CHAPTER 23: THE OUTER REACH

An archway lay before them within a corridor spanning many paces to their left and right. It was all but impossible to see the ends of those cold and foreboding corridors for the lack of light, but Falinor could see that they climbed high, forming abrupt walls.

Falinor glanced back as Orvin squeezed through the narrow passages.

“Ah,” he breathed. “Wonderful to be out of—“

He glanced about at the wall of skulls and the archway trimmed in stacked femurs and mortared together. At the top rested a massive ruby encased in a gold setting. The ruby was the size of a man’s head.

Before them through the arch lay a long corridor with more little statues ensconced within the recesses depicting slaves and supplicants. Falinor did not like the themes present, which foreboded something—hopefully not of consequence.

With cultists, zymology and excessive dark ritual was often the norm—some of it dangerous, some of it not.

“Now what?” asked Orvin after a while.

“We go forward,” said Falinor, indicating the corridor with his torch. He strode ahead of the other man. “We take the princess’ sword and we leave this fell place.”

“A part of me could stay for weeks,” said Orvin, “but another part of me could not agree with you more, Falinor.”

“I am glad we are of a mind,” he said.

Though the corridor was quite long and they put fresh tracks though the old ones in the glittering white sand, they came to the end as a sigh of air pushed past them. Grains of sand hissed across the floor. They both glanced about in the light of their torches, blackness enveloping them on both sides.

Orvin shivered.

“Just a draft,” said Falinor.

He turned and came to another corridor perpendicular to the rounded one they just left and before them lay another wall of black stones. There were many more skulls and rubies, but where there was an arch before, now there only awaited them a set of stone doors, thick and unmoving. Falinor glanced about those doors, at the stones and skulls adorning it.

“If we were simply grave robbers or explorers, we would be very rich men,” mused Orvin.

“If we were not in danger,” said Falinor, admiring the stones as he surveyed the door, “I would be loosening these stones even now, Master Orvin.”

The other man chortled nervously and then glanced back. “I do hope she’s all right?”

“She can take care of herself,” said Falinor distractedly as he pushed on the door with his palm. “She is a giantess.” It did not budge, and indeed his effort felt more like he had simply pushed upon the face of a stone mountain. “Help me find a lever.”

“Do you believe there is one?”

“There must be. Doors have levers.”

They searched, Orvin glancing about his side of the door for a time as Falinor touched and felt about. There were runic inscriptions in the door, but they carried no color or gold filigree.

There was nothing visibly that could get them inside.

The swordsman sighed.

“I see nothing,” said Orvin. “How will we get through this door?”

Shaking his head, Falinor stepped back from the portal, his foot sinking in the sand slightly, as if he had backed into a depression in the terrain. He turned and looked about with his torch.

“What is it?”

“I do not know,” said Falinor thoughtfully. “But the sand here…”

“It is not even,” said Orvin as he bent and swept at it with his hand as he held out his torch to the side. A little wisp of the burning material flaked away and landed silently on the sand where it breathed for a moment and then burned out.

Falinor leaned in and scooped a large portion of the away.

*

With a fast beating heart that had crawled into her throat, Harrkania put both her hands to her mouth and called out, “Falinor! Orvin! Come quickly—Orchan’Da and a host of warriors has come!”

Glancing into the narrow black space, a cold breeze swept past her. She swallowed, waited. No answer was returned to her.

They cannot hear me!

What was she to do?

She glanced about, searching for a corridor she might take to hide herself, but none existed in this cavern.

*

“Dig, man!” exclaimed Falinor breathily as he worked to uncover the sand.

Both men swept at the glittering white sand and now Falinor was on his knees as he moved both hands over the depression with cupped fingers, pulling swaths away until they reached the stones underneath.

His hands scraped over the black stones, revealing something beneath.

“What is that?” asked Orvin.

Looking at the stones, he saw something. A drawing or perhaps a symbol embossed into the floor and traced in white paint. It was very curious. “I don’t—“

He dug faster, moving the sand away from it on all its edges. Once he had finished with that, Orvin brushed at the loose grains of sand and blew through his mouth to clear away everything.

