CHAPTER 24: SLAVES AND SUPPLICANTS

Holding his torch forward and his sword drawn, Falinor stalked across the sand-strewn floors through