image [https://i.imgur.com/9JnFmXw.jpg]

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Rick lay alone in the black corridor, naked and shivering.

The fight was over. If any slimes survived, they had not yet come to take advantage of his exhaustion in the absolute darkness. If they did, he would be helpless to stop them.

The Book of the Undying King rested in his arms, quiet and unstirring. During the battle, it used him as a conduit for its overwhelming power. The burden of that unholy magic hollowed him out, leaving a cavernous void where warmth and hope once lived.

The void gnawed at him. It reminded him.

[You are mine Rickard Crichét… Body and soul]

He knew it to be the truth.

As the flood receded, only the light sounds of dripping water broke the silence.

Fig had been gone a long time. She didn’t say a word to him before she left, and he didn’t know if she was coming back.

Rick remembered the look in her eyes, in the midst of the battle with the slimes. She’d seen him as he truly was, a burnt corpse bathed in unholy flames, and she’d been afraid.

Of course she was, anyone would be. He was horrifying.

It made sense that she would leave him here and return to the surface alone. The longer he waited, the more sure he was that Fig had abandoned him to the tombs of Vishrac-Uramis. Fitting. He was dead, after all, long since. Only his cowardice, and the most vile, unholy magic had let him pretend otherwise for the past month.

Perhaps he should simply lie here and forget the world above, as it had forgotten this place. He would waste away, until the Book lay beside nothing but a pile of fragile bones; another lost grave, from which he hoped it would never be recovered. What future could there be for a wretched creature like him? It was better that he finally succumbed to the ultimate oblivion he’d so foolishly rejected before.

At least his last act was to help Fig escape Slimy Lez. A small victory he could be proud of at the end.

That part of Rick that clung so desperately to his magical half-life began to unclench. Senses dulled. The perception of his body wavered. Death beckoned.

No.

Fear seized him, and he clutched the Book tighter, willing himself back into the world with the terrified ferocity of a drowning man clawing for air. Sensations sprung into painful clarity as he heaved and retched, and tears formed in Rick’s eye.

No. I don’t want to die.

Damn it, why was he such a coward!? Even now he couldn’t face death like a true knight should. He couldn’t do the right thing and let Sumat take him. Instead he had to weasel his way out of it again and again, even though he knew what fate awaited him down this unholy road.

As long as he lived this cursed half-life The Book would keep using him and directing him, to who knows what awful end.

It could make him turn his back on everything; his parents, his sister, his order, and the faith he still held for dear life. It could strip every vestige of Rickard Crichét away until he was nothing but an undead beast whose only goal was to prolong his unnatural undeath further and further.

It could turn him into a monster, and he didn’t have the will to stop it.

Rick wailed in the dark, thrashing and screaming in a futile outburst of despair, until his throat would produce no more sound, and fatigue made him collapse once more. The sound of his cries echoed through the unseen space around him, fading gradually until there remained only the soft patter of drips to break the silence.

Rick prayed.

Sumat, give me strength. I need your intervention. Save me from this evil bond, please. I can’t do it alone.

There was no response.

Then, a faint light bloomed in the darkness. Rick gasped and blinked as his eye struggled to adjust to the sudden illumination.

Someone approached swiftly down the corridor, glowing softly like a figure from a dream.

Had the Shepherds come for him at last?

There was a sound of running footsteps on the damp stone. The light fell over his vulnerable form and finally he could make out the figure.

Fig had returned.

She’d gone and found their lost light in the darkness. The enchanted stone was held aloft in her hand as she ran up to him and looked around for danger.

Rick wiped tears from his eyes and tried to cover his nakedness.

‘Are you ok?’ Fig demanded, leaning down, ‘I heard you screaming.’

‘I thought you left me,’ Rick whispered.

Fig’s face softened, ‘I’m sorry. You were limp. I thought you were unconscious. I went to find the light.’

Its glow was so weak now, it could only illuminate the two of them and a few dim feet beyond.

Rick shivered and nodded his head.

