s gnarled, decaying hand. He unfurled the scorched scroll and studied it carefully with his unseen eyes.

 A thick heavy silence settled over the room as Aristotles and Hrex waited for Kulittu to finish reading. Hrex found herself holding her breath, not wanting to disturb the oppressive stillness with the sound of her breathing. She knew that her master could have communicated what he wanted from the Dead God verbally, but she too had read the dusty, forbidden tomes on arcane summoning that had been kept under lock and key in the castle library. All of them had stated that when summoning a powerful being from another realm of existence, it was always safest to commit any potential bargain that you wished to strike in writing in the most watertight way possible. Otherwise, a magic-user could find their words twisted by a being hell-bent on gaining the upper hand in the deal.

 After several dreadfully silent minutes, Kulittu dipped a dirty, broken fingernail into the blood that stained the wound around his chest and dragged the nail like a quill across the scroll, leaving a crimson trail behind it. He then extended his hand, and the parchment began to float back towards Aristotles on the other side of the circle.

‘I agree to your terms, Aristotles, son of Scortlates, exile and traitor to your people. Make your mark upon the contract, and we can begin.’

 Wordlessly, Aristotles plucked the parchment out of the air, which still had turquoise flames clinging to its edges from the return trip through the circle, and pricked his finger with a small knife before adding his own blood to the page. As soon as he had finished leaving his mark, the whole scroll vanished in a burst of turquoise flame, which made the Shadow Elf jump as the fingers of his left hand were singed.

 ‘Good…’ the word crawled out of the place where Kulittu’s mouth should be. ‘Now give me the object in need of enchantment.’

 Aristotles nodded curtly to Hrex, who sent the round silver disc magically floating towards the summoning circle. Unlike the parchment, the magical barrier seemed to be attacking the disc much more forcefully, and the magical flames clung to the surface of the metal and had to be brushed off by Kulittu’s dead hand. He laid the disc in the middle of his enormous palm, his right hand raised in the air above it, and he began to intone a spell in a language that Hrex could not understand. Though she didn’t know their meaning, she could feel the power in the words, which grew louder and louder until there was a continuous echoing wave of sound rolling around the chamber. She clapped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the noise that was beginning to make her feel physically sick.

 Eventually, the incantation stopped, and looking up, Hrex could see that the disc was still in the palm of Kulittu’s hand but that now it emitted its own faint blue light. Kulittu’s right hand moved now from above the disc towards his face and was momentarily lost within the blackness of his hood. When it emerged, it was clutching what looked like a mask. He turned his hand to face Aristotles and Hrex, and she could see it was indeed a mask that resembled an emaciated face whose expression was twisted into a horrific visage of pain and suffering.

 ‘With these two objects, I have upheld my end of the bargain, and you will have what you need to uphold yours.’

 This time, instead of magically sending the two objects back to the other side of the summoning circle, Kulittu began to walk slowly towards them. The warding symbols of the barrier flared angrily with blue light as he strode forwards, but it was clear that the magic trying to contain him was no match for the power of the Dead God. As the magic of the summoning circle collapsed, it sent a shockwave through the room that made Hrex and her master stagger back. Before they could react, they were both in Kulittu’s immense shadow. One of the God’s horrid hands snapped out and grabbed Aristotles by the throat and lifted him off the ground so that he was level with the black void of his hood. Instinctively Hrex swiftly sketched two symbols in the air and threw them at Kulittu, but with the barest incline of his head, they were dispelled. Kulittu’s head snapped round to stare down at Hrex. A moment later, she was tossed through the air and was smashed into one of the window arches. Her vision swam drunkenly as she reeled from the blow, but she could still hear Kulittu’s voice speaking across the room.

 ‘Do not be fooled into thinking that you can contain my power. Many greater than you have attempted to rule me, but none have succeeded. Not even another deity for all her treachery was able to truly kill me! Now, prove to me that you were worth my time and are worthy of my benefaction. Bring me a good harvest so that I may grow stronger and allow you to feast on the scraps. I will know if you fail, and be warned, I will reclaim my investment from you no matter which realm of existence you may be on…’

 With that, Kulittu vanished, sending Aristotles crashing to the floor. Within seconds of him leaving, light began to flood back into the room from the windows and the sounds of distant chaos in the castle could faintly be heard again. Hrex clambered unsteadily to her feet and tottered over to where her master was gingerly rising from the floor.

