CHAPTER 18: ASH FALL FROM THE GOD’S EYE

Harrkania slid off of the sloop’s rail and into the water. It splashed heavily around her as her boots were submerged, the ore on her back securely fashioned. Falinor watched her, thinking that her leather raiment, a close fitting one-piece outfit, was well suited to acrobatics around water. The raiment exposed her thighs and hips while keeping her shoulders and upper arms covered.

Despite that protection it offered on her upper body, the raiment had a low neckline which, by design or not, accentuated her ample cleavage. For a young girl of sixteen years, Falinor was surprised, and busied himself by swinging his legs over the side of the boat where he and Orvin climbed down the course hempen rigging.

Before leaving the boat, Falinor had made certain to take water jugs and fill them, and now Orvin carried that water from the pack they had looted from the sloop’s storage box.

Still, without food, he worried about their journey. They had all eaten their fill of fish before lowering the boat’s sails, but hunger would inevitably creep upon them all—especially the giantess, who was often the first to complain about her rumbling stomach.

“Is it very far?” asked Falinor.

“Not very,” said Harrkania. “But we must be on the lookout now.”

“Why?”

“Yes, Princess,” said Orvin. “Why must we?”

“I told you,” she said, a mild exasperation in her tone, “my father has minions who guard the temple.”

“When you say ‘minions’…” said Falinor, trailing off slightly. “Do you mean giants?”

“Perhaps.”

The swordsman was now aware that Harrkania was uncertain about what lay ahead of them. Perhaps there were giants—as she suggested, or perhaps something else entirely.

Yes, he thought, we must be on our guard.

“All right,” he said, deciding not to complain. What use would that serve, other than to fluster the giantess? None at all.

Breathing in deeply, the swordsman stalked to the front of their small group and glanced about. The hills and the rocky clefts were indeed barren—mostly. In the distance, the God’s Eye loomed in the sky, its cracked and scared base steep and climbing—and yet the volcano did not dwarf the other mountains in the area.

During their sailing, they had passed Mount Hagrodar some time ago—and that mountain was one of the largest in the area, its base of foothills spanning out for leagues in every direction. Harrkania had told Falinor that Hagrodar was once a volcano in its own right, but now the mountain only ever smoldered—never erupting with clouds of toxic gasses and ash.

The God’s Eye, however, was an entirely different creature. The skies were murky—and ash fell like snow. This volcano was moody and cantankerous. At times violent, lashing out at all around it.

From the burnt out forests and the dead trees of petrified wood—Falinor could see the damage the God’s Eye had wrought in its area of influence.

Thunder rumbled over the sky, and Falinor glanced about, surprised to hear it, as there had been no rain clouds later in the day when the skies had become overcast before ash fell.

“Will it rain?” said Orvin, glancing about and shielding his eyes from the ash.

Harrkania said nothing. She was sixteen—had clearly never been to the God’s Eye herself—and she did not know the manner in which the Temple of Arrac Dur was protected.

Was it protected at all? He tuned to the giantess. “Princess?”

“Mm? What is it?”

“Are you certain the temple is protected?” The swordsman looked about. “This place is bleak and foreboding. I wonder if your father truly sends his warriors here?”

“I am not certain,” she admitted. “But I do know that when he comes here to bring his treasures, he is always accompanied by his shamans and sorcerers for some reason.”

“Perhaps as simple protection,” offered Falinor. “Travelling with treasures, as you call them—can be dangerous.”

“Yes.”

Nodding, the failed mage and swordsman hoped that some magical enchantment did not prevent them from going into the temple. Otherwise, they would be locked out and unable to change that circumstance. Falinor had some small magical skill in the destructive arts of fire, but very little indeed, and summoning more than one or two strong fireballs was an effort for him.

One he could not sustain.

Glancing back toward the river where the sloop floated unattended, he wondered if their pursuers would meet them here—this far from where they had escaped. They were ready—and waiting would not gain them anything.

“Princess,” said Falinor finally. “Let us find your sword.”

She nodded strongly. “Come on, Orvin—keep up.”

“I am, my lady.”

“And keep quiet,” said Falinor. “We do not know what lies ahead of us.”

They stalked up the dry trail and between the broken and craggy rocks. They looked to be limestone. Or perhaps the rocks were simply covered with ash and appeared to be of limestone. It did not matter.

