The church nor its austere but closely tended garden, or the graveyard that lay between the church door was of principal interest. Rather Efrain paid closer attention to the high smooth wall that ensconced the compound. He laid his hand on the dark surface, thumbing out the joints between the laid stones. He stopped before the arch, examining the stone closely.
“Made with great care,” Innie supplied, “I didn’t know anything like this was still here.”
“Masonry and magic,” Efrain said, “a potent combination, and not an easy one to master. Crystals are difficult enough to master. At least they’re regular, not broken up with a dozen different minerals.”
Claralelle had little to offer but a well meaning smile.
“Well, then,” Innie said, “you’re the loremaster here. Who made it, and why?”
Efrain took a closer look, and felt the faintest whisper of magic inlaid into the stone.
“I don’t know. This has been here long before I entered this land,” he said, “well before the church. Some of the central mountain peoples perhaps?”
He passed under the arch, and examined the lands beyond.
“Yes, yes,” he said, recognizing the area, “there was a castle here, long ago. I must’ve passed this way… it must’ve been… nigh on three centuries here, I think.”
“So they knocked it down?” Innie said.
“Perhaps it had grown dilapidated,” Efrain shrugged, “there’s not been any true rulers in this land for a long, long time.”
“Not since I was young,” Innie agreed, “and they were further north.”
“So, an outpost, probably made for a minor vassal. Renovated into a church,” he said, “or at least parts of it. I remember the castle being bigger. Ah.”
He had seen the circles of stone foundations, which had been repurposed into terraced beds around the church.
“Indeed. Well, never let it be said the church is wasteful when they destroy history.”
“But why have they left the wall?” said Innie.
“Perhaps they thought it would be of use, for defence and the like. Or..”
“They couldn’t destroy it,” said Claralelle.
Efrain was inclined to agree with her. There was something about the wall, whether it was in its construction or the magic that permeated it, that made it seem unshakable. Efrain racked his non-existent brain as he attempted to recall the brief sojourn through the land.
“I don’t remember much. It must’ve been here, but I missed it. Must’ve been in a hurry to miss something like this,” he said.
“We have work to do, Efrain,” Innie said, “leave the custodiating for later.”
He might’ve wanted to get a closer look at the long stretch of stone, but he took her advice as they entered the church.
“Hello?” Efrain called out, twice, to no answer.
“At least we don’t have to deal with the priest,” he said.
“I’ve had enough of holy folk for a century, but either way, the bell tower was thick enough for a stair. The door must be close by,” Innie said, leaping into the air.
She came back down again with a stunned expression and a shower of sparks. She tried again with much the same result. Efrain attempted to conjure a light to illuminate the hard shadows in the wings. What came out was a pale, flickering thing, barely enough to bring the pews into definition.
“Oh, that’s not good,” Efrain said.
“The magic,” Claralelle said in that curious flat tone, “it’s dampened.”
“That cold,” Innie hissed.
Efrain could feel it - that wet blanket smothering him. Here it was thick, thick enough to feel wrapped around your arms and dragging at your legs. At the same time, it seemed to conflict with that cold, distant terror that came from the fog outside. Something was at work here, something nefarious, but not in the same way as the twisted horrors.
“Well, one more mystery for us to solve,” he said, “we were just about to run out. Let’s start with the door.”
They found the door, leading to an antechamber, branching off into a kitchen and a stairway up and down. They climbed the narrow stair out onto a walkway spanning the top of the steep roof. From here, what he’d suspected was quickly laid bare - they were surrounded, to the north to the south, to the east and to the west. The woods were subsumed by a ring of thick fog, only the tips of the trees peaking out above.
Yet, perhaps a few hundred steps beyond, the ring faded back into regular forests and foothills. Yet another suspicion was confirmed - they were waiting, for what he could not say, but they were waiting with purpose. Something had drawn them here and he doubted they would leave until they found it, and probably torn it apart.
“So, no escape,” he said, “We don’t have Tykhon, we can’t outrun them.”
The mount had failed to show, and Efrain hoped that he was outside of the ring, happily fighting a bear or whatever he did to pass the time.
“Stealth?” Innie said.
“Maybe, but that would be a risky venture. A ring of that size, there might be hundreds, and the mist itself might not be too friendly. No real other options.”
