The Tarcans of Tamiran stopped. Plowing, hunting, playing—all activities stopped. They stared towards a mountain peak that rose above the town to the northwest. Its singularity made it an oddity. The range itself was miles more to the west of the peak. The locals called it
Clouds, gradually shifting from cotton white to pitch black, began boiling towards the peak. Lorn looked around to gauge reactions. A few of the force, including Yeyter, hadn’t noticed anything. Typical. The others had seen the clouds as well and stared—as rapt as the locals. True, nothing like this had ever been seen before. The Storm itself behaved differently. The peak couldn’t possibly be one of their rest lairs. The Tribunal would have received word if it was. Two of the force had their attention focused on Gahrst. The brute himself wore a look of pure curiosity, head slightly tilted to the side, confirming Lorn’s belief that this was a new phenomenon. Gahrst had seen everything.
The messenger was perched on Lorn’s shoulders, the little flyer suddenly beginning to quake as it noticed the seething mass of clouds. Lorn still had no luck in getting rid of Dhire. He simply refused to leave. Lorn’s lips curved in the ghost of a grin, thinking that maybe Dhire would get too scared and fly away. Some of the locals were faring no better than Dhire. Lorn watched as a few Tarcans with faded scales crept towards their homes and elsewhere a Tarcan not much more than a hatchling drew its parents from their home to see. The elders pulled shutters closed.
Lorn stumbled and Dhire squawked when the world rocked on its foundation. The black clouds now resembled an immense hurricane, only where the calm eye should have been wasa funnel of clouds swirling towards the peak. When the darkness embraced the top of the peak, more clouds began racing down the funnel, yet none rolled further down the mountain—as if they were being absorbed into it, instead. The hurricane grew larger, now beginning to block the sun over Tamiran. Lorn heard crying somewhere distant in the town. The only sound among shocked silence. Every member of the force was paying attention, now. The world rumbled again. More Tarcans began moving towards their homes. Closing doors and a tinny voice broke the silence a second time.
“Mama, I want to see.” She nudged him towards the door. “Mama, no. Why can’t I watch?” She gently grabbed him by the back of the neck with her teeth and took him inside. Their door closed. Lorn looked back to Gahrst and saw the Leader’s angry resolve had returned. Gahrst turned to regard Lorn, his voice like two stones grinding past one another.
“Lorn, get the force together and follow. We’re checking it out.” He paced off. Lorn harried the others into order and followed.
They left the silence of Tamiran and headed north. At the town’s edge waited mates of those miners still at Sular. They watched the force pass and a few started to follow. A look from Gahrst made them stop and be content with watching the force continue. Tremors pulsed from the mountain at regular intervals now, like the world’s slow pulse. For most of the day they marched behind Gahrst toward the epicenter of the rumbling, the heart of darkness.
The mine’s entrance came into view at sunset; the squared timbers holding it open frayed like some ancient relic. A pallor of rainbow colors was cast over the peak—a torch thrust into an attic that clears away nothing and seems constrained by the dark. As they near Sular’s maw, a Tarcan burst from the darkness and sprinted away to the east. Gahrst turned to Lirel and Pheor.
“Go get her and find out what’s happening. Bring her and follow us.” They turned and sprinted after her. Lorn watched them go and slowly became aware of a new sound. The twisting funnel of clouds made a noise like a slow wind through a small canyon. Whistling. Dhire’s trembling grew worse and he worked his way up Lorn’s neck one spike at a time, until he could lower his head to Lorn’s ear. His voice squeaked, and trembled as badly as his body.
“Don’t go, Lorn. Don’t go in there.” Lorn nearly stopped in his tracks. The messengers only knew how to recite their names and mimic messages. No more. Or so Lorn had thought. He would have to tell Gahrst after the mission. Lorn kept his voice low.
“We go where the Leader tell us, messenger.”