 ‘I must go and rest, we have much left to do, but I cannot do it in my current state. Wake me in an hour, and we will complete the first piece of the puzzle. Here, keep this safe.’

 He pressed the disc into her hands and began to make his way gingerly towards the door leading to his personal chambers. He was still clutching the mask in his hand, and Hrex noticed that it had shrunk in size so that it was now no larger than his palm. She looked down at the object in her own hands and marvelled at what had become of the plain silver disc since Kulittu had touched it. She could feel the enormity of the power pulsing through it and the surface of the metal now swam with images and symbols that she could not comprehend, all of which were encircled by a snake devouring its own tail.

1

Fingers of weak morning sunlight crept through the streets and across the rooftops of Karpella as across the city its inhabitants stirred from their nervous, restless night. As the sunlight grew in strength, thousands of people held their breath, hoping beyond hope that the threat to the city and to their lives had slipped away in the night. It did not take long for the Sharisian army, which lurked within the rapidly shortening shadows beyond the city’s wall, to make their presence felt once again on the inhabitants of Karpella.  

 Just as it had been every day for the last two weeks, the morning barrage of the walls was preceded by an ominous swish and snap of catapult arms flicking their deadly cargo into the air, shortly followed by the resounding crash as the missiles slammed into the walls. Occasionally one of these shots would go awry, pinging off the top of the walls or flying over them all together to wreak havoc amongst the buildings of the mainland portion of the city beyond. The strength of Karpella’s defences was beginning to wane, and more and more of the shots were beginning to leave tangible signs of damage. Though the catapult stones dissolved into a cloud of dust and flying rock chips on impact, they left the stonework scarred and cracked, with the ground beneath littered with chunks of masonry that had been nibbled from the walls. Even from behind the lines of the Sharisian siege camp, the weakened state of several parts of the curtain wall could be plainly seen. The Sharisians knew that it was only a matter of time before the defences of Karpella began to give way.

 This morning, however, the men and women of Karpella’s City Guard had another threat in store for them. As they hunkered down behind the parapets and within the towers, desperately seeking shelter from the storm of razor-sharp stone that engulfed the defences, they were blind to the signs of movement that erupted from all along the siege lines, the pounding of rock against rock deafening them to the barked orders of Sharisian officers as they rallied their troops. It was purely a matter of luck that the City Guard were not taken completely by surprise.

 As the Sharisians swarmed across the open ground between the siege camp and the city walls, one of their catapult crews set the trajectory of their piece a notch too high as they aimed for a weak spot they could see opening up on the wall in front of them. The thwack of the catapult arm reverberated through the wooden structure as they let fly, sending the shot hurtling towards Karpella, but instead of impacting on the weak spot, the shot smashed through the battlements and continued to sail onwards into the city, where it crashed through the roof of a nearby house.

Seconds before on the parapet, Osvald Thegnson, a rank-and-file Guardsman, had been sharing a measly breakfast with one of his comrades, Felthan. He had just torn a chunk of bread in two and was about to pass one half across to Felthan, when his friend vanished in a shower of stone and blood. Desperately clawing the dust and gore from his eyes, Osvald looked at the place where Felthan had been, now a mangled, blood-spattered hole that had been punched through the crenellations, and he crawled forward, hardly believing what had happened.

All that was left of Felthan was a ragged loop of leather cord with a battered brass charm, a bundle of ears of corn bound together, the symbol of the Goddess Freyd. It was supposed to have kept Felthan safe, but the Goddess of hearth and home held little power in this living nightmare… Osvald scooped up the charm and froze as he became aware of the sea of death that was surging across the ground below. Thousands of Sharisian troops were sprinting towards the walls, bearing ladders and grappling hooks, clearly with only one aim in mind. Osvald ran, shouting as loud as he could to alert the rest of the guards manning the walls, and soon horns sounded the warning up and down Karpella’s curtain wall.

 There was a crash as the Sharisian artillery loosed one last shot at the walls before the ceasefire was called, but as the echoes of the impact of those last shots died away, the sound of the Sharisian battle cries swelled to the fore, followed shortly by the clattering of ladders being thrown up against the defences. Thanks to Osvald’s warning, the Karpella City Guard had been given few crucial moments to prepare, and as the first troops began to climb the ladders, the conical helmeted heads of the City Guard began to pop up all along the walls accompanied by the shower of spears, rocks, arrows and crossbow bolts. Screams of pain competed with the shouts of defiance from soldiers on both sides, and both the stones of the parapet and the ground around the ladders became slick with blood. For the Sharisian troops trying to scale the wall and for the City Guard desperately trying to defend them, it was impossible to know who had the upper hand. For hours, they remained locked in the bitter struggle for survival.