“What about surrendering?” Claralelle chimed in.
Both the cat and the skeleton turned to look at her.
“You said we had no other options.”
“No other options that wouldn’t lead to us getting killed, Clara,” Efrain said.
“Did you just call me Clara? Is that a pet name?”
“Sure,” Efrain said, “why don’t you survey the area, and tell me if we missed anything.”
She hopped to attention at the command, and craned out nearly dangerously far, shading her eyes.
“Now,” Efrain said, sitting next to Innie, “where were we?”
“Discussing whether we wanted to die sooner, or later,” she said.
“Wonderful. So, brave the fog, or stay and fight?” he said.
“You’ve already made the choice, so why bother asking?” she said, tail twitching.
“I was asking what you were going to do,” he said, “you don’t have to stick with me.”
“Even if I wanted to leave, not being able to transform properly would hamper that,” she said, not caring to leave the irritation out of her voice, “this is not a fast body.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“No. So, then, where is that damn cold coming from?”
“Somewhere below us, I think,” said Clara, still peering afar, “it got stronger the moment we were in the church.”
Efrain mulled it over, trying to remember any scrap of information about the castle. Perhaps it had been abandoned because of the cold. Perhaps some curse, or a remnant of a curse, still lingered in the foundations of the church.
“Down, then, back down the stairs,” he said, standing up, “Claralelle. Anything to report?”
“Only one thing,” she said, waving her arm in a general northern direction, “there was something in the air, only for just a moment, above the fog.”
“Birds?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t think any bird would fly within a mile of that stuff,” Innie said disdainfully.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Efrain said, taking a quick glance out before leading the way down the stairs and into the earth below.
The air became even colder as they wandered deeper, and emerged out onto a sandy floor, rough hewn rock all around them. Fortunately, there were some torches stuffed into a brazier, and with a sneeze of sparks, Innie lit it. It was more for Clara’s sake than anyone else.
Shelfs upon shelfs of rocks passed, cut into the stone, some with further engravings in a language Efrain couldn’t decipher. He recognized some of the construction of the words though, and gleaned from them what the place was.
“We’re in a barrow,” he said, “although catacomb might be a better word for it.”
“Ugh,” Innie said, looking around at the stone beds, “where are all the bodies then?”
“They should be a corpse in every shelf,” Efrain agreed, “the clergy must’ve removed them and interred them.”
Innie snorted with disgust.
“In stone or in earth, what’s the difference?” she said.
No doubt she would’ve preferred them left out for all of nature to take share in their bounties. Such was the way of most wild spirits, although by their standard Innie had probably become rather too acquainted with ‘civilization’ as much as that meant anything.
“None at all,” he said.
“There’s no dust on the beds,” Clara said, showing clean fingers.
“So they’ve been cleaned. Regularly too,” Efrain said, “so where is our pious friend?”
“Hopefully they happened to be out in the woods today,” Innie said.
The trio made their way through the passages, Efrain reminded of the undercroft of his own castle, and was heartened. Perhaps they had similar builders, the language was some written version of the northern tongues the people of the Frozen Vale spoke. He was disappointed in himself that he hadn’t taken the time to properly learn it. More so that he’d interacted with them so little.
In that moment, yet again was his decision to leave the Vale cemented. He had forgotten the value of curiosity and learning in itself, and for that, he’d need to make up for a great deal. The drew lower, the roof coming dangerously low. Clara had to stoop as they descended down a series of stone steppes. From below, a thin, chill mist coiled in the gloom, which made Efrain deeply nervous about what they might find.
That soggy blanket now lay thick upon them. Efrain was glad that he felt no need to breathe, as the very air grew viscous around them. Magic would’ve been nearly impossible here, he thought as they drew out into a corridor, and before a great wall of stone.
The stone was obviously of the same kind that populated the wall outside, dark, smooth and inscrutable. Efrain laid his hand upon it, not finding any split or crack, and not able to feel any trace of the faint magic from the outside within.
“There’s a hole,” Innie said, prompting Efrain to bring the torch close.
There was indeed something there, something dark and round, but within the narrow slot, there were traces of something bright and looping.