What was revealed was an embossed symbol of a skull, the eyes, two opaque stones encrusted into the stone. Above the skull was a line leading into the sand which travelled in the direction of the door. Both men followed it with their eyes.

Falinor had hoped they were not wasting their time. Surely when the temple was build all manner of runes and symbols were placed about. The sand was not a natural element of the temple—or rather it was the most natural element, as it had slowly filled the halls and corridors from outside, the ash within its glittering grains long blown away from the constant sigh of air moving through these spaces.

The symbols had been covered—unintentionally.

But this…

This was something.

“I believe we found the way through the doors,” said Falinor with a nod to himself.

“Yes?” said Orvin, confused. “But how? What do we do?”

Falinor studied the jewels in the skull’s eyes and realized that they had been shaped, quite finely, and had a concave surface. To a man like Orvin, that would have meant very little, but jewels often protruded past the surface of where they were encrusted, and so did these, but the concave nature was unusual and it bespoke to a purpose—a magical one.

Reflective?

No.

Receptive!

He glanced up at the black wall above them, high over the arch they had exited.

“What is it?” asked Orvin.

“I need your light,” said Falinor as he stood.

*

She could not escape—could not leave the temple without being seen by Orchan’Da or one of the members of her host!

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Swallowing against the knot in her throat, Harrkania unslung her ore and prepared to do the only thing she could.

Fight.

She took a step away from the corridor Falinor and Orvin had disappeared behind some time ago and turned to face her cousin, who would surely stride through these corridors as if this temple had been erected in her honor.

Princess Harrkania would meet her head on, standing tall, shoulders erect and a resolve to give Falinor and Orvin as much time as she possibly could.

*

Orvin rasied his torch as high as he could, the yellow light flickering and illuminating the arch and the wall above it.

And then Falinor saw it. He nodded satisfactorily. “Yes!”

Orvin looked at him in equal measure surprised and curious. “What is it?”

“Do you see that recess?” asked Falinor, pointing with a knowing finger.

“That fancy hole?”

Falinor nodded. “Indeed, man.”

“That is the entry point into this temple?” Orvin scratched his head.

Falinor made a noise in his throat “Watch.” He took two steps back and made certain to stay clear of the skull and its concave eyes. He then motioned for the other man to clear the way, which he did quickly.

“If you do not write about me in your books, Master Orvin,” said Falinor with a smirk, “I will be vastly disappointed with you.”

The other man laughed.

The swordsman and failed sorcerer of the School of Hessen, tossed his torch onto the sand and began to summon his magicks by tracing with his fingers and hand gestures to form the invisible runes in the open air. He called upon his inner Gaia and the Gaia of the world surrounding them. His inner auras coalesced and the magic materialized into a pathetic little ball of fire in his palms.

All of these actions took but a moment, and could be done far faster had Falinor been hurried, but he had not, and so they only took that short space of time for him to succeed the magical arts.

“You’re…” Orvin looked at him. “Going to throw that?” He pointed. “In there?”

Falinor looked at him, a confident smile on his face. He glanced up at the receptacle and hurled the fireball at it. When the magic left his sorcerer’s embrace, the bright light it created momentarily flashed among the space, illuminating the stones throughout. It gave off a flash of magical brilliance that no king’s performers could ever manage with mere trickery or artful aesthetics.

The fireball hissed into the receptacle and disappeared, leaving them in darkness and in silence.

Moments passed.

Falinor lowered his hands.

“Hmm,” noised Orvin skeptically.

“Wait for it,” said Falinor as he raised a finger. He then glanced about, waiting.

Waiting.

Suddenly something happened as a stone above them on the ceiling of stalactites flashed with a hiss and a skirling shriek. Both men flinched, and backed away as a double stream of red-hot magic burst forth and shot into the skull’s eyes.