 Eventually, as the sun crept up towards midday over the city, trumpets began to sound the recall from within the siege lines. The Sharisians retreated back across the killing fields, dragging their wounded along with them, leaving their dead piled up around the walls. Across the defences, shouts began to ring out from the City Guards, though they were not shouts of victory but shouts of relief. They knew that the Sharisians would be back, that their holding out today may just be delaying the inevitable until tomorrow. From his position in one of the towers, Osvald Thegnson watched the retreat joylessly. His keen eyes could already see the renewed movement of the crews around the catapults, and he knew that within a couple of minutes, the bombardment would begin again. He propped his crossbow against the tower parapet and looked across to where he had lost Felthan. There were several bodies strewn around the hole in the crenellations, obscuring the smear of blood that was all that remained of his friend.

 He closed his eyes to try and stop the tears from welling up, and for a moment, his legs felt weak and he shuddered. However, he quickly realised that it wasn’t him that was shuddering, but the whole wall. His eyes snapped open, and he clutched at the wall as a violent shock wave rocked the surrounding landscape. All around him, the City Guard were trying to keep their balance. Before his eyes, Osvald watched as the weakened section of wall, where he had first been stationed that morning, crumbled away to leave a gaping hole, strewn with rubble in the city wall. The shockwave passed as quickly as it had arrived, and for a second, all eyes on both sides of the wall were fixed on the breach that had appeared there. Then, the shout went up from the siege lines, and Sharisian troops surged back towards the city. Osvald snatched up his crossbow once more and loaded as fast as he could, his morning was far from over.

* * *

It was not just the defenders on the walls or their attackers who had felt the shockwave. All across the city people were picking themselves up from floors and flagstones, having been thrown off balance. As knowledge of the breach in the wall began to percolate through the streets, it was accompanied by speculation that the Sharisians must have undermined the walls, and it was the collapse of the mine workings that had caused the shockwave and made part of the defences collapse. At least one person, however, knew that this could not be true.

 Admittedly, undermining of the walls had been the first explanation that had popped into Eleusia’s head as she had felt the shockwave from her hiding place within a disused tower room in Karpella castle. She scrambled to her feet after having been unceremoniously knocked to the floor by the tremor and tried to beat the thick dust off her clothes that had settled on every surface in the room. The clouds of dust that rose up from her made Eleusia cough and splutter. She rushed to the broken window at the other side of the room to gulp down mouthfuls of fresh air.

As the coughing subsided, she took in the view of the city her vantage point gave her. The window she looked from faced out from the castle towards the rest of the city of Karpella, where she could see the ant-like throngs of people still crowding around the base of the edifice, hoping to find shelter within the castle’s walls. Beyond, her gaze was caught by a plume of dust that drifted into the air from the curtain wall. Squinting, she thought she could make out a jagged hole in the defences emerging from within the dust cloud. As she tracked her vision back from the distant walls, however, she also spotted cracks that had appeared in the surfaces of the roads she could see, which appeared to emanate from the area of the castle, rather than focusing and spreading out from the breach in the defences.

 Eleusia twisted her hair nervously around one of her fingers as she pondered what was before her. Though at first glance it appeared that the wall had been undermined, the cracks in the roads, and the fact that the shockwave had been felt so strongly within the castle itself, made Eleusia suspect that the real cause might well have something to do with the opening of the vault, deep below the castle. Regardless, the situation was not looking the most promising; the last thing she and her companions below ground needed right now were hordes of Sharisian troops running amuck within the city. She needed to warn them, and they needed to get moving fast.

 Shaking her green cloak out one last time to rid herself of the last of the dust, Eleusia picked up her crossbow and stalked over to the door. Opening it a crack, she peeked out into the corridor and, confident the coast was clear, stepped out and pulled the door to behind her. As she was still wearing the armour and uniform of the Imperial Guard beneath her cloak, she walked quickly and openly through the corridors and down staircases, confident that in such a time of crisis, a soldier of the Imperial Guard moving swiftly and purposefully through the castle would raise few suspicions.