‘There’s no sign of Slimy Lez, or any of his family,’ said Fig, ‘As far as I can tell, the flood broke them up and washed them away. Your spell really did it.’

He felt her eyes roam his ruined body. For weeks he’d tried to conceal his corpse-like gruesomeness from the world by covering every inch of burnt skin with rags and scraps of clothing. Nobody should see him like this.

But now there was nothing he could do to hide himself from her.

Rick watched Fig as she looked over him, and finally rested her gaze on the Book of the Undying King.

‘Rick…’ she started.

She looked nervous.

Rick held his breath.

‘You need to be honest with me now. I’ve never seen magic like that before, necrotic flames coming out of your eye, and the way you used that Book…’ she glanced at it again.

‘Are you a lich?’ she asked finally, blunt and unavoidable.

That’s the question, isn’t it.

Rick tried to formulate a response.

Liches were what happened when a powerful wizard tried to warp their own ethereal essence, to become immortal and expand their power; more specifically, they were what happened when it went very poorly.

Only Orot could alter people’s ethereal essence without fear of terrible consequences. The splintered god had done just that when the many peoples of Splinterra first arrived from their original realms. Each of them was subtly changed by the Aspects to fit into the native ethereal landscape of their new home, and the castes became what they are today.

Wizards didn’t have the ethereal insight of a god, and most couldn’t even attempt to replicate those changes without causing a huge amount of collateral damage. Making permanent changes to your own ethereal essence was, therefore, almost always a terrible idea. It was frighteningly easy to obliterate your selfhood in the process.

The outcome of such magic was often ugly, resulting in an insane and powerful undead creature that barely resembled the spellcaster who started the transformation.

There were several notorious examples of the sheer destruction such beings could wreak when they were unleashed into the world by egomaniacal wizards seeking to conquer death.

Rick was no wizard, but the process of achieving lichdom was still uncomfortably close to what had happened to him, what might still be happening. Nevertheless, as far as he knew, he was not a lich. He was changed, but not fundamentally, and he wasn’t immortal. He’d only delayed his death, and he remained Rickard Crichét.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m not a lich.’

Fig looked dubious.

How could he convince her he was telling the truth?

He sighed, there was no reason to keep it a secret any more.

He held up the Book of the Undying King so Fig could see it clearly, ‘This Book, it’s an ancient enchanted artefact. It was made by a powerful undead creature before the Forgotten War. That creature was the Undying King, a fallen Shepherd of Sumat.’

Figs eyes widened.

Rick took a deep breath as he continued, ‘I’ve been linked to the Book, cursed, or something very like a curse, and it gives me this unholy magic. I know that sounds terrible, and it created a horrifying spectacle, but you have to believe me; I’m only using it because I have to, but I’m not a lich. I’m mortal, and I’m still… me.’

Rick didn’t sound that convincing, even to himself. He looked down at his naked form. Burnt and withered; he couldn’t even recognise it as his own body anymore. He’d struggled with that aspect of his tragedy more than he’d expected since the fire.

‘I know I frightened you. I saw the way you looked at me when I cast the spell,’ he lowered his head, unwilling to meet her eyes lest he see the revulsion and fear he expected there, ‘That’s why I thought you’d left me here alone. I understand if you want to get as far away from me as possible.’

Fig stood silent for a long moment.

‘You saved us, Rick.’ she said.

Rick looked up, surprised. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

Fig slumped down next to him against the wall and put her head in her hands, ‘Don’t get me wrong, you scared the shit out of me in the process, but I would be dead if I hadn’t met you. I had no idea there was an entire swarm of slimes living down here.’

‘Fig, I was terrified. If anything, you saved me,’ Rick said, ‘I had no control over what happened in there. I would have died if the slimes had cornered me alone, without you to hold them back while I cast those spells.’

‘I was useless,’ Fig muttered tiredly, rubbing her hands over her face.

‘What? You were incredible!’ Rick said, shaking his head, ‘You’re faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. You’re even better than you were when I saw you duel five years ago. I could hardly believe it when I saw you fighting those slimes back and protecting me.’