The drawings forming the skull encrusted into the stone alighted with red-hot magic, like fire as the energies within moved along the line and under the sand. The door then brightened with glowing runes all about, the magic within brightening the entire space in a hot red aura.

Orvin gasped as the swordsman watched the process unfold before them. And then it dimmed, and was finally extinguished.

Orvin breathed, and even Falinor found that he had been holding his breath. Both mean remained motionless in the cold silence.

Something moved within the wall. Both men glanced about—and then something shook. Stone scraped stone before them and within the arch and behind them. As the door slid opened, both men watched as the dark recesses before them suddenly alighted with flames from wall sconces.

“Magic,” said Falinor. “We have arrived.”

The doors slid to a stop, and silence followed.

But after mere moments, a grumbling of stones echoed to them from behind where the narrow corridor had been.

Turning with surprise, Orvin gasped. “What is that?”

“The doors,” said Falinor.

“Giants can enter the temple?”

“Perhaps the legend of the Temple of Giants was mistaken in this regard.” He strode forward. “Come—Harrkania will be delighted to find that she can join us.”

*

Harrkania strode forward to meet Orchan’Da at the temple entrance. There would be no tricking her cousin by artful deceit in the hopes that the princess could make her believe Falinor and Orvin were not here in the temple with her.

All she could do was hold them off—be fighting.

Or perhaps by talking as long as she—

Something rumbled behind her and her heart lurched as she whirled on her boots, her ore grasped tightly in her hands and held over her shoulder.

But what she saw, surprised her and her eyes opened a little wider.

The corridor!

It was separating as the walls moved back to make the tight space preventing her from entering widened. The stones grumbled and scraped and grains of sand fell from the walls.

She suddenly breathed out a sigh of relief and ran into the corridor, first squeezing in, but as the walls continued to move she was afforded more space to move by. But she could see nothing.

As Harrkania pushed forward, calling “Falinor!” she reached out with her hand to guide herself. “Orvin! Falinor! The walls are open!”

She tripped and fell to her hands and knees, but thankfully the soft sand had prevented her from injury. She got up, feeling about as the walls continued rumbling angrily, her passage a grudging one.

Blinking, she glanced back at the entrance.

She should have taken the other wall torch. It was not far, she could easily do it, but Orchan’Da was not far behind. Instead, she got up and trudged forward, calling out to Falinor and Orvin. She could make it through.

Harrkania had to hurry—she had to warn them!

*

Both men glanced at one another and shared half a laugh of excitement.

Falinor’s heart beat a little faster, his anticipation and satisfaction at opening the temple—and for Harrkania even—filling him with eagerness.

“Come, Maser Orvin!” said he, and Falinor ran across the sand, his torch held high as the smaller fellow tried to keep up with his pace.

“Falinor!” he called, stressing the syllables of the swordsman’s name. “Wait for me!”

He passed through the arched corridor from before and that’s when Harrkania’s voice came from farther up ahead. “Falinor!” she called. “Orvin!”

With a smile, he called back to her. “Harrkania! Here!” He picked up his pace, running a little faster. “We have opened the door! You can come into the temple.”

“No, Falinor!” Something was wrong—he could hear it in the tone of her voice as she stamped out of the corridor that had prevented her from entering just moments ago. “You don’t understand!”

As her face was lit with the yellow-orange glow of his torch, he saw the giantess’ mingled excitement and the wide-eyed intensity of hurried need and concern.

“Princess—“

“Falinor!,” she cut in. “Orchan’Da!” She gestured with arm in the direction of the temple entrance. “She is here! My cousin has come.”

“What?!” exclaimed Orvin as he stamped up to meet them. He sucked sharply through his teeth. “She has been tracking us after all?”

The swordsman’s eyes widened at this information. It was as he suspected. And feared. He glanced past the giantess into the darkened corridor that was now completely silent, then he turned in the direction of the opened temple where they had opened the door.

Could they escape quickly the way they came, or did they continue forward?

Harrkania swallowed. “Falinor!”

He put a hand forward as he tried to think. Then he glanced up at the princess. “How far is she? Does she have any warriors?”

