The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) (39 page)

"Then let's go bring it down," Grimwold said.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Syrus was glad for the sea air again. The darkness and dust of Tsaldalr had wormed into his very flesh and sapped his hope with every day he had spent within it. Now the deck rocked beneath a storm-dark sky and sea spray tickled his face. Strong sailors worked the sails and the oars, bolstering their spirits with song. Their helmsmen, Girrolf, was a broad-shouldered man with a wild, coppery beard and deep laugh. Syrus liked him immediately and understood why Blund had tried hard to keep him behind. Girrolf was a man who did not intend to die in bed and let everyone know it.

Valda was a welcomed relief from her slug of a brother. Had he not been the son of king, Syrus wondered if he would have murdered the little snot. Now in the clear air such a crime was beyond him, but trapped in desperation in the darkness of an ancient evil he might have killed him with his bare hands. How such a noble king could produce such a child was beyond him. Valda, however, had inherited the best of her father. She wore her shield like she knew what to do with it. Blund's men had become her own to command within hours of leaving sight of the shore. She walked among them, learning their names, praising their bravery, and encouraging them to face the peril that lay ahead. Thorgis would have brooded in the prow, leaving everyone to wonder at his thoughts.

The eastern shore of Norddalr was not a long journey, but the actual fortress lay farther west along the coast. Yet as the men rowed toward the edge of the island, their songs faltered and died. Nothing but black storm clouds rolled overhead, lightning flashing between them as if each cloud dueled with its neighbor. A heavy, yellowish mist shrouded what had once been green shorelines or fresh cliffs. Now all was shadowy and pale behind the veil.

"It is as if this land is no longer part of our world," Girrolf said, relaxing his hold on the tiller to stare along with his crew.

"There is probably much truth in that," Syrus said. "The Tsal claim these lands were once theirs and seek to recapture them. I think this is what they will do to all of Valahur and Avadur. Maybe it's what they will do to the world."

Girrolf held to a course that skirted the mists. Though it was now late evening, the mist seemed to glow as if lit by a sun no one could see. Syrus heard the mutterings of the crew, and while they were superstitious and confused, he was heartened that none were fearful. If anything, he sensed their rage at what had befallen their land. All along the coast the mist hovered and threatened to swallow them. Valda watched through narrowed eyes, and wherever she heard a curse or oath she was quick to follow it with one of her own.

"These monsters bleed, my warriors, however hard it might be to wound them. We will grind their faces into the earth and watch their lifeblood drain away."

When at last it came time to steer into the mist, no one spoke. Girrolf knew their destination and guided their ship into the old docks where the first Norddalr had stood before the war of the trolls. Syrus did not worry for it, but held his tongue unless he curse them all with arrogance. This mist, he surmised, was not to keep them out but must be an extension of the mists that hemmed in and confounded the Tsal for all these centuries.

Once within, the air cooled as it would for any mist, and visibility fell such that the prow and stern of the ship were mere smudges. Girrolf's shadow worked the tiller, but he ordered one of his men to stand in the prow and guide him. Their voices were flattened out in the mist, but soon they were pulling up to the beaches where ruined docks still remained untouched from the war over a year ago.

"An expert landing," Valda offered. "Now the hardest part yet. I would not ask this of you lightly."

"My queen," Girrolf said, coming to her at the center of the deck. "Not a man here has volunteered who is unwilling to die. We will face whatever lies ahead as true sons of Valahur."

Valda lowered her head. "Your bravery humbles me. But what I ask is even more difficult, and I wonder if it is in your powers to do this."

Girrolf gave his gusty laugh and several of the other crew, now stowing their oars and rubbing their shoulders, joined him. "Whatever is in the power of men to do, I can do it. I know my sword-brothers can as well."

"You must remain with this ship," Valda said, now meeting Girrolf's eyes with resolve. "This is our only means of escape, and these Tsal employ slaves by the hundreds. They cannot be allowed to capture this ship, or we might be dooming all of Valahur."

