Authors: Gail Z. Martin
The third and fourth panels depicted two of the many wars between the gods. In the third panel, those lesser gods loyal to Torven led an assault on Esthrane’s palace amid the clouds of the gods. Many died, both among the demigods and on the world below, as the devoted followers of Torven and Esthrane battled in the names of their patrons. Torven’s expression was triumphant as Esthrane’s forces fled in retreat.
In the fourth panel, the situation was reversed. Esthrane, leading a large army of lesser gods and mortal warriors, laid siege to Torven’s fortified castle on the shore of the Sea of Souls. Rivers of blood flowed from the castle to the sea. Esthrane’s army slew its opponents, and the goddess was shown sending the souls of her enemies into the obsidian depths of the Unseen Realm.
In the fifth panel, Charrot – the High God himself – descended from the sun to broker a truce between his warring consorts. Yet even as Charrot stood hand in hand with Torven and Esthrane, it took only one look at the faces of his consorts to know that this battle would not be their last. Around the feet of the gods and goddesses, the lesser gods and mortals continued to struggle, and standing behind Esthrane, just barely visible in the shadows, stood a cluster of figures with alabaster faces, the
talishte
, and with them, clad in blue and gold, the Knights of Esthrane, with both mortal and
talishte
mage-warriors.
The entrance to each corridor was carved with figures and symbols, so that their archways were both works of art and icons depicting the legends of the gods. “This was hallowed ground for the Knights of Esthrane,” Penhallow said quietly. “Strangers did not venture here, on penalty of death.”
“It seems odd they had to come through the crypts,” Connor replied.
“Remember what was said about secret entrances?” Lowrey said, turning away from the mosaic he had been eyeing. “That applied to more than just their library. The Knights always had secret escape routes, and it was rumored that they had multiple secret passages, some of which even the king did not know about. When King Merrill’s grandfather betrayed the Knights, those few from the castle who survived were the ones who could reach their hidden passageways in time.”
Lynge made a circuit of the room, illuminating the mosaics. Finally, Lynge led them down one of the corridors. Along the walls were several doors made of heavy, dark wood with ornate carvings, bound with iron, secured with huge iron locks.
Lynge stopped in front of Penhallow and withdrew the key. “Your key should fit one of the locks in this corridor,” Lynge said.
Penhallow took the key from Lynge and held it up in the lantern’s light. Its top had been molded with a scene of figures and images. Penhallow studied the iron key, then slowly walked along the corridor, trying to determine where the scene on the key best matched the door and its adjacent murals.
Finally, he stopped in front of one of the doors and inserted the key into the lock. The old lock stuck for a moment, and its heavy mechanism groaned as Penhallow turned the key. Finally, the tumblers thudded open. Penhallow took hold of the door’s ring and pulled. Connor could see that, even with Penhallow’s
talishte
strength, the door was difficult to budge. It yielded, creaking open on iron hinges, revealing darkness. Cold air heavy with a dank, musty scent filled the chamber.
“I’m guessing we have to go in there,” Connor muttered.
“That door hasn’t opened in a very long time,” Lowrey replied. “I don’t think anything is waiting to jump out at you.”
“Nothing living, anyhow,” Connor murmured.
Lynge held up the lantern and was the first to step into the room. “It’s a crypt,” he called over his shoulder. “There’s a catafalque in here.”
They followed Lynge into the room. The catafalque sat in the center of the room. Against one side was a large stone table that looked as if it might have functioned as an altar. The room was round, and on its walls was a mural. Unlike the elaborate mosaic in the prior chamber, this mural had been done as a fresco, and in places, time and decay had blurred some of the images or cracked through the stucco base. Still, as Lynge and Geddy held their lanterns aloft, enough of the mural survived to make out the story.
“It’s the history of the Knights of Esthrane,” Lowrey said, excitement coloring his words. “It picks up from where the mosaic ended, with Esthrane choosing the Knights to keep Torven’s forces in line.”
The images unfolded from the left of the doorway through which they had entered. In the first scene, Esthrane conveyed her charge to a broad-shouldered warrior with long, brown hair and a dark beard. Beside Esthrane stood a burly man wearing a crown who bestowed both a charter and a sword on the warrior. Various battles made up the bulk of the other images, depicting triumphs over Torven’s forces or slaughters at the hands of the Knights’ foes.