“Of course she does! I recognized Acro’Nor at her side and some of her other warriors.”

“How many?” Falinor persisted.

“I don’t know,” said Harrkania. “Perhaps thirty? But she has also brought captives from the battle.”

“Captives?” asked Falinor with confusion. “Wait—Chiarro is with her?”

Something inside him jumped at that. He had wanted to go back for the man, to save him and the others. If truth be told, only Chiarro. Falinor cared little for the other men, but he would save them all if ever it was within his power to do so.

But Chiarro Vanelli…

Falinor owed the sorcerer his life.

And as these thoughts came into his head, something inside him sank. “Orchan’Da would not have brought them unless she had a reason.”

“Whatever the case,” said Harrkania, “we must do something! She has also brought other humans with her. Her servants.”

“Probably to enter the temple,” said Orvin.

“She has little need of them now,” added Falinor.

“Indeed!” said Orvin with alarm. “But what do we do now?”

Falinor nodded firmly with decisive intent. “How far is she? Can we escape the temple without being seen?”

The giantess shook her head. “No—they are close. When I saw them they had just made their way into the bridge. They will be here in mere moments, Falinor!”

“Shit,” cursed Falinor. “Then we have no choice but to venture deeper into the temple.”

Harrkania said nothing.

“Princess?”

“Yes,” said she, “I mean no. I know. We must do as you said.”

“But your sword…”

“What of it?”

“I hope your blade has magical powers.”

“Uhh,” she stammered. “There are rumors, but…”

“You mean to tell me you do not know?”

“Listen,” she said, her tone full of umbrage, “it’s my mother’s sword. She had intended to pass it down to me when she was alive, but that—“

“We do not have time,” said Orvin, interrupting impatiently.

“Not encouraging,” added Falinor. “Concerning the sword, I mean.” He glanced between the giantess and Orvin. “You are right. We must act.”

“We go deeper into the temple, then?” asked Harrkania.

Falinor nodded. “We do. Now come!”

They ran through the arched corridor. Falinor stayed at the head, and Harrkania complained loudly behind him about being forced to crouch low after knocking her head. At any other time, it might have been funny, but with giants on their trail, and Chiarro as their prisoner, a knot had formed in Falinor’s stomach.

“Be thankful you can enter,” said Orvin, “otherwise you would be trapped out there—with them.”

“Not knowing what lies deeper within this place,” said Falinor musingly, “that may not be a worse option.”

They came back to the archway where the doors had prevented them from going any further, except now they were fully open with its corridors and chambers lying beyond, the glow of torches within casting an eerie orange glow.

“How is the temple alighted?” asked Harrkania.

“This is a sorcerer’s temple,” said Falinor. “I prefer not to know these things. We must find your sword and discover if there is another way out of the temple.”

“Mm,” she noised with a nod.

“Wait,” said Orvin. “Can we not close the doors once we enter? We can keep Orchan’Da from pursuing us.”

“And do what?” asked Falinor dryly. “Shall we stall Orchan’Da for half a heartbeat?”

Orvin laughed nervously and then glanced back down the corridor. They all did, then they looked to one another with apprehension.

The open doors lay before them.

“Arrac Dur has been awakened,” breathed Harrkania. “I believe we shall find my sword. And with it…”—she breathed in an ominous sigh—“her secrets.”

“Do you have to say it like that?” whined Orvin. He glanced up at the princess with a beseeching face, almost like that of a frightened child.

“Let us hope you are wrong, Princess,” said Falinor. He stepped through the doors and glanced about. The corridor was empty and dead, save for the flickering torches and a haze of blue dust that hung in the air. Another sigh from the draft brushed past them. “There is a breeze,” he said, turning. “That means there is a way out.”

“That’s right!” exclaimed Harrkania.

“Now come.”

“May the gods show us mercy,” Orvin intoned.

“I fear the gods may stay far from this place,” said Falinor as he shook his head, hoping that his blasphemous words were in error.