Dhire took a quick glance at the mine before answering. “But … Don’t. Let Gahrst go in and take the others and leave,” and in a lower voice, “The clouds…so many.”
“What are you talking about?” Lorn hissed. “If you’re scared, fly home. You’ve done plenty enough.”
At the head of the group, Gahrst passed into darkness. Lorn could feel Dhire’s fidgeting intensify. As more of the force disappeared into the gloom, Dhire stammered out, “Y-you shouldn’t go. I-it c-can’t be hap-pen-ning,” and flew into the air. Lorn entered the mine.
The sound of the clouds whistling was muted within the confines of the mine, and Lorn’s nose was suddenly filled with the musty scent of stone, earth, and dust. There were faint sounds of fighting somewhere ahead. Gahrst took it upon himself to scout ahead—a sure sign of curiosity. Yeyter was following close at Gahrst’s orders and seemed to be checking the integrity of the support timbers. Deir was pacing behind Gahrst and Yeyter while the rest were still letting their darkvision focus, like Lorn. He resisted the urge to turn and see if Dhire was visible. Doing so would ruin his sight.
They continued down the tunnel, Lorn bringing up the rear, listening to the ever increasing volume of claws, teeth, and death screams. Each side tunnel the force passed was systematically checked to make sure nothing could sneak up on them. Every few paces Gahrst would slow and lower his snout as if he had picked up an important scent. As Lorn reached where Gahrst had started scenting, he picked up on what the Leader must have smelled. Blood.
Minutes later they reached what looked like a crude lobby. Two shafts, one to the left and one to the right, extended into darkness and a wide staircase was cut into the wall directly across from them. Gahrst signaled for them to split and search the shafts by wagging his tail from left to right. Lorn began to follow Illadan, Deir, and Uripel into the right shaft.
“Lorn, you stay.” Gahrst rumbled. Lorn loped over to stand before the Leader and shot a glance toward the staircase. The sounds of fighting were louder upu there. Gahrst noticed where Lorn’s attention was. “Go see what’s happening. Stay quiet and out of sight. It’s better if whatever is here doesn’t know we are.”
Lorn nodded. “Yes, Leader.” He walked to the stairs and started up. The stairs were wide, like most on Rizer, and held a slow curve to the right. Gahrst’s caution was in full swing and Lorn couldn’t figure out why. The strange clouds that could still be heard whistling, even over the sounds of fighting and dying, could be caused by any number of northwestern Mancers, and Charlindrini had long ago signed an agreement with Elegeer to stay out of one another’s business. Fighting of the sort Lorn was sneaking up on was also well known to Gahrst. He must have some knowledge of the essences that I don’t, Lorn decided as he caught sight of the last step around the bend.
A smashed cart, presumeably for hauling the common ores found in Sular, partially blocked the staircase—perfect cover for Lorn. He carefully slid up behind the wreckage and peeked around the broken slats. The sounds of battle he had listened to while climbing the stairs did the scene before his eyes little justice. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, some still slowly taking breath, yet losing the battle for life. Crimson stained most of the walls and pooled around the lifeless bodies. Across this new lobby stood a solid wooden building made from the same rough timbers as the support beams. There was where the battle still raged. Bloody Tarcans of a pallid shade of scales, almost 20 of them, some with dismembered limbs and others with throats ripped out, surrounded the structure, viciously pounding and tearing at the wood. Lorn fought the urge to return to Gahrst immediately. Those Tarcans could not be alive with such mortal wounds, yet there they were trying to break through the makeshift shutters and door of the building. Lorn could see a clawpick flash through a small opening in the shutters every so often.
Lorn withdrew and began his return trip down the stairs, attempting to steady his racing heart. Steeling his nerves came next. When he emerged into the lobby where he had left Gahrst he found the rest of the force back from their searches and assembled into order. Gahrst sat off to the left and looked at Lorn, waiting for the report.
