Difference between revisions of "PhoenixOfTheWest/Chapt03"

Latest revision as of 00:50, 9 June 2010

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by Dim

Stone Face's realm was full of many wonders; crystal spires of breathtaking slenderness, rocks and gemstones of every imaginable shade and hue. Above all, it was cold. Taban pulled his thin cloak closer to his neck, eager to stop the periodic chill that would slip down his back. Behind him Osol marched, exuding more discomfort at the cold than irritation at Taban for his proxy. If the kri felt the bit of chill, it made no voice of it.

Eager to break the monotonous silence, Taban spoke for the first time in hours.

"What is this place you take us to?"

The kri lolled his head back to regard the Exalt with a lone eye, filled with annoyance at such a question.

"An old place, where magics dwell like spiders. To you, a long forgotten place of power. A demesne, in your tongue."

Taban mulled this over as he walked. After yet another hour of silence, Osol finally spoke.

"How much longer, spirit?" Bitterness still colored her voice, but only slightly. Taban smiled to the dark at his sister's cooling.

"Oh, we've been circling it for the better part of the day," said the creature, as if it were posted along the walls and floor in clear, universal script.

Despite the cloying darkness, Taban could almost see Osol's face assume a crimson similar to her anima. Before she could loose her verbal tirade, he knelt before the fawn.

"Please, take us there now," Taban said. The kri smirked, but recognized the sincerity in the man's voice.

"So be it!" laughed the kri, and without warning the three of them sunk once again into the earth. Taban felt the cold earth surround him, filling even the spaces between flesh and cloth. His nose and ears were filled with chill soil, and at the moment he felt his lungs burn their fiercest, he burst from the earth.

Coughing up what dirt had lodged itself in his lungs, Taban shook the rest from his person. Osol was already standing, yet was perfectly still. Before Taban could ask her what had held her attention, Taban beheld it for himself.

They stood in a courtyard of sand-colored stone, surrounded on all six sides by pillars of the same. The columns stood a good hundred paces tall, and resembled a forest of stone in their placement. The floor seemed to be hewn from a single piece, but deep cracks had formed, tracing a delicate lattice of decay across the face of the plaza they now inhabited. Majestic as this cathedral of stone may have been, what truly held the attention of Osol and Taban was what lay in the center of it.

A warrior, noble and terrible, rode atop a massive scaled beast. His flesh was white, and on it lay a breastplate of bright gold. Within his hand was gripped a thick-bladed sword of stone and gold. Upon his brow, a circlet of silver shone in the dusk light, a brilliant purple gem glittering at its center.

Taban lowered his staff into Tamak's Sure Defense, bracing himself. He risked a glance at Osol, but saw her smiling. At his confused look, Osol burst out into full laughter.

"A statue," she giggled. "It is a statue, brother! Marble, by the look of it."

Taban looked back at the warrior and now saw it for its true aspect. Dropping from his battle stance, he felt a slight blush come to his face at his folly. The kri capered and laughed at disproportionate levels, in Taban's opinion.

"Oh, what fools these Exalts be," chortled the fawn. "I swear, you never cease to amuse me."

"Enough, spirit," Taban said, blushing further. The kri reined in his laughter, but not until after a snort.

"My business done, I must say one more thing," the creature said. "Those that enter Aahz' Wake must wait a day and night before they may leave. Some mutterings of paying proper respects, etcetera. In any regard, do not attempt to leave the courtyard, lest you invoke the wrath of Aahz."

"We understand," Taban said, looking to Osol. With only a slight hesitation, she nodded in mute agreement.

"Huzzah, praise be, and all that nonsense," the kri yawned. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there is fun yet to be had."

And with that, he was gone.

"Unacceptable," Lyeshe declared. "Our mounts are to accompany us to our destination."

The kri rolled its eyes and sighed heavily, breath frosting in the chill morning air.

"I appologize for the inconvenience, O Mighty Prince of the Earth, but this is a matter of logistics. Your mounts will not fit in the tunnels of my Master."

Before Lyeshe could retaliate, Oteitani broke in.

"The men can carry their gear with little trouble. Once our task is done, the mounts can be reclaimed."

Lyeshe glared at the dark man, but said nothing. After fuming for a handful of heartbeats, he dismounted and began to retrieve his gear.