“A keyhole?” Efrain said, not entirely sure, “let’s hope that the priest didn’t take the key with him on this forest walk.”
“Whatever that feeling is, it’s on the other side of the wall,” Clara said, standing on her tiptoes as she brushed the stone.
Efrain and Innie both agreed with her, and also agreed that there was no hope of damaging or moving the stone via magic. Efrain doubted they could leave a dent in regular conditions, let alone when their powers were diminished.
“So, a key then,” Efrain said, thumbing the chin of his mask, “perhaps the paladins might know more of this. They might’ve come through here during their journey north. They might know what this is.”
He gestured at the set of doors, hoping against hope they might just swing open spontaneously and reveal what lay within.
“Either way, let’s get out of this place,” Innie said, “the cold is stifling.”
Relief was gained in every step they took, finding their way to the surface. They emerged out into the muted sunlight at the front of the church. Efrain could just barely see around the eastern edge of the wall, and into the village beyond. There seemed to be some commotion in the streets, or some gathering.
“I’d guess that they’re taking up positions in the church,” he said, “easier to defend with that wall out front. We’ll meet them on the way.”
The others followed behind as they emerged out onto the road. But before they could take off back down the route they’d come and sought out the paladins, they were hailed from behind. It was the Niethe knight - Damafelce, that’s what her name was. She was walking alone, looking exhausted and soaked with sweat. As Efrain came closer, he realised that it was not sweat, but dew, beaded in her hair and across the planes of her armour.
“What happened to Naia?” he said.
Her pained expression made him fear the worst.
“He took off, into the west,” she said, “we were out, looking for the priest. Some of the locals said that he often went walking at the village border. We noticed the fog rolling across the trees, and the commander… I don’t know what madness took him, but he told me to arm the troops, and find someplace to defend ourselves. He would ride to the fortress in the mountain, to get help. Two days, he said. Then he took off like the monsters were already on his heels.”
Efrain wondered aimlessly at what sign he must’ve seen to suggest that escape was possible.
“Was he riding?” he said.
“No, he was on foot,” said Damafelce, “how he could outrun those creatures, I have no idea.”
“So, we’re operating on the assumption that he is, in fact, going to get help.”
“If not, then we’re all dead,” said Claralelle, “I counted at least two dozen in a thin stretch. Applying that across all the fog means there are hundreds.”
She did not seem particularly disheartened by this observation.
“Well then,” Efrain said, looking back and forth between the church and the outer village, “it would appear that you are in charge, my dear. What is your command?”
She seemed surprised at the notion - Efrain didn’t think she was used to leading, nor particularly wanted the post. He made a mental note to ask her more about her history as a knight, and what she knew of Naia’s. After a moment, she seemed to make up her mind, and pointed toward the church. A steady stream of people, some soldiers, other villagers, were filling in past the wall.
“There’s the best place to defend,” she said, “not that I have much experience with sieges.”
“Oh, I do,” Efrain said, neglecting to mention that it was often against men of the west, “I’d be happy to lend a helping word or two.”
She nodded, and the four of them returned back up the path with nary a word. Passing through into the wall and finally the church, he found Ulrind and Niche giving a speech from the dais. When one of the villagers spoke up to ask exactly what they were defending their village from, Efrain stepped forward.
It was a relatively routine recountment of the threat, with a bit of dramtis for effect. Niche gave him a death glare that could’ve snuffed the candles around them. Ulrind looked somewhat relieved to give the command over to Damafelce, who punctually reinforced Efrain’s points. Two days - that was going to be the length of the siege. Perhaps the creature’s wouldn’t attack at all, perhaps they’d merely stay at arms length of the village.
Efrain didn’t know, and didn’t care to count on their benevolence. Commands were issued, and villagers began to scurry back and forth, grasping at tools and supplies. Satisfied that whatever lethargy seemed to be broken for now, Efrain took a moment to walk by Niche and whisper.
“If I wanted to throw you to the wolves, I would’ve done it back in the hollow. We’re in this sinking ship together, paladin, like it or not.”
He gave a small discontinued sound that indicated that he certainly did not like it. Whether or not he accepted the implied command remained to be seen. It took Efrain a moment to gather himself as activity buzzed around the church. Many were wondering where the priest was, and he pulled a villager aside to ask.