‘That’s not the… I’m not looking for validation; I know exactly what I’m capable of, and that’s why I’m upset… Can’t you see? I was so out of my depth here. Against Slimy Lez alone, maybe… It would have been close, but against the slime horde my swordsmanship meant nothing. Without your magic, I couldn’t kill those things,’ Fig said, ‘Fucking hell, I felt so helpless.’

She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sodden coat sleeve, and Rick realised for the first time that she was quietly crying.

‘I owe you, Rick. I don’t particularly care where your power comes from. I’m just happy you used it to save us and I’m trying to express some gratitude,’ Fig said, and glanced up at him with a weak smile, ‘I am glad to hear that you’re not a lich though. That would have been intimidating. I don’t know where to even start if I had to kill a lich.’

‘Well right now a light kick would probably finish me off, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.’ Rick said.

Fig chuckled and got to her feet. Her eyes were a little red, but she held her head up, pulling herself together.

‘Thank you,’ Fig said, offering a hand down to Rick, ‘for the help with this fucked up mission. I’m glad I met you.’

Rick took the hand and Fig pulled him awkwardly to his feet.

Everything hurt, but the fatigue of his spellcasting was slowly fading. He found he could stand as long as he kept one hand on the wall.

‘When we get out of here, perhaps you’ll fill me in on the whole story of how you got bound to a cursed book?’ Fig asked.

Rick nodded, ‘Of course. When we get out, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’

‘Brilliant,’ Fig held up the fading light of the enchanted stone, ‘In the meantime, any chance you can refuel this?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Rick shook his head slowly, ‘After what I did in that fight, I'm spent. I think I’d pass out if I even tried to light a candle with magic.’

She sighed, ‘Fair enough,’ and nodded in the direction of the Archives, ‘Come on, let’s see what this was all for.’

Of course. The floating chest was still in there, Rick had forgotten all about it after the flood.

‘I hope it’s worth all this trouble,’ he said.

‘Me too,’ Fig replied as she looped Rick’s arm over her shoulders and helped him walk back towards the wreckage of the Archive.

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The shelves had all been washed away, the floor was waterlogged and covered with what little debris was too heavy to be carried off, and in the centre of it all, the stone chest hovered, completely unmarked and unmoved.

‘Dawn’s light, that thing’s indestructible!’ Fig muttered as they approached.

There wasn’t an obvious way to open the floating chest. It lacked any clear handles, hinges, or keyholes. There was only the crack of the lid, paper thin and firmly closed.

Fig stepped up to the chest and tried to worm her fingers into the crack. She strained and groaned, until her hands slipped and she accidentally smashed her knuckles on the wet stone.

‘Damn it!’ Fig snapped, and tried again.

Rick watched her cursing and getting increasingly frustrated as she tried pushing the chest with all her might, to no avail.

It would not open, and it would not move.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Fig shouted, the sound echoing away through the watery corridors, ‘There must be some way to shift this thing.’

She started searching the room for something to wedge in the lid and use as a lever.

After the fight and the flood, there was nothing left that looked promising.

In fact there was very little left of the Archive. The water had washed away the scrolls from all but the highest balconies, and those were now inaccessible. The few texts he did see littering the floor were ruined; their ancient parchment disintegrated in the flood. Those written on leather and vellum had fared a little better, but even they were now saturated and mostly unreadable.

Rick felt a deep pang of guilt and loss. He’d destroyed a library, entirely by accident, but nevertheless…

He turned his attention forcefully to the floating chest, putting the disappointment over the Archives behind him. There were more pressing matters, and little he could do for the scrolls now. Better not to dwell on whatever records had just been lost to history.

Rick hobbled up to the chest and examined it closely.

It was an enchanted item, orders of magnitude more powerful and complex than the glowing stone he’d created earlier. For one thing, the illuminating magic he’d bound to the stone degraded swiftly over time, while this chest showed no signs of diminishing magical effect.

Rick sighed, that wasn’t especially surprising.