Girrolf's laugh cut off. "You want us to remain behind? You are going alone into danger?"

"Syrus will be with me."

Syrus did not appreciate the condescending scan Girrolf gave him. He was dismissed as insufficient with less time than it takes a fisherman to throw a dogfish back into the sea. "You need warriors at your side, my queen."

"I need warriors guarding my rear, and preserving the one way off this island. Syrus must come with me to find whatever it is that will stop these creatures. Then we have to get that away from here, and this ship and its crew are all that stand between success or failure. I told you it would be difficult to do as I ask, but this is my command for you."

"At least take a few of us."

Valda shook her head. "You will need every man to defend this ship, if it comes to that. Now do not delay me with arguments, brave Girrolf. I fear before this night is done you will have plenty of chances to show your skill at arms."

Girrolf and his crew conceded, and soon Valda and Syrus were hiking the ruined roads into what had once been the wooden fortress of Norddalr. The mist that had surrounded the island did not encroach on the land, but the heavy darkness weighed on it, sucking color from everything. Both he and Valda did not speak as they journeyed overland toward the mountain path that would take them to the stone fortress. Syrus found himself searching the distance for his cliff-side temple to Fieyar, and was gladdened to see it still standing. At this distance it was a dark square against a gray sky of angry clouds and thick mist. He had dreamed of returning to its comfort all the time he had been trapped in Tsaldalr, but now looking at it he could not call it home.

Nothing about the land seemed familiar. Small, black lizards darted across the dirt road as they drew closer to the mountains. No such lizards had ever been seen here before, at least not in these numbers. They scuttled beneath rocks and into cracks at their approach. No birds called, and the trees they would have nested in seemed to sag in defeat. Even the evergreens had dropped many of their needles.

Valda scanned the landscape with wide eyes. Syrus did not dare speak into the quiet, fearing it would be as a loud as a shout in this desolate landscape. When they came to the pass that led into Norddalr, Syrus spotted movement ahead. He pulled Valda aside to shelter behind rocks. A skull rested there with them, a relic from the troll war a year before. Syrus watched groups of strange creatures amble down the road. They were squat, no taller than a young child, and wide-shouldered. They wore rags that seemed assembled from old clothing, but where their flesh showed it was all red. As they passed, Syrus glimpsed their faces before ducking down. A wide black stripe bisected the red skin of their faces, and their features seemed distorted and misshapen.

As they passed, their voices were a whining gibber. Once they disappeared down the path, Valda leaned close to his ear.

"Those are their slaves, and I think they were once our people. The Tsal alter them somehow. Lethos and I saw them aboard their ship."

"Their flesh-crafting is what offended the gods most," Syrus said. "And now I see why. We must be more cautious from here on."

Valda nodded, and as Syrus moved to step back on the path, she grabbed his arm. Her blue eyes were clear and commanding and met his squarely.

"Whatever happens, you must retrieve what you've come to find and then escape with it. You cannot linger behind for me no matter how desperate the situation."

"And leave Valahur to your brother? If that is to pass, we may as well lie down before the Tsal now and save ourselves the struggle."

"I want your word on it. You are sworn to the service of Fieyar, the goddess of duty? Then by your goddess, swear you will do as I have asked."

Syrus was always reluctant to invoke the gods in any oath, particularly when it was his goddess. She was a strict ruler and expected her followers to carry out their commitments even if it meant their own deaths. He stared at Valda and saw she would not be persuaded. When he nodded agreement, she shook her head. "Speak it aloud."

He sighed and sat back against the cold rock. "I swear I will escape with whatever is needed to destroy the beacon, even if it means I must abandon you."

She smiled and patted his shoulder, then they returned to the track.

They encountered nothing else on the way into Norddalr. Syrus was amazed at the destruction, but had anticipated it based on what Valda had shared of her story. The highest tower loomed over them, and Syrus struggled to imagine anyone falling from such a height and surviving. Danir must have had his hand upon her as Grimwold had said. No guards were stationed, and the whole stone fortress seemed a cold and empty shell of what it had been only a short time ago.