Stamping up the trail, Falinor’s feet made little sound as he put tracks into the ash. If they were pursued, those tracks would easily lead the giants directly to them. It could not be helped. Falinor had no magic carpet like in the stories of Ashahnai.

Blinking, the ash fall continued to irritate his eyes. They all shielded their faces with their hands, attempting to limit the amount falling into their faces.

After some time of hiking up the trails and around the rocks, distant thunder, and at times a subtle rumble through the earth, greeted them moodily. The first time it had happened, the trio had stopped completely, glanced about in surprise as they spread their arms uncertainly.

They had discovered that there was no need to brace themselves, as the vibrations through the earth were subtle, the thunder overhead, not only above in the skies, but within the mountain itself—within the God’s Eye—was of little threat.

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So far.

Were there spirits deep within the earth, and did they want to burst forth and kill and destroy?

After a time the small party came to a bluff overlooking a deep valley, a valley of smooth rocks, like a riverbed of stone. It was a riverbed of hardened rock that had cooled from within the depths of the volcano. It was old, but not all of the molten slag that had shaped this place was—or at least, Falinor did not think so. The well-read Orvin knew little of volcanoes, but he seemed to agree with the swordsman.

As they peered across the valley, the God’s Eye before them, the wind whistled through the rocks. Nothing stirred—for there was little to stir in this desolate place of burnt earth and hollow caverns.

Taking in everything, Falinor noticed a valley to the south-east where there was a mesa of rock, spires unnaturally formed, nestled about the structure—the temple.

“There it is,” Harrkania said.

The small man shivered, and Orvin took one of the water jugs out of his bag and unplugged the stopper. He drank deeply. He then offered the water to Falinor. He drank deeply as well, surprised at his thirst. The giantess must have worked up an even greater thirst, as she watched Falinor until he was finished, and gladly, she took the water jug offered her and emptied it.

“It is hard to see,” said Falinor, but I do not see any signs of activity at the temple. It was a small opening, nestled against the rock face and surrounded by entablature, the spires around it like pinions of an evil empire of magic and sorcerous malignance.

The island of rock narrowed at its base, where it plunged into the river of smooth rock bellow. Leading to the flat mesa was a thin walkway, the rock beneath having fallen away and forming a natural bridge with a jagged and torn bottom from where the rocks and cracked and fallen away over time.

“I did not think it so eerie,” said Harrkania.

“Why your father would go to the trouble of hiding the sword here,” said Falinor as he shook his head, “is concerning, Princess.”

“Do you really think so?”

“For why else would he not keep the sword at his castle?”

“Hmm,” thought Harrkania musingly. “I don’t know.”

“Princess,” he said, making eye contact with her. He did not want to disappoint her. “You must be prepared.”

“I am ready to fight, Falinor, and indeed she was, for on her back rested that large wooden ore from the sloop, the makeshift weapon fastened with pieces of netting to form a sling which kept it on her back.

“I mean,” he said, “that you should be prepared for another outcome concerning this quest. For you may not obtain your mother’s sword.”

She looked at him then, her nostrils flaring. Clearly the giantess did not like what she was hearing, and even though she was a princess, and a young woman—she did not burst out—did not complain. Harrkania only nodded solemnly.

“After sneaking into Furan Da,” she said, “I do not think that Orchan’Da will simply forget what I have done. She will want war.”

“Truly?” he asked. “She is your cousin.”

“She is a giant,” said Harrkania in way of explanation—but that told Falinor very little. He could piece together the things he had learned from what Orvin had said, what she had told him earlier, and then guess—or simply ask her to explain—but now was not the time.

“Princess,” stressed Orvin as he looked up at her. “I told you not to be caught.”

“I know!” she said, spreading her hands. “Okay? But what was I supposed to do? It is hard to punch someone and not be seen! Actually… I am surprised she saw me. I did not think Orchan’Da would when I entered her chambers. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely while fucking—“

“Indeed!” interrupted Falinor. “And I thank you for saving my life, Princess. But what has come to pass, has—and now the consequences have reared their ugly heads.”

“Mm,” she noised quietly as she nodded to herself, perhaps more than to Falinor’s statement of fact.

“Which brings me to ask a question.”

She looked at him, her hair rustling in the wind. She still kept her two braids on either side of the back of her neck. The pigtails made her look far more childish than Falinor liked—especially since he had caught himself looking at her—even after the drugs he had inhaled and eaten at the hands of Orchan’Da had worn off.

“What is it, Falinor?”

“Once you have the sword, will your father not simply take it from you?”