"The mounts are to remain here, unharmed, until our return," the man said quickly.

The crew followed suit, stowing what gear they could as fast as possible. Oteitani kept an eye on Lyeshe's bundles, trying to see what sort of things a Ragara lore-master toted around with him. Summoning sticks, a few sacks of herbs and bones, and a pair of wrapped parcels of irregular shape. The thinner one he stuffed into his bag, but the bulkier one he unwrapped.

A glove of leather and blue jade chain, fingerless, was revealed. At the back of the hand rested a palm-sized gem of sky-blue that shimmered faintly in the morning sun. The Dragon Blood slipped it onto his left hand, flexing his fingers in a few quick arcane exercizes. The air around his gloved hand crackled briefly, to which Lyeshe smiled and continued his work, obviously pleased.

"Curious," Oteitani whispered to no one in particular. The golden monkey hooted in agreement.

For the better part of the day, the Hunt trod the halls of Stone Face. The damp did little to bother Oteitani, but the silence was soon broken by the men complaining repetitiously of their chilled plight. Over their whispers and coughs, Lyeshe spoke back to Oteitani.

"What manner of strength do you have, to consider the hunt of Anathema so simple?" asked the Exalt.

"Luck, some would say. Skill, maybe. I've a few tricks up my sleeve, as you would too."

"My Lens, you mean?" Lyeshe said, admiring the blue bauble on his hand. "A most useful trick, I dare say."

Oteitani said nothing, choosing to add this new revelation into Lyeshe's overall danger level. If he could not subdue their quary quickly and without much effort, he ran the risk of having to face Lyeshe's many tricks.

Taban and Osol woke with the sun and did little during their day of captivity. Try as they might, neither could see anything through the pillars. Taban ran through a few staff forms lazily while Osol meditated, but neither could keep their attention on any one task for more than a few minutes. Boredom made for a poor focus.

They could only wait.

"How much longer, spirit?" Lyeshe demanded after their meal break.

"Oh, we're close now," the spirit giggled. Twice in as many days. This was rich.

Osol and Taban took their fill of their sparse fare, but the meal did little to break the monotony. Osol still refused to talk with Taban, but he felt her resolve weakening. By next dawn she would be willing to talk.

Taban busied himself studying the statue and its vestiments. At first he thought the statue was one piece, but he now saw that the armaments were in fact fitted to the statue. His curiosity piqued, he almost reached for the blade, but pulled away after remembering the kri's warning. Taban had no wish to anger the spirits who dwelt here.

"Well, here we are," the kri said without warning.

Silence and stillness.

"Well?" snapped Lyeshe. The quiet and damp had done much to darken his mood. "Take us there!"

"I would, O Prince, but my oath restricts such things," the kri said with mock appology.

"What do you mean?" Lyeshe asked.

"The Anathema will not give themselves up willingly," the kri smirked. "Their fury is legendary, and such a thing is dangerous to you and your men. Thus, if you wish for me to take you the rest of the way, your binding of me must be removed."

Lyeshe regarded the kri with a guarded glance. His options were limited, but he disliked the lack of control the oath's dissolution would yield. With little option, he sighed heavily.

"Very well. Your oath is hereby dissolved, with the understanding that you will take us immediately to the Anathema's place of refuge."

The kri was surrounded by a pale blue light that suddenly winked out. Shaking as if drying itself, the kri ihnaled deeply.

"Many thanks, O Prince," the fawn said. Without warning, the earth consumed them.

Osol let out a cry, pointing to a rapidly growing bulge in the earth.

Oteitani forced the desperate need to cough down as he felt his mouth fill with clay.

Taban turned just in time to see the bulge burst.

Lyeshe felt the sweet rush of air into his lungs as he was propelled skyward.

The four Exalts stood, facing one another, as the rumbling of the Wyld Hunt's arrival echoed around them. The Huntsmen nervously assumed their fighting positions, fanning out in a semicircle behind Lyeshe and Oteitani.

"We meet again," Lyeshe said through a sneer.

"Leave me be, monster, and I will not slay you," Taban menaced, still not moving.

"I think not," Lyeshe said as he relaxed his stance and raised his hands slightly. "You slipped my grasp once before, Uyaash."