“Leader, a band of Tarcankin, nearing 20 members, has some sort of station building surrounded and are trying to gain entry using tooth and claw. I’ve never seen kin like this before. They look like they shouldn’t be moving. Like they should be as dead as the bodies strewn about up there. I can’t understand it.” Lorn finished and sat down.
“There are kin trapped in the building?” Gahrst asked.
“I believe so. A paw holding a clawpick took a swipe at one of the strange kin.”
“How many?”
“I was only able to see the one attack. There are probably more holding the boards over the doorway and windows.”
Gahrst stood slowly and walked towards Lorn. “I’ll go first. The rest of you follow my lead. Lorn, you’re rearguard.” As the Leader passed he locked eyes with Lorn for a few moments before tensing his muscles and bolting onto the stairs, the others close behind. This was only the second battle Lorn would share with Gahrst and he had gotten that same loo right before the first one. He wondered what it meant as he leapt onto the wide steps and followed.
No times was wasted in engaging the pallid forms of the ravaged Tarcans. When Lorn rounded the last curve and passed the wrecked cart, he saw the mob had already turned to fight this new threat. A fresh body was twitching on the ground, its belly split open and internal organs spread around it. Gahrst was on the other side of the body, rearing up on his rear legs only to come crashing down, claws first, onto the head and neck of one of the Ravaged. It crumpled, its neck broken clean through. The rest of the force was getting into the fray now. Illadan, Yeyter, and Deir held their small line to the right of Gahrst while Uripel, Terrin, Aderan, and Rhetgin held the left. As rearguard it became Lorn’s job to air any failing points in the line.
Upon crushing the head of one Ravaged, Gahrst spun, whipping his tail around to thump into the side of another Ravaged’s head, snapping its neck around. Deir shrieked. Lorn turned and saw Deir’s jaws retreating from the base of a Ravaged’s tail. Not a drop of blood dripped from his jaws—it seemed the blood was being absorbed into Deir. He shrieked again—a feral scream—and suddenly launched himself at Yeyter’s right side. Lorn’s eyes widened and he lunged to intercept. He collided with Deir on mid-leap, knocking him back, and then slashed at Deir’s throat, ripping it open. Deir collapsed, clutching at his throat, making gurgling noises occasionally punctuated by a death scream. Lorn turned to Gahrst, who batted aside an attacking Ravaged and locked eyes with Lorn for a second. Garhst shouted, the sound a landslide over the sounds of killing.
“Claws and tails only!”
Lorn felt claws rake down his right flank and blood flow across his scales. He turned wide eyes to his attacker and lashed out. Flowing lines appeared over the Ravaged’s eyes once Lorn’s claws passed. He felt he could almost see the infection in its flesh. It reeled away.
“Claws and tails only!” Lorn shouted, snapping himself back to the moment. Getting lost during the moment of battle is a quick path to death.
The second shout following so quickly after the first cause a few of the force’s heads to turn. In that instant, the Ravaged pressed the line and blood sprayed. Uripel went down, a hole in his throat. Uripel’s rear legs spasmed and kicked a Ravaged’s legs out from under it, saving Terrin from a bite to the back of the head. The line began to fall back, pressed on all sides. Aderan took a blow to his left foreleg, hampering his ability to fall back. Two of the Ravaged jumped him. Terrin, without Aderan as a rightguard, began taking hits all over his body, the lacerations beginning to take their toll. Before his movements slowed from blood loss, Terrin launched himself into the remaining Ravaged. His lunge threw one against the wooden building, breaking its back. Two others fell to his claws and teeth before he, too, collapsed.
Gahrst rammed one and sent it crashing into the building beside Terrin’s victim. He spun, disemboweling another with his rear claws. When Gahrst’s back turned a Ravaged lunged, but Rhetgin jumped in between and had his belly torn open. Gahrst spun back to help him.