“Take it from me?” asked Harrkania with surprise. “Falinor—my father will probably kill me if I manage to steal the sword.”

His eyes widened. Falinor was not expecting her to say such a thing. Kill her? His own daughter?

“Then what was your plan afterward?”

“To leave Malik’Dar,” she said with a nod, and she and Orvin looked at one another, a determined air between them. “We have spoken of this at length,” added Harrkania, “Orvin and I. He has long tried to dissuade me from it.”

“’Dissuade,’” said Falinor, echoing her word usage. She truly was the student of a learned—or at least a bookish—man. Orvin would know how to take care of her once they were away from the isles, and Harrkania could protect a small and barely defensible man as Orvin was.

They would make a good team together.

“I did not know that was your intention,” said he. “I feel…”

“What?”

“I feel a sense of sorrow for you,” he said.

“Don’t,” she said strongly, and shook her head. “Falinor, this is my choice—and I have chosen to take what is rightfully mine—even if my father has made other plans. I refuse to lose my sword to one of my sisters, and to be married off to a savage, besides. This—this quest of mine—it is my destiny to choose.”

The swordsman could accept that. “I understand, Harrkania.”

“If we cannot get the sword, Falinor—I still plan to leave the isles with Orvin.”

He nodded. “Very well. Then I will do my best to deliver the sword into your hands, Princess—and then we can part ways once we are away from the isles.”

Her eyes skittered over the rocks behind him in a thoughtful manner as she pressed her lips together. She looked at him and nodded slowly, saying nothing at all.

There was a long pause between them all for a time as they surveyed the desolate landscape, the Temple of the First Giants upon its mesa, guarded by steep cliffs and a narrow bridge of natural rock.

The swordsman looked about, one sandaled foot upon a rock as he held onto his sword hilt at his waist. Orvin, the bookish teacher, regarded the area with one hand under his elbow, his chin in his hand. He appeared quite thoughtful, while the princess stood leaning on one leg and her arms crossed under her breasts.

The spires, like unicorn horns, concerned Falinor. During his studies in the School of Hessin—he had once read of unnatural landscapes—places formed through dark sorcery—how the land could become twisted. Maligned, the Gaia of a place taking on the evil characteristics of dark intentions—for the earth, as natural as it was, was the formation of the gods—of the god’s natural and pure magic.

Not this.

Not the Temple of the First Giants. At least, not anymore. This place was good and truly, Arrac Dur—the Temple of Demons.

Something inside Falinor shuttered.

Finally, Orvin cleared his throat. “Well,” said he, and pointed to their right. “I think those caverns probably lead down toward the bridge, yes?”

They regarded the cavern he had pointed out, a hollow hole in the ground, the rock smooth, like it had been hollowed out by air or water over thousands of years. Yes, that was the way.

The swordsman nodded.

“A little tight,” Harrkania said dubiously.

“Do not worry,” said Falinor. “I am certain that opening only appears to be small from here—but once we are inside, it will open up to a grand vastness within.

She nodded. “Mm.” Glancing down at the swordsman, she smiled. “I like your optimism. But you forget, I need you to come here because of how small you are.”

The swordsman looked down at himself. “I am not that small—especially compared to yourself, Princess. Are you certain?”

She shrugged.

“It is said the temple cannot be entered except by those who are smaller than giants.”

“Wait,” said Falinor. “Did you not tell me you sent others to fetch your item?”

“I have,” she said with a nod and heavy heart. “None of them ever returned.”

“I am sorry—for reminding you of that. It just seems you have never been here before.”

“I have not. I sent them alone.”

“Why have you only come now?”

She spread her arms. “I am a princess. I cannot go on adventures, Falinor.”

“Unless you plan to run away.”

She nodded.

“You could have gone—to catch the army. You could be away from here right now.”

“Indeed,” Said Falinor with a nod. “Then who would help you, Princess?”

“Is that why you are here?”

“I am no honorable man. I am a mercenary—a murderer some would say. I have no honor to preserve.”

“You have more than you know,” she offered.

He smiled and took a minor bow. “I thank you, princess.”

“You mock me?”

“No,” he said. “I am sincere.”

“I will miss you when we go our own ways, then.”

Falinor smiled.

With the swordsman in the lead, the trio stepped gingerly along their path of scree and loose rocks mere paces away from a steep drop to certain death.

Across the valley, the God’s Eye rumbled moodily as ash fell silently from the grey skies.