"You lead the way from here," Syrus said.

The passages within echoed with the slightest footsteps. Valda had lit a candle stored in the main guardhouse, and held it aloft as they threaded the halls. Whatever radiance that would have burned Grimwold and Lethos had no effect upon them. Syrus only felt a coldness that reached to his bones and scented a faintly rotten stench in the air. When they came to the library, Syrus could not help but imagine Eldegris standing behind the table at the center, arms folded at his back. Now it was a darkened room with a door hanging open as if no one had cared to close it.

Valda's candle was hardly enough, so Syrus lit one that he carried and then touched the flames to a lamp still filled with oil. Soon he was scanning books, running his fingers over them as if he could read them better by touch.

"Close the door," he said. "We don't want our light to draw attention."

"I don't think anyone is here," Valda said.

"There were not many to begin with, and Grimwold had halved their numbers already. They are probably spread thin, which would be a blessing."

Valda tried to help, but after pulling out a few books she surrendered. "I don't know what I'm looking for."

"Neither do I, but it hasn't stopped me from trying."

Every fascinating topic he could imagine was here. He was sorry that he had lived for so long in proximity to this knowledge but never had a chance to study it. Yet however incredible the topic, he had to pass it by unless it concerned the Order of Phyros or the Tsal. He pulled several books to the table that looked promising. Valda began to leaf through them, looking for diagrams or illustrations that might reveal something.

Then, behind a three-volume history of ancient Ageos, Syrus saw a gleam of metal on the shelf. He reached in and pulled out a long ceremonial dagger. The metal of the blade gleamed as if freshly oiled and the grip and hilt were done in ornate, flowery whorls that resembled the buds of plants. Syrus touched the edge with his thumb and he drew a thin burning line of blood.

"Now that is nothing I've ever seen before," Valda said. She reached out for the blade, and Syrus handed it to her. "It was just sitting there?"

"As if placed where I might find it," Syrus said. "Maybe your father wanted you to find it."

"Or you," Valda said, returning it to its place on the bookshelf.

Never did Syrus think searching old books could be so nerve-racking, yet his heart throbbed and sweat rolled off his brow. Every tome he pulled down seemed to lead somewhere else. Language primers, books of history, treaties on mathematics, and books on medicine lined the walls, nothing that would have been of any value to the warriors of Valahur. Some books were ancient and others were new. He guessed the newer ones would have nothing of importance and so passed those to Valda to review. The older texts required more care, and the sweat dripping from his head threatened to ruin the pages.

While he was scanning these texts, he was aware of Valda moving around him. He paid her no mind, intent on his task, then he heard a loud pop. He jerked around, heart in his throat, and Valda was standing frozen in front of a bookshelf. In one hand was the dagger they had found, and her other braced against the bookshelf.

"The dagger fits into an opening back here," she said. "A compartment has opened up."

Syrus rushed to her side, and found the dagger sticking like a key in a lock against the back wall. A square section of wooden shelf backing had come loose, but she had not lifted it aside. With a nod from him, she did so. Syrus held up a candle.

A thick leather-bound book sat hidden in the space. A smile came to his lips, for if nothing else this was proof of what Eldegris had wanted to leave to him.

"Are you sure it's not trapped?" Valda asked.

"Let's find out." He grabbed a random book and tried to shove it into the hole. When nothing happened, he reached in with both hands and extracted the book. It was new, smelling of fresh leather.

Syrus carried it to the table and pulled a candle close. Both he and Valda leaned over it as Syrus opened to the title page. In neat, precise script was the title of the book: "The Final Days of the Order of Phyros and the Coming of the Tsal."

The author signed his name, "Eldegris, High King of Valahur."

"This is what we came for," Syrus said in a whisper. "Everything he has written here plus what I retrieved from Tsaldalr will put together the entire story."

The book was thick, and as he flicked through the pages he noticed many at the end of the book were blank. Had Eldegris intended to write more before he died? If so, what had he to say that was now forever lost?