For all the unholy power the Book of the Undying King put at his fingertips, and his extensive theoretical knowledge of ethereal dynamics, Rick was still a complete novice when it came to practical manipulation of magic. His spells were crude and poorly integrated into Splinterra’s ethereal superstructure. They lost their form swiftly, and took more energy to create than any trained wizard would need to use.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

His glowing stone was useful in this dark temple, certainly, but it was embarrassing. To any experienced eye it would stand out as a sad example of Rick’s incompetence. A real magical practitioner could create mobile, versatile light with a flick of the wrist and no discernible effort. An expert with the right materials could create ethereal constructs like this chest; complex self sustaining enchantments that would last forever in the right conditions.

Rick burnt himself out after only two spells, albeit two devastatingly destructive spells

Rick looked around the wrecked Archive.

Come to think of it, even magical experts would be hard pressed to replicate the easy destructive power of the Book, that’s what made it so dangerous. That’s why he had to learn more about it, and how to use it, no matter how much the unholy power unsettled him. He was woefully unequipped to handle such power, let alone wield it to its maximum effect, and keep it from wielding him.

If the Book could truly restore him to how he’d been before the fire, he had a very long way still to go.

He turned his attention back to the floating stone chest.

Based on what he’d already observed, there was probably a magical means of opening the chest, and of controlling its locomotion as well.

If they were unlucky, that would be a secret passcode or gesture keyed to the creator of the chest. That was unlikely, as Slimy Lez had stolen it, and apparently had little trouble moving and using it, which meant it was possible for new people to interact with and control the chest, if they could only figure out how.

Fig gave up splashing around for leverage and leant against the chest, breathing hard.

‘If I can’t get this chest out of here, I might as well not have come,’ she spat, ‘The whole point was to retrieve it, and I can’t get the fucking thing to move.’

Rick felt the book stir under his arm.

He checked it. The pages were remarkably free of water damage. They rustled and opened to a diagram of the temple floor plan, showing Rick’s current location in the Archives, and a glowing pinpoint in the nearby Administrative Wing.

‘Fig,’ he called out, and showed her the newly assembled map.

‘Well that’s just spooky,’ said Fig, ‘What’s it trying to show us?’

‘Only one way to find out,’ Rick replied.

‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to go everywhere it tells you?’ Fig asked, looking suspiciously at the open Book, ‘You said it’s cursed, after all.’

‘That’s true, but it seems strangely invested in helping us through this temple, so I’m inclined to play along for now,’ Rick said, looking off down the corridor in the direction the book was pointing them.

‘It didn’t warn us about the ambush, or the sheer number of slimes in here,’ Fig reminded him.

‘Both good points,’ Rick agreed, ‘and reasons to be cautious, but we aren’t getting anywhere with this chest, so let’s just be as careful as we can and at least see where this goes.’

After a moment, Fig sighed and nodded,

She held their light ahead to try and shed what little illumination it could through the dark corridors as they followed the Book’s map through the Administrative Wing.

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Following the map, Rick led them to corridors which accessed a nearby section of the temple they’d entirely bypassed on their way towards the Archives.

Again, Rick was awed by the size of the temple complex. How many people once lived, worked, and worshipped here before they were forced to abandon it?

What’s more, the extent of the water damage was even greater than he’d initially realised.

Not only had the rooms and corridors throughout this area all been tossed over and saturated by the flow of escaping water, even the ancient ethereal wards that kept the temple dry were overwhelmed and unravelled.

He could feel the threads of their ethereal structure, held together by ancient enchantments, now fluttering loosely in the ripples of the unseen veil. Soon they would fade entirely.

Would the temple flood again as a result? Doubtful. The plumbing and reservoir were still doing their jobs, but it would no longer be a perfect environment for preserving records and mummified bodies. Even the stonework and mosaics might degrade as damp loving fungus and lichen made their way into the depths. How much more art and history would be lost as a result of his unskilled spellcasting.

As they rounded a corner, Fig suddenly asked him a question.

‘If that Book was made by a fallen Shepherd, why did it lead you to Vishrac-Uramis? Surely a temple of Sumat is the last place it wants to be?’