“Where he is?” she said, hands fidgeting as she tried not to look Efrain in the eyes.
“I’m sure I don’t know. No one’s seen him for at least a day, maybe longer,” she continued, “he often went to the edge of the village for his morning walk and… oh.”
Her face grew pale as she processed the implication of the fact.
“Do you know anything about the church, or the lands it stands on?” Efrain said.
She lacked any knowledge, and did not seem particularly interested in acquiring any. Efrain decided that if he wanted to know what was in a church basement, it would be best to ask one of its servants. Innie, at this point excused herself from more church-folk, and left with Claralelle to the roof. Efrain removed himself and came to the paladins, who were minding the children and exchanging glances between themselves.
“What?” said Lillian.
Efrain informed her that there was something in the basement, and that it might well turn the fortunes of the fight to either good or ill. With some muttering, the paladin agreed to go with him and observe the area. She followed him to the stair, and down into the depths.
For a second time, he lit a torch and wandered into the gloomy catacombs. The passages were no more welcoming than before, and the coldness seemed to have grown with the number of people above it.
“What is that?” she said, wrinkling her brow in confusion.
“I’m not entirely sure. But it’s laid around this town, thick. I suspect it’s one of the reasons that so many of our dear villagers were so deadeyed before being roused by those invigorating speeches.”
Efrain pointed his torch down the passage that led to the doors.
“But I do think I know where it comes from. Onward and down.”
The two came to the stair down to the antechamber.
“What is this place?” said Lillian, clearly not liking the look nor feel.
“Old burial site,” he said, “though I doubt you’ll find any remains. Removed and interred by the local clergy, I would assume. There was an old castle here at one point.”
“Castle Ablestoch,” Lillian said, “It’s a legend of the borderlands of Angorrah.”
“Oh?” Efrain said, “do tell. I know precious little about it.”
The story that Lillian recited was clearly in the vein of folk tales that were ever so common in that part of the world. A castle was raised, greatest in all the land surrounded by impenetrable walls, marshalled by a lord of the north. Efrain did not care to correct that his castle was both larger and arguably more defensible.
It was built by slaves led in conquest from the south, Karkos and Sarcargo and Santialoga. Founded in a ring of stones, with five tall towers, and a great burning pit at its heart. It was apparently overthrown in a series of violent internal conflicts, and at last was found abandoned and repurposed by the church in its infinite charity.
“But no mention of the black stone?” Efrain said.
“It might be the ring of stones, or the impenetrable wall in the story, but…”
Efrain was silent for a moment as he mulled this over in his head.
“Perhaps the wall popped up from the rings. Or it was carven from the hill side,” he said, “no, no, that craft is old, and filled with magic. I’ve not seen its like in these lands, save for this.”
They’d come to the base of the great pair of stone doors. Even Lillian cringed away from it, seeming aware that it was indeed the source of the cold that sapped at her strength.
“So, then paladin, what do you think this is doing in a church basement?” he said.
“It’s hardly a basement at this size. As for the door,” she said, looking up its length, “I have never seen anything like this. You said it was like the wall outside?”
“Indeed, the same stone, the same make, and the same magic,” Efrain said, “and it’s got a keyhole as well, or so I think.”
He indicated the small hole with the shining devices within. Lillian took a look, then laid a hand and her forehead against the door, and whispered something beneath his hearing. For a second, the light of the torch seemed paler, and more bright, but nothing else happened.
“What was that?” he said, not having missed the small flow of magic from within the paladin.
“A very minor miracle,” she said, “it is used sometimes as a passcode for some of the doors of Angorrah.”
Efrain studied her for a moment. It was magic, it was clear to him, and he had no doubt, clear to her. For all their mutual dislike, Efrain had the firm impression that Lillian was not stupid, nor self-deluded. She must’ve known and was either lying to herself, or was playing a part.
Now was not the time to investigate however - that would have to wait for the other side of a successful battle.
“So, nothing?” Efrain said.
She shook her head.
“I don’t know what you expected me to do.”
Efrain was about to choose between a sarcastic and genuine remark when he heard a loud squeak from behind her. He spun, Lillian pulled something sharp and whistling, and found a shambling, shining figure stumbling towards them.