Connor paused as he stared at the last panel to the right of the door where they had entered. Though space remained for another mural, the stucco was blank.
“They never finished the mural,” Connor murmured.
“Or the king’s loyalists had the images plastered over,” Penhallow replied, a note of bitterness in his voice.
There was a clatter behind them, and they looked up to see Geddy emptying his pack onto the stone table. From it, he withdrew several lanterns, which he lit. After the long trek through darkened tunnels, Connor had to squint as his eyes adjusted to the light. He noticed a movement outside the door, but when he looked again, there was nothing.
Connor grabbed a lantern and leaned out of the doorway.
“What’s wrong?” Lynge asked.
Connor’s lantern illuminated the corridor. It was empty. With a sigh, he moved back into the room. “Nothing. Thought I saw something. I was wrong.”
Lowrey gave him a suspicious glance, but Connor refused to meet the mage’s gaze. Connor moved back toward the middle of the room, where everyone’s attention was focused on the bier.
The catafalque in the center of the chamber was less ornate than those they had seen in the Crypt of the Ancient Kings. The pediments and bier were simple, with a few inscriptions but no decorative carving. Atop the bier lay a figure of a warrior, forever clad in his battle armor, helmetless but surrounded, even in death, by depictions of the weapons he favored in life.
“This is the tomb of Torsten Almstedt,” Lynge said quietly. “He was the founder of the Knights of Esthrane. The Knights who fell in battle are also buried here.”
“Did Almstedt live to see the Knights betrayed?” Connor asked.
Penhallow shook his head. “Almstedt was killed in battle before the Knights were disbanded. As the founder of the Order, his tomb was a shrine for the Knights. When the Order was disbanded and the surviving Knights fled for their lives, I have heard it said that one of their keenest losses was that they could no longer tend the crypts of their brothers-at-arms entombed below the castle.”
Connor moved closer, studying the warrior’s statue. He had expected to see the image of a man killed in his prime. Instead, this warrior was in his middle years, with a face that showed dignity and intelligence. A shield was carved next to the man’s legs, and as Connor blew away the dust, he realized that the surface of the shield was covered with both recognizable heraldic images and with more subtle symbols that were startlingly familiar.
“Bring the light over here!” he said, bending closer for a better look.
“What did you find?” Lowrey asked, crowding closer.
Connor withdrew the obsidian pendant from beneath his shirt. “Look,” he said, holding the pendant close to the shield. It was clear that several of the symbols carved into the surface of the pendant matched those on the Knight’s shield.
Lowrey came around to peer down at the shield and its markings. “Those are definitely mage symbols,” he said. “Not surprising, given the Knights’ abilities as mage-warriors.”
“So why did Quintrel want us to find this chamber?” Penhallow asked.
Connor went to the table where Geddy had laid out his lanterns and set down his own pack. “I guess I’m going to have to see if anything triggers one of Quintrel’s messages here,” he said, distaste clear in his voice. “Gods, I hate this part of it.”
Connor took a deep breath to still his apprehension, then reached into his pack and withdrew the parchments and journals they had found marked with blue ribbons in the Knights’ library. He let his hand hover over each of the items, a journal, a rolled parchment, and an old bound manuscript. The worn leather cover of the journal drew his attention, and bracing himself, he picked up the journal and held it in both hands, turning the yellowed pages to where the blue ribbon marked a spot. The ribbon had not triggered memories when he had read the journal before, but Connor wondered if this new location would have a different effect.
As soon as he touched the ribbon, Connor swayed on his feet as a new memory flooded him. “The bravest Knight guards more than bones. The markers of blood ties forever severed are shielded from prying eyes. Show one marker to the eternal guard to remove the shield.”
With a jolt, Connor came back to himself. This time he remembered what he had said, and he wondered if the triggering of Quintrel’s hidden memories would get easier with each clue uncovered. “What does it mean, ‘the eternal guard’?” he asked, still feeling a little shaky.
The temperature in the crypt plummeted, and Connor could see his breath misting. A blue-green glow began to swirl next to the catafalque, forcing Penhallow and the others to back away from the bier. As they watched, the glow took shape until Almstedt’s image became clearly recognizable. The ghost wore the same armor as the carved figure atop the catafalque, but his sword was drawn and he carried no shield. His stance conveyed a challenge, and his gaze was stern.