Rick had asked himself the same thing.

‘It’s strange, I know, but the Book hasn’t explained itself,’ he said, ‘The pages made it seem like there would be something worth finding here, something that might help me progress toward my goals. It didn’t seem to have any problem telling me all about the temple and leading me here, but it didn’t give me any warning about Slimy Lez or meeting you.’

‘Why keep those facts from you, unless it was trying to lead you into danger?’ Fig asked. She’d clearly been turning things over in her head and not coming to any clear answers.

‘I think it probably didn’t know,’ Rick responded, ‘It was made before the Forgotten War, and it’s been changing hands ever since; for at least some of that time I know it was buried in a grave. We shouldn’t assume it has up to date information, or omniscience. The extent of its knowledge is probably more limited than you’d think.’

‘Huh,’ said Fig, ‘it’s less powerful than I expected then, which I guess is good if it’s bound to you by a curse.’

‘I’m actually not that reassured by it,’ Rick said, ‘The fact that the Book has a will of its own, and tells me what to do, but has very dated or imperfect knowledge of the world, seems like it’s going to get me into dangerous situations like with the slimes.’

‘And yet, we’re following its map,’ Fig noted.

‘Yes, in the absence of better guidance,’ Rick replied, ‘just be prepared for things to go wrong.’

‘Oh, I’m always expecting that,’ Fig said.

The map led them to an inconspicuous doorway followed by a short set of steps. At the top was a blessedly dry room unaffected by the flood.

The room was small and square, with an alcove in the far corner containing a floor to ceiling mural. Rick couldn’t yet make out the mural in the dim light they shone through the doorway. It would take some work to reach it, as the room was filled from wall to wall with junk.

Piles of old clothing, shoes, satchels and rags were heaped near the doorway. In the various corners were a random collection of items ranging from upholstery and blankets, false teeth, broken pottery, empty purses, and dirty glass bottles. There were also more valuable looking artefacts. Paintings in gilded frames, intricately decorated vases, and all manner of fine silverware were strewn amongst the worthless junk, without any apparent organisation. In the centre of the space were stacks of very old furniture, piled messily on top of each other.

‘I guess the horde... were also hoarders,’ said Fig, glancing a Rick with a wry grin.

Rick tried to raised an eyebrow at her, before remembering they’d both been burnt off and just shaking his head in disapproval.

'What, did you think it was a bad joke?' Fig asked

'I'm not sure it met the requirements to be a joke. There wasn't a punchline or anything,' Rick responded, suppressing a smile at her offended reaction.

Fig stuck her tongue out at him and turned back to the hoard grumbling, 'Everyone's such a critic.'

Rick quickly grabbed some clothes to wrap himself up until he was a bundle of layers once again. He tied a rag around his missing eye. He’d have to make a proper patch when he had the time.

While she waited, Fig was able to turn up a tinderbox from the junk pile. After a bit of work they managed to make themselves a somewhat passable torch out of a chair leg wrapped in rags they’d soaked in the leftovers of a discarded bottle of spirits. The whole room seemed like a fire risk, so they were careful, but it was good not to be relying on the failing enchanted stone any longer. At the end they’d both been squinting into the darkness and nearly walking into walls as they made their way here.

Rick shied away from the flame, preferring to let Fig hold the torch. With more light, they continued their search, wading through the hoard.

Fig paused, looking down at a set of torn up leather armour on the ground. It had distinctive decorative buckles.

‘That was Cove’s armour,’ she said.

They looked around, realising that at least some of the junk here must have belonged to the slime colony’s victims. Possibly many many victims, judging from the quantity and variety of items. How many had Lez brought here in the floating chest, and how many might remain trapped inside? Rick said a small prayer to Sumat for their souls, and picked at his new clothes slightly guiltily.

At the far side of the room, in the mouth of the mural alcove, they found what Fig guessed to be Slimy Lez’s travel packs, kept slightly apart from the rest of the junk in the room.