 Moving through a large atrium on one of the upper floors, she nodded a greeting to a group of Imperial Guards who had liberated a large collection of chairs and tables from the neighbouring rooms to rest. They all looked exhausted, and many of them had soot-blackened faces and wore charred clothing. Eleusia had to conceal the smirk that spread across her face as she strode past them. She knew exactly why the guards looked so dishevelled because she was the one who had set the blaze going in one of the castle storerooms. She had heard the chaos from her hiding place in the tower, where she had decided to lie low until the heat had died down, and she hoped that it had provided enough of a distraction for Torben, Gwilym, Antauros and Hrex to reach the feasting hall and the treasure vault far beneath.

 Turning down another labyrinthine passageway, Eleusia’s swift progress was halted by the fact that the way forward was almost completely blocked by chests, boxes and piles of books that had been unceremoniously dumped in the corridor. A large set of double doors at the epicentre of the massed detritus were wide open and led to a room beyond from which panicked, absent-minded muttering could be heard. Slowing her pace, she wove her way through what looked like the entire contents of the nearby room. Though it delayed her progress, Eleusia knew that this was the fastest way to reach her destination and that picking her way through the scattered junk would still be faster than retracing her steps and trying to find an alternative route. As she got closer and closer to the doorway, she began to hear snippets of the conversation that the room’s occupant appeared to be having with themselves….

 ‘They’ll never take all of this. Make sure to pack only the most important things,’ he said, ‘but everything is important! Now… medicinal herbs, very important, but largely useless without Phintel’s Guide to Vegetal Potions and Poultices. Where did I put that? I saw it just a moment ago. Mímir save me, but this is hopeless… And where are those damn porters? They should have been here over an hour ago.’

 The voice was high pitched, though definitely masculine. As Eleusia drew level with the open doors, she saw that it belonged to a gnome, wearing a once elaborate, though now rather threadbare, set of blue ceremonial robes. A curtain of blond hair surrounded a prominent bald patch at the crown of his head and dangled down over his ears and onto his shoulders. The room he was standing in was a chaotic mess of discarded books, broken glass and overturned tables. Innumerable half-packed bags and crates were strewn around the floor, and they merged into the items that had been dumped in the hallway.

 He turned abruptly towards her, worrying one of his thick blond sideburns with one hand and adjusting the small pair of spectacles that were perched on top of his long, angular nose with the other. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Eleusia, who had been standing stock-still in the doorway, barely breathing, hoping that the gnome wouldn’t notice her. He took a step forwards and peered up at her, his brown eyes magnified by the lenses of his spectacles.

 ‘Ah, you must be here to help porter this down to the ships?’

 ‘Errm, no, I’m not.’ Eleusia straightened up and tried to inject a sense of authority into her voice.

 ‘Oh, well, what are you doing then?’

 ‘I’m…’ Eleusia’s answer had barely formed on her lips before the gnome’s high voice cut across her.

 ‘Well, it can’t be anything too important; otherwise, you’d remember it.’ He continued before she was able to speak again. ‘Regardless of what you’re up to, I need you to round up a group of porters and bring them here post haste! All of these items belong to the Imperial Mage to the Court, and it is imperative that they survive and are available for the resistance effort should the capital fall. As a member of the Imperial Guard, I expect you to take this order as if it had come from the mouth of Hastel himself.’

 Eleusia nodded curtly and wordlessly to the gnome and then turned on her heel and continued on her way down the corridor. The tone of the gnome’s voice had left her thinking that he was neither used to throwing his weight around, nor to giving orders, so she judged that the best course of action was to simply appear as if she was carrying out his orders immediately, hoping that his naivety in the workings of the Imperial command structure would mean that she would be able to get away without him complicating matters further. As she finally made her way out of the barricade of detritus from the room, she could hear the gnome muttering to himself again.

 Now that she was back on track, it did not take Eleusia long to make her way down to the ground floor of the castle and the large, elaborate hallways that led to the numerous state rooms and her destination, the Great Hall. As she approached the enormous, highly polished double doors, the main entrance to the Hall, she slowed her pace as she saw two figures in military garb, one wearing the uniform of the City Guard and the other the much more elaborate uniform of the Imperial Guard, moving swiftly towards her along the corridor. The Imperial Guardsman was clearly an officer, as they were grilling the weary-looking soldier walking alongside them, whose armour was scratched and stained with blood and dust, who looked as if she had come straight from the defences. She was clutching a battered leather messenger tube in one hand, which Eleusia guessed must contain a report from the frontline.  