The spectral figure held up one arm, displaying an outstretched palm to signal that they keep their distance. As they watched, Almstedt’s ghostly gaze swept over them, and he turned his hand palm up.
“By the gods!” Geddy croaked from where he had backed up against the wall of the crypt. “What does he want from us?”
“Show him your disk, Connor,” Penhallow said. His voice was steady, though Connor could see from Penhallow’s posture that he was ready should danger arise. “I believe that’s the ‘marker’ Quintrel mentioned. If I’m not mistaken, Almstedt’s ghost is guarding the four disks we’re looking for.”
“We’re not going to have to open the coffin, are we?” Geddy’s voice rose an octave. “I didn’t sign on for looting coffins!”
“Hush,” Lynge admonished, though Connor could see that the seneschal had blanched at the sight of the ghost.
Mustering his courage, Connor withdrew the obsidian disk from beneath his tunic and slipped the leather strap over his head. He stepped forward, offering the disk on his outstretched hand, forcing himself to move closer.
Connor’s hand shook as he felt the ice-cold touch of Almstedt’s ghost. Almstedt passed his hand over the disk, then turned and laid his hand on the carved shield atop the catafalque and pointed to a raised decoration. He looked to Connor as if awaiting a response. Connor stepped forward hesitantly and pushed on the embellishment.
The stone shield began to move, slowly grinding open to reveal a small compartment beneath it. Almstedt pointed to the compartment, meeting Connor’s gaze with an expression that communicated his imperative.
Swallowing hard, Connor moved around the catafalque, avoiding the ghost, and grimaced as he reached into the dark compartment. He relaxed as his hand gripped four smooth obsidian disks and he withdrew them from their hiding place. Almstedt’s expression softened to express his approval, and the stone shield slowly moved back into place. But to Connor’s surprise, the ghost did not vanish once Connor found the disks. Instead, Almstedt pointed to the rolled parchment on the desk.
“I think he wants you to have a look at that piece of parchment,” Lynge said quietly.
Heart thudding, Connor brought the disks back to the table and laid them to one side, returning his own disk to its place around his neck. Swallowing his uneasiness, he loosened the blue ribbon that bound the old parchment and spread it flat.
“It’s a map of the stars,” Lynge murmured.
Penhallow shook his head. “More than that. It’s part of a set of coordinates to find a particular place. Look,” he said, pointing. “There’s a longitude, but no latitude, and a month and day. I’m betting that on that date, if the sky overhead matches that map, you’re where you’re supposed to be.”
“Yeah, but where is that, and why would we want to be there?” Connor muttered.
Connor felt a lurch as Quintrel’s hidden memory surged to the front of his consciousness.
“Hidden allies will arise. Turn to the exiles, for you will find them among the dead men’s bones.”
At that, Almstedt’s revenant began to fade, his form blurring until it was nothing but a shimmering light, and then vanished altogether.
“Exiles again,” Connor said. “First, I’m told to seek the ‘exiled man.’ Now, more exiles. Do you think he means the convicts in Velant?”
Penhallow had moved closer to the map and was studying it carefully, even as Lowrey jostled for a spot to do the same. “I don’t think Quintrel meant Edgeland,” Lowrey said. “For one thing, these stars,” he said, pointing to two marks on the map, “can’t be seen above the horizon that far north at that time of the year.”
“Does that mean we need to be at a certain place on that date?” Connor asked, puzzled.
Penhallow shook his head. “I don’t think so, but we don’t have enough information to be certain.” He raised his head to look at Lowrey. “You told me that the equinox would be a time when the power would be strong.”
Lowrey nodded, still studying the map. “So is the solstice, which is just a month away. They’re times when the natural world creates ‘channels’ for power. So it might be easier to bring back the magic then, but that doesn’t mean it would be impossible at other times.”
Connor stared at the date on the torn parchment. “Would an astronomer be able to fix the location given this map?”
Lowrey straightened. “My interests at the university included astronomy and cartography,” he replied. “So I’m qualified to comment. Without the latitude, you might narrow it down to an area, but not a precise point. If by ‘the exiles’ Quintrel means himself and the mages he took into hiding, I don’t think he’s going to make it too easy to find him, just in case the knowledge were to fall into the wrong hands.”