They were good quality oilskin packs, containing maps of regions across Sedelia; the Wine Sea, the Land of Giants, the Berabrick Forest roads, and the Ashram Desert. He had a wealth of tools, fit for a professional thief.

Beside the pack was a thick rainproof cloak and a wide brimmed woven hat with a shallow dome shape, both of which Fig donned. In the various pockets they found a hefty pouch of coins they agreed to divide up later and a collection of odd trinkets. There were small pouches of the pink trap powder they’d scavenged earlier, a bag of dried animal tails and ears, a pair of odd gold rimmed reading glasses missing their lenses, and finally a smooth ring of polished grey stone. The ring looked naturally formed, like the kind of oddity you’d draw from a riverbed, but when Rick picked it up, it tickled his newly gained sense for enchantments.

This was connected to the stone chest; not only did it look like the same smooth stone, it felt the same on an ethereal level, a part of the same enchantment. It was the key to the chest, he was certain.

Rick showed it to Fig and told her about the enchantment. She gave both the ring and him a strange look as he slipped it into the pocket of his new clothes.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Just relieved that we found it so easily is all,’ Fig said, shaking her head, ‘What now, back to the chest?’

‘Let me check one last thing,’ Rick responded as he regarded his Book. It was restless, and he could feel it squirming in his hands. There was more to discover here, something very close.

There was one last feature of the room to check, the mural.

It showed Sumat in a sombre scene.

The Aspect walked across a ruined battlefield strewn with fallen banners, leading the host of dead soldiers to rest. His face was veiled in white, and a star shaped lantern hung over his shoulder, guiding the dead in his wake.

The soldiers bore the marks of their deaths openly upon their bodies, many were missing limbs, or portions of their flesh; Rick empathised.

He opened the Book and the page in front of him now showed a double page woodblock print of the exact same image. He stared at it for a few minutes, and examined the details while Fig tapped her foot and fidgeted. What was the book trying to tell him?

He muttered to himself, ‘Something about the scene. The banners… no. The same number of soldiers. What am I looking for? The lantern… is that different?’

He checked and it was; on the wall the lantern’s star was inverted.

‘Huh, okay,’ he said.

Rick reached out and touched the mural. His fingers gripped the lantern. It was stiff, but there was a little wiggle to it. He pressed harder and something gave, allowing the section of tiles to sink into the wall and twist. He turned the points of the star lantern until they matched the page in front of him and rejoined the rest of the mural.

Sure enough, there was a click and the entire wall of the alcove swung on a concealed hinge to reveal the entrance to a hidden room beyond filled with rows of benches and an altar at the end. There were no signs of hiding slimes beyond, for which Rick was very thankful.

‘No fucking way,’ Fig muttered.

Rick glanced at her. She looked incredulous.

‘How did you even know that was there?’ she demanded.

He held up the Book.

‘I think this is what the Book’s map was actually leading me to; the junk and packs were just in the way,’ he explained.

Fig took a breath and shook her head.

‘You seem upset,’ he said.

‘I’m just having a little trouble with the uncanny string of good luck we’re having,’ Fig said, looking around at the room full of junk, and the hidden doorway ahead of them, ‘slime ambush notwithstanding, obviously. I mean, the Book leads you to this mural so you can open the door to a hidden room, and we just so happen to find a ring that controls the floating chest on the way here, when it very easily could have been washed away with Slimy Lez instead? That’s insanely unlikely. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘But it’s good right, we didn’t have to go fishing around in the dark for hours?’ Rick replied, not entirely sure what she was getting at.

Fig clicked her fingers, ‘But that’s the thing, Rick. It’s not just good, it’s far too convenient to be normal. It’s never this easy. You have no idea the sheer number of tombs, dungeons, and caves I’ve had to struggle through. It’s always hours of trial and error, especially when you’re trying to find hidden doors and solving ridiculous puzzles to get through them. It’s frustrating, slow going, and hard. Except this time It’s not. You show up on your first ever expedition, with your magic Book, and you have keys to every lock and a perfect map to work off… And then we meet just in time to save each other’s lives… I’m glad. I’m grateful. But like I said, it just seems too convenient. I don’t know how else to explain it. I’m getting uncomfortable... Dawn’s Light! You’re looking at me like I’m going crazy.’