 ‘And you’re absolutely sure that the fighting is beginning to spread beyond the walls?’

 ‘Yes, sir’, the guardswoman spoke through gritted teeth; clearly this was not the first time that she had been grilled about the contents of her dispatch. ‘The wall has been breached in the western section, and the Sharisian infantry offensive has concentrated on the breach and has pushed back our forces almost to Medallion Square.’

 ‘And why can’t your commander bring in reinforcements from the eastern section of the wall?’

 ‘Because, sir, not only have the Sharisian’s begun focusing their bombardment on the eastern wall, they have also left an obvious contingent of infantry opposite the focal point of the barrage, so even if we could move the troops pinned down on the walls, that section of the wall would be almost immediately assaulted. Hence why Colonel Grimwold sent me up here, sir, to request reinforcements from the Imperial Guard.’

 The conversation continued as the pair went past, the still unconvinced Imperial officer wafting a dismissive hand towards his forehead in response to Eleusia’s salute. As they disappeared around a corner, she slipped through the double doors into the Great Hall.

 Though it was the first time that she had been in the gorgeously decorated edifice, her mind was focused on the task at hand, and she moved towards the back wall quickly and quietly, keeping within the shadows of the covered colonnade that surrounded three of the four walls. As she approached the high table, behind which was the ornately carved imperial throne, she slowed even more and began scouring the floor and the mosaic that covered the back wall, looking for the entrance to the vault below. When they had been planning their infiltration of the castle, Hrex had been incredibly coy about where the entrance to the vault was, and it had only been through a very careful studying of the few words that she had said on the topic that Eleusia had narrowed down its location to the back of the Hall.

 She began to run her hands along the mosaic itself, starting at one end and working her way along, feeling the sharp edges of the minute tiles tug at her fingertips as she tried to pick up any irregularities in the pieces, anything that might give away the entrance. She shut her eyes, trying to focus her whole attention on the sensations running through her hands until her eyes snapped open as she felt an ever so slightly larger gap in between a line of mosaic tiles. There was a thicker line of bare wall, hardly noticeable unless one was as close as Eleusia was to it, that divided the rest of the mosaic from a panel depicting a kindly looking queen, her arms outstretched in welcome. Following the line, Eleusia could see that it framed and centred the figure, and she began to study the mosaic queen, looking for the mechanism to open the portal. She pressed down hard on first one, then the other of the queen’s sapphire eyes to no avail, and it was only as she stepped back to get a better view that her eyes were drawn to the large ruby set in the centre of her belt. Carefully, she pressed a long finger onto the gem and held her breath as it slowly began to sink into the mosaic and stonework behind. As it disappeared, the whole mosaic panel began to move, groaning as a set of double doors opened there, splitting the queen in two. Without stopping to find a light source, she plunged down into the darkness that rose to swallow her as the doors to the vault shuddered to a close behind.

2

‘You trample on the legacy of my father and my people. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take your head, thief!’

The Princess stared down at the figure of the dwarf before her. The point of her sabre was hooked under his beard, the blade held against his throat, and she could see her hand shaking ever so slightly, making the tip of the sword wobble imperceptibly. She felt groggy, as if she had woken from a deep, over-long sleep, but despite how she felt, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. A second of lapsed concentration, and this intruder could land a killing blow if he so wished… She willed herself into focusing all of her attention on the dwarf.

 He was wearing armour reminiscent of the protective gear that her own guards wore, who were rapidly making their way across the piles of gold, silver and gems towards them, but there were distinct differences that puzzled her as she tried to pin down who this dwarf served. Although the long coat of scale mail was almost identical to her guards, the tabard was shaped differently, and it not only had the red rose of Dazscor emblazoned on the cloth, but also the gold stag of Aramore. He held a strange weapon loosely in his hand as well, a shortsword of a type that was not common within the Kingdom of Dazscor but which she vaguely recalled being known as a seax to the dwarves of the Union of Mishtoon to the south. The dwarf was likewise staring up at her, though she noticed that his emerald eyes were stained with tears, which were running down his face into the mass of black beard that clung to his cheeks and jaw.