Uyaash....Old Realm for.....tool? thought Oteitani.

"My name is Taban, Ragara worm," the Exalt said as he raised his staff. "I am yours no longer."

Taban rushed the party, determined to slay the Dragon Blooded as quickly as possible. Lyeshe began to make rapid arcane gestures with his gloved hand, but before either could land a strike, Taban stopped.

Or, more accurately, was stopped. Oteitani had interposed himself between the Solar and the Dragon Blood, using a hand axe to catch the copper-haired man's staff. Oteitani smiled coldly at Taban.

"That the best you can do? This will be easier than I thought," the tracker laughed.

"This is not your fight," Taban said through clenched teeth.

"On the contrary," Oteitani said as he twisted his axe. Taban felt his feet go out from under him as the tracker swept him with surprising speed. "Seeing as how I am in the employ of yon Dragon Blood, this is my fight."

As if on cue, the rest of the Huntsmen charged, eager to wound the prone Anathema. Taban's brow knitted in anger and concentration. He dashed his staff against the knee of the nearest Huntsman. Using the purchase the mortal provided, Taban rolled to his left, knocking yet another man to the ground. He spun on his back, using his legs and staff to keep the swords of his foes at bay. With a final push from his shoulders, he flipped back to his feet.

If Oteitani was impressed, he didn't show it. He drew another axe, a twin to his original, and dove in for an attack as his fellow Huntsmen did the same.

Osol dashed to help her brother, but was stopped short by a voice dangerously close to her ear.

"Such beauty," the voice said, accompanied by a chill. "A shame, really."

Osol spun to confront her would-be assailant, but felt her arms fall numb to her sides as an impossibly cold band of metal snapped shut across her neck. Desperate to scream in shock and pain, Osol merely stood still.

She heard gentle laughter, mocking and superior.

Taban felt the spell take effect before he could hear it. A soul-chilling reverberation thudded in his chest, rattling his teeth. He spun to deflect yet another blade, but stopped when he saw his attackers standing still.

Taban whirled, and was filled with grief.

Osol stood lax and motionless, Ragara Lyeshe at her side. Upon Osol's neck lay a dull grey collar wrought with shrieking souls. Her eyes were vacant, and a lone tear slid down her cheek.

"Uyaash....oh, Uyaash, what a gem you have found," Lyeshe crooned as he caressed Osol's face. "Yours was a useful power, but hers. Oh, hers is ripe for conquest. I will relish my experiments with her capabilities."

Taban let loose a howl of rage, and leapt for the sorcerer. His face was a mask of fury, and about him burned fire golden and terrible. His staff whipped around him, arcing for a death blow to the lithe Dragon Blood.

Though his strike was as true as his fury was just, Taban's staff failed to meet its mark. Once again an Exalt had halted the attack, but Oteitani was nowhere near the sorcerer. Osol, her face wet with tears, had magicked a shield between herself and her brother.

"And now, Uyaash, I ask you to lay down your staff and come willingly, lest your woman suffer," Lyeshe said. He curled a finger ever so slightly, and Osol yelped in brief, yet intense, pain.

With clenched teeth Taban cast down his staff.

"Yes, you know well what this may do to one such as you," Lyeshe said as he signaled his men.

The Huntsmen that could still walk quickly surrounded Taban, their blades at his throat. Oteitani stood back a ways, wary of the enraged Solar. The monkey's hooting had grown too distracting, and it took all his will to keep it surpressed.

Lyeshe closed his eyes and made a quick gesture. The winds arose and departed swiftly, and the Dragon Blood smiled.

"Ahh, so that's North," he said. "Very well. We march. Leave the wounded."

Taban almost spoke, but caught himself.

Lyeshe led Osol to the edge of the plaza, unceremoniously stepping across the border the first pillar made. The moment Lyeshe's foot stepped on the stone, single tone, low and pure, resounded from the center of the plaza, as if a great bell had been sounded. As one, the collected turned.

The warrior, once lifelike in its stillness, had now aquired the gift of movement. As one, the warrior and his beast charged the surviving Huntsmen. Lyeshe and Osol ran deeper into the forest of stone at the beast's charge. This was the last thing Taban saw before he was thrown. Stone met bone, and the world was darkness.

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