‘I think we just got lucky,’ he said, shrugging.

‘Lucky is putting it very mildly. Weren’t you just talking about how the Book had incomplete information, and now it leads you right to the key we need, by chance?’ Fig protested.

‘I don’t know any more than you do about this,’ Rick said, ‘Perhaps the Undying King was here when the temple was built, before his fall to undeath. The timeframes would line up. It’s not that surprising to me that the pages contain a lot of useful floor plans and secrets that the original occupants would have known. As for the key, I think Slimy Lez probably just used this room because it’s inconspicuous and tucked away from the rest of the temple, the same quality that makes it a good place to hide a hidden room. I still don’t think the Book knew the key was here, luck seems like the most likely explanation to me. But if it makes you feel any better, I doubt the Book is going to be anywhere near as full of useful tidbits once we get back above ground, it just knows a lot about Vishrac-Uramis.’

‘You know part of me really hopes you’re right, I can’t keep watching you happily wave your way through obstacles that would stump me for days,’ Fig muttered darkly.

‘Are you jealous?’ Rick asked, starting to smile.

Fig paused, and then scowled at him.

‘There’s no need to sound so smug,’ she complained and waved him off, ‘Fine ignore me, I’m still adjusting to our miraculous guide Book and good fortune. It’s freaking me out, but I’ll stop whining about it.’

‘That’s completely fair,’ Rick replied with a conciliatory nod, ‘If it’s any validation of your unease, I’m also very freaked out by the Book. I’ve just had a whole month to get used to it.’

At last, they ventured through the hidden door. The room beyond seemed like a secret miniature Chapel inside the temple, with rows of benches and an altar, but otherwise surprisingly bare.

It contained none of the junk present in the square room behind them, and no sign that anyone had been in for a long time. Could Slimy Lez have been stowing his belongings right outside without ever realising this was here?

Fig mouthed, ‘Coincidence?’ at Rick, with a very arched brow.

He waved her off and they checked the room over for traps.

They moved carefully around the benches, but nothing sprung out at them.

Rick found a small book of hymns to Sumat lying on one of the benches. It was written in Eire script and dedicated to “Acolyte Milburn” but otherwise appeared unremarkable. He pocketed it for later, and together the two of them approached the altar at the end of the Chapel.

On the raised stone surface of the altar, there was a long shape wrapped in a white sheet of cloth. A pot of ancient incense lay beside it, stale and odourless. The cloth had grown stiff and brittle with age, undisturbed for centuries perhaps. What did it cover?

Carefully, Rick pulled back the fabric.

There was a beautiful sword and scabbard lying underneath.

‘Dawn’s Light!’ Fig swore.

It had a long straight blade, double edged, with clean lines and a curved finger guard. The pommel was silver, set with a smooth black gemstone Rick couldn’t identify.

An inscription in Eire script wove down the blade. Rick looked it over and mumbled the translation, “No shield, no armour, no mortal barrier, shall keep death’s whisper from your ears.”

A strange tone rang out in the room, making them both jump. The sword buzzed slightly on the altar and Rick felt the Book of the Undying King respond with rustling pages. These items were connected, no wonder he’d been led by the nose to find it.

Rick looked at his companion; Fig was staring at the blade with hungry eyes, but also a wariness that befitted strange swords in tombs.

Certain dungeon designers of ages past liked to leave enticing but cursed relics for potential thieves. They’d both heard some horror stories about dungeon curses linked to ancient artefacts, and then there was Rick’s own experience with the Book of the Undying King.

Rick carefully approached, then ran his hands over the blade and hilt, feeling its ethereal presence. At least his initial examination didn’t detect any malignant ethereal traps waiting to ensnare the next wielder of the blade in a curse.