 As the dwarf was thrown into shadow by the guards who were rallying to their Princess and encircling him, he slowly lifted the hand carrying the seax above his head, where it was swiftly plucked from his grasp by a mid-height, strongly built man, whose closely cropped ginger hair and beard reflected the light that flickered from the torches and braziers set around the vault. The man, Captain Almar, tucked the seax into his belt and then pushed the dwarf onto his knees.

 ‘Keep your hands where I can see them,’ he growled.

 ‘What is your name, dwarf?’ The Princess’ voice was clear, calm and level, testament to the hours of tuition in elocution she had been forced to undertake by her father.

 ‘Gwilym, my lady.’

 Gwilym spoke softly, his voice catching slightly in his throat. He knew that the woman in front of him was high status, so he bowed his head as much as he was able with the sabre restricting the movement of his head and threatening to bite into his neck.

‘Well, Gwilym, tell me, why do you bear the symbol of the treacherous Duchy of Aramore on your tabard alongside that of my house?’

 The dwarf’s eyes momentarily flashed up to the Princess’ face, trying to gauge the seriousness of her question. His expression was one of confusion as he hesitatingly began to answer.

 ‘But, my lady, I wear the symbols of this kingdom… as they have been for nearly the last 200 years.’

 ‘Do you know who I am?’

 ‘No, my lady.’

 ‘I am Princess Theodora of the Royal House of Dazscor, daughter of King Sarper IV, so I rather think that I am qualified to know the symbols and emblems of my family’s lands!’

 There was a moment of silence as Gwilym’s head snapped up to intently inspect Theodora, all pretence of deference forgotten. As he had no idea of what Sarper IV had looked like, it was hard to assess how much of a familial resemblance there was between the long-dead king and the woman stood before him. However, now that he studied her clothing and armour, he could see that she didn’t bear the symbol of the Kingdom of Dazscor & Aramore on her clothes, but only the rose of Dazscor. Indeed, the heraldic shield that had been inlaid on the centre of her breastplate bore the symbol of an armoured hand clutching the rose of Dazscor. It was a coat of arms that he had seen before, inlaid into a fine set of golden dinner plates that had been procured through rather dishonest means and had passed through Björn’s operation. The aged and crotchety treasurer, who had toiled away over the accounts in the basement of Björn’s headquarters for longer than anyone could remember, had told Gwilym that the coat of arms was that of the old kings and queens of Dazscor, from before the invasion of the Aramorians, and that it was rare to see it nowadays.

 Then, Gwilym’s mind began to turn to why Hrex had wanted to gain access to the vault in the first place: to rescue her master who had apparently been held, suspended in time under the power of the spell. Then he remembered that there had been other bodies in the vault when he had entered, and why could they not have been sent into a magically induced hibernation, just as Hrex’s master had? He had been so fixated on tracking down Hrex to get revenge for Torben that he hadn’t stopped to think about the presence of other people in the vault…

Torben! Gwilym’s mind began to whir as he became aware again of the fact that he could no longer hear Torben’s cries of pain coming from the antechamber. He needed to act quickly, to get him help, but how? His train of thought was broken as Princess Theodora addressed him again.

‘I want to know why you are here, who you serve and why I shouldn’t slit your throat now for being a common, grubby thief?’

 For a moment, Gwilym’s mind was completely blank. He had no idea what to say or how to explain to these people, who were either deluded and possibly dangerous or who could well be people who had been imprisoned in the vault for hundreds of years, who might be slow to believe how much time had passed, how many things had changed in the time they had been trapped. Feeling the blade of the sabre press ever so slightly more forcefully into his throat, Gwilym began to speak, letting the words roll from his tongue, hoping that they wouldn’t get him killed.

 ‘Your Highness, you must forgive me for not recognising you and for my trespass into your hallowed halls. If you will permit me a few moments to explain, I can shed some light on who I am and why I am here before you.’

 For a moment, the Princess’ eyes glowered down at Gwilym, scanning his face for any hint of treachery, and satisfied that he did not present an immediate threat to her person, she lowered her sabre to allow him to speak more freely. In reaction to Theodora’s movement, however, Captain Almar moved closer, looming over the diminutive figure before him, reminding Gwilym through his presence that he was still being keenly watched.

 Gwilym stretched his back and rolled his neck, trying to ease out the aches and stiffness there that had begun to take hold, cleared his throat and began to speak.