Lorn had watched Yeyter make his first kill and fell back under another assault. He ducked beneath a blow and moved to the side and spinning, slammed the Ravaged’s chest with his tail and then reversed the spin to hit it in the chest again, crushing its sternum. Two of the remaining Ravaged advanced towards. Lorn began a guarded retreat, keeping an eye on Yeyter to his left and making sure his two attackers didn’t change targets.
Further down what remained of their line, Gahrst gave Rhetgin mercy. A couple of the Ravaged took advantage and dove for Gahrst’s exposed flank. To Gahrst’s right, Illadan saw the attack and broke the line to cut one of the interlopers out of the air. He dug claws into its left leg and pulled it to the ground while being pulled to the ground himself. The other attacker scored a glancing hit on Gahrst, its teeth pulling a flap of flesh and scales from his body, then promptly felt Gahrst’s claws tear into its body, puncturing vital organs. It tried backing off, but Gahrst pressed the attack. Meanwhile, Illadan had been pounced upon by a second Ravaged while the one he grabbed turned to snap at him. Panicked, Illadan snapped back, nipping flesh from its snout and felt the other one bite into his side. He turned to snap at the second one and felt a wound open across his shoulder where he had turned from the first. Illadan went into a frenzy. He twisted, lightning quick, and clamped his jaws around the first one’s neck and pulled the entire Ravaged to the ground in front of him. The second Ravaged went to bite him again, but Illadan leaped from the ground, grabbed the lower jaw of the Ravaged within his own, and jerked the creature across its downed kin, tripping it. He let go and killed it with a bite to the throat, then turned to the slow-moving first Ravaged and finished it. No blood dripped from his jaws. Illadan, frenzied, bloodied, and possessed, launched himself at Gahrst, snapping rabidly at the Leader’s head. Gahrst reared back and caught Illadan, letting his claws sink in and get a good grip. Illadan’s back broke when Gahrst propelled him into the mine wall.
When Illadan had leapt to help Gahrst, Yeyter sacrificed his life by taking down a Ravaged that went for Illadan’s back and then becoming locked in a tussle with another Ravaged that attacked him. Each killed the other.
Lorn witnessed Yeyter’s fall and feinted back to finally draw on his attackers. When the Ravaged came forward, so did Lorn, and he surged between the two with claws out, drawing deep wounds down both of their sides while feeling patches of scales torn away from his tail as he passed. He stumbled under the pain. Recovering quickly, he spun around, knocking one into the other before they could fully turn around. They fell to the ground and never got a chance to get back up.
The fight was over. Sounds of wood falling to the dirt filled the air for a moment. The miners, eleven of them, were lowering their barricades and taking in the battlefield. Most had cuts of varying severity and all had mining claws handy. Gahrst’s breathing was heavy as he walked past Lorn to finish the Ravaged the former had blinded. The scars criss-crossing Gahrst’s chest seemed to stand out to Lorn. They stretched taut with each of the Leader’s breaths, testaments to other battles—other losses. Lorn received a cold look from the Leader when he returned.
As Gahrst passed he said, “Arrange the bodies.” Lorn almost thought he heard cracks in the stone of Gahrst’s voice.
Lorn arranged the bodies while Gahrst talked to the miners. Deir, Uripel, Aderan, Terrin, Rhetgin, Illadan, Yeyter. He laid them out in a line, each parallel with the others, tails straight behind them and heads lowered, resting on crossed forelegs. Lorn had been separate from the casualties after his other encounters. The Leaders had always arranged the bodies and oversaw the transportation of the dead to the godsyard. He didn’t know what to think—or feel, for that matter. He was never particularly close to any of them, probably due to his position as second-in-command—Subleader. He was not sure he liked the responsibility, anymore.
Gahrst came over with the miner following. It occurred to Lorn that he had never seen anyone walk with Gahrst. They always followed. Gahrst’s wounds had been patched and the loose flap of flesh was held to his body with bone needles to help the healing process. The Leader told two of the miners to fix Lorn and the others went straight to the bodies and began carrying them out, down the stairs. Gahrst avoided Lorn’s eyes. Lorn watched the makeshift death procession as he was being worked on. He ignored the twinges of pain.
Once the miners had Lorn’s cuts patched up as well as they could manage, he pushed thoughts of death from his mind and refocused on his current situation. He and Gahrst were the only ones left and they had no clue if Lirel and Pheor had caught that female and would be rejoining them. Another significant group of Ravaged would be more than enough to finish them. Lorn stood and began pacing around, inspecting the tracks of the Ravaged to see where they had come from. The exercise also helped keep his muscles from cramping.
Gahrst walked over and sat down near where Lorn was pacing. “They came from the northwest shaft,” he rumbled. “That’s where the next staircase up is located. The miners claim all other mineshafts are clear, that the undead kin we killed were the only ones.”
“Did they say where the Ravaged came from?” Lorn asked.
“Ravaged?”
“The undead kin.”
Gahrst nodded slightly to himself. “They say there was originally only one, and after watching the fighting they added that it must’ve been contact with their blood that possessed more.” He glanced at Lorn.
Lorn ceased pacing and looked to the staircase for a moment, then said, “So as long as we don’t bite them or lick our claws, we will be fine.”
“If we see any mire, yes.” Gahrst agreed.
Lorn turned to look at Gahrst. “Will we wait for Lirel and Pheor?” He would feel better knowing the two seasoned fighters were around.
“No, we shouldn’t encounter anything else until the higher chambers. We’ll see what happens, then.”
“What’s going on, Leader?”
Gahrst’s eyes took on a distant look, then quickly returned to the in-control gaze Lorn was familiar with. “I’ve told you more than enough, Subleader.” The Leader turned and went to stand in front of the remaining miners. Lorn tried to listen in but could discern nothing but the vague rumbling of Gahrst. It was when Lorn’s ears were primed for eavesdropping that he finally noticed the whistling of the clouds outside coule be faintly heard, even here. Odd. Even the sounds of fighting and dying had been greatly diminished just by the many twists of the mineshafts, let alone the entire mountain. Lorn shook his head and went to wait beside the northwest shaft for Gahrst.
The miners left, hurrying back to Tamircan and their mates and the edge of town, and Gahrst turned and walked past Lorn, into the shaft. “Let’s go.”
They went only a dozen or so tails until a stairwell opened to the right and more mineshafts extended to the left. The staircase was as curved as the first, yet the feeling of it seemed different. The scent of blood was finally fading—of which Lorn was glad to be rid of—and the musty smell of earth was returning. As they neared the top, though, Lorn’s darkvision began wavering at the edges. It was as if all the darkness that Lorn’s eyes dispelled was beginning to gather at the far range of his vision, further obscuring the passage ahead. As the darkness encroached, the slow whistling grew louder.
Just like the miners said, the thired floor held nothing but timbers, stone, and dust. Lorn tried to not think of the whistling and problem with his sight. They found the next stairwell and started up. The darkness got worse the higher they went. Lorn’s darkvision edged in towards him, the dark itself like a thick mist that boiled on the edge of sight. The mountain must really be absorbing the funnel clouds. He wondered where Dhire was.
Neither Gahrst nor lorn said a word for the entire trek across the third floor and up the staircase to the fourth. The tension was palpable. Gahrst broke the silence when the cloud mist pressed closer on the fourth level. Lorn suspected the Leader was as nervous as himself.
“I had to kill Illadan.” He said without turning around or slowing. His voice was hard as granite.
Lorn took a deep breath to steady his heart. “I killed Deir.”
Silence stretched for a few moments while Lorn stared at the ground in front of him. He thought he heard the wind picking up outside, the clouds’ whistling gaining speed. Gahrst spoke again.
“We all bear scars for our soldiers.”
Lorn brought his head up and stared at Gahrst’s back. Where are yours, Oh Great Leader? “Do they ever heal?”
“They don’t. Remember that before you remember anything else.” He paused, and then said, “Protect them to protect yourself.”
As little emotion as Gahrst showed, Lorn didn’t think the Leader needed protection from anything. He didn’t even hesitate in killing Illadan or surveying the slaughter afterwards. Lorn suppressed a sigh and lowered his gaze to the small holes Gahrst’s claws dug into the ground as he walked.
Lorn was snapped out of his reverie as the whistling suddenly intensified and the cloud mist began pulsing. Gahrst looked back urgently. “Hurry.” He took off down the corridor. Lorn followed close on his tail. They found another staircase and threw themselves up as fast as they could manage. The fifth floor wound up being a circular passage the wound around a central chamber with the mineshafts extending out from outward side of the shaft. The cloud mist’s pulsing grew faster and it rushed pass them—at times it seemed through them—and then into the wall on their left. It was a storm off a whistling scream and a pulsing beat that stopped as suddenly as it had started. There was quiet for the first time in hours. The mist was gone from the passage and Gahrst slowed his pace as they neared a larger archway on their left.
Gahrst stopped at the edge of the entrance. He looked back at Lorn and said, “If it returns, run. Don’t wait for me. Don’t fight it. Run. Get word to the Tribunal and Charlindrini.” He entered the chamber before Lorn could ask what he was talking about. What is it?
The quiet was absolute as they surveyed the room. Lorn was terrified. There was a Tarcan with its back to them, black mist steaming from its body. There was not just, just cold. The Tarcan was lying before an immense stone door with ancient symbols cut into it. Lorn recognized none of them. About four tails taller than Lorn, the door was limned with a black gleam that reminded him of obsidian—one of the rare stones from Firdan. When they came to a stop, the Tarcan turned to regard them with steaming eyes that had turned black, pupils red.
It spoke, voice leaving its maw after its jaws had already framed each word, as if there was a delay between it speaking and Lorn hearing. “Stay back, kin. The time of return has been long planned and the Sealing shall be undone. The Darkness would spare all Tarcans. Stay back.” Lorn was stunned. The Sealing Ware was what had done away with the gods and birthed the essences. How could the gods be Unsealed? As far as Lorn knew, there was no recorded text that even so much as mentioned a method of Unsealing. Or so he had been taught at the Tribune.
Gahrst took a step forward. “Rizer has achieved a balance, the gods cannot be Unsealed.”
The Tarcan grinned. “Not gods. God. The Darkness is returning.”
“The balance will be upset, Shaman, even you should see that,” Gahrst said.
“You misunderstand the three powers, kin.” With that, he turned his back to Gahrst and Lorn. Gahrst lunged forward. The steaming mist erupted from the Shaman and Gahrst was thrown backwards. His head collided with a rock and he didn’t move. Lorn kept his footing, but was pushed backwards a couple tails. His claws left deep furrows in the floor. Lorn couldn’t move, his eyes transfixed on the spectacle unfolding.
The mist formed into dozens of tendrils extending from the Shaman’s body and they all lanced towards the door, each making contact with one of the symbols etched there. Dust sifted from the ceiling as the room began to shake and rumble. The obsidian hue around the door grew brighter like the black glass was being heat white hot. Color was returning to the Shaman and as the mist left him, Lorn recognized the subtly different scale patterns of a Teril. Lorn growled deep in his throat and ran forward, stopping dead in his tracks as the door began swinging open and something slowly reached out.
A hand as black as pitch and vaguely reminiscent of a Tarcan’s grasped each of the doors as they swung out. A head soon followed, also Tarcanlike. The deity roared, the sound a thousand claws on bone and the deep reverberations of power confined for Ages combined. Darkness welled behind it, almost seething through the door. As the painfully bright gleam around the door vanished, the unsealed god roared again and regarded the Shaman. The Teril nodded and ran past Lorn and into the corridor, disappearing from sight.