The sword felt similar to the Book of the Undying King, yet distinct. It didn’t feel like a part of the strange bond he had with the unholy book. This was an enchanted item in its own right, perhaps even a divine one linked to Sumat, just as the Undying King had once been. Perhaps that was the source of their ethereal similarity.

Rick was no great swordsman, not even before all this. If he tried to swing a blade now, he’d likely just fall over.

Fig on the other hand, had lost her own cutlass inside Slimy Lez. They’d yet to find it lying in the hallways of Vishrac-Uramis. No doubt, she hated being unarmed.

He stood back from the altar.

‘Fig, you should take the sword,’ he said.

She looked surprised, ‘Um, are you sure that’s a good idea? I’m all for a bit of plundering, and I’d love a magic sword, but this looks like a holy relic. I don’t want to piss off Sumat.’

‘I’m pretty sure this is the whole reason why we were led here,’ he responded, ‘We’re meant to claim it, but it’s no good in my hands. You’ll be able to use it far better.’

‘No offence, but I don’t want to wind up with a curse like yours. Being bossed around by a sword is the last thing I need,’ she said.

‘It's different from my Book,’ he said, ‘I’m almost certain you don’t have to worry about a curse.’

Her eyes darted to his, ‘Almost certain? How certain exactly?’

He shrugged, ‘80%... ish.’

Fig considered, and finally nodded, ‘I’ll take those odds.’

She looked nervous, but she stepped up to the altar. That hunger in her eyes was burning bright. She was animated by it, almost pulled towards the blade. He doubted she’d truly needed his reassurance. In his absence, she certainly would have claimed it regardless, if after a more tentative approach.

Her hand trembled as it reached out to take the handle. She hesitated a moment just before she gripped it, then picked the sword from the altar. No obvious magic seized her. After a second of standing there expectantly, the tension fell from her shoulders and she grinned at Rick.

Rick felt the Book settle down; they’d done what it wanted them to.

Fig admired the sword. She twirled and swiped it through the air, falling into a guard and looking pleased.

Rick watched her explore the balance and feel of the blade.

‘What was that inscription again?’ she asked.

“No shield, no armour, no mortal barrier, shall keep death’s whisper from your ears,” he spoke once again.

‘“Death’s Whisper” how ominous,’ Fig repeated, ‘any idea what it does?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said.

‘Really? It doesn’t say anything in the Book?’ she asked.

He checked, but the pages showed nothing, ‘Not this time. But the inscription on the blade might give us some clues. Perhaps it’s supernaturally sharp, or magically good at piercing armour?’

‘It’s actually quite nice to know there are still some mysteries left to discover,’ Fig said, ‘Let’s see…’

Fig experimentally slashed the blade at one of the wooden benches, careful not to put too much weight into the strike lest she damage the sword. She needn’t have worried. The blade easily sliced inches into the wood and withdrew with the edge unmarred. Enchanted steel certainly, but not supernaturally sharp beyond most magic swords, as far as that first test indicated.

‘I’ve only held a magical blade once before,’ she said, ‘It felt completely different to this.’

‘The Hummingbird,’ Rick remembered, another feature of the Solstice Tournament.

‘Yes, The Hummingbird,’ Fig sighed. She sounded wistful and bitter all at once.

She turned to face down the line of benches and lunged forward with the blade outstretched to skewer an imaginary opponent, then flowed through a series of guards and forms, advancing down the aisle as she did. Each movement was so fluid and precise. How could someone possibly move that gracefully?

Rick felt yearning for his unburnt body. He couldn’t help but hate himself for how he’d squandered his health, his strength, and ease of movement he’d taken for granted mere months ago.

As Fig finished her sword form with a flourish it seemed her melancholy had disappeared. She laughed as she straightened up to collect the scabbard and buckle it to her belt.

‘Well, If the Book won’t say what Whisper can do, she said, naming the blade and patting the pommel fondly, ‘I’ll just have to figure it out myself.’

She rested her hand on the sword-guard at her belt with an expression of intense contentment.

Rick smiled; the infamous Darrowfig Sable was armed and dangerous once again.

[End of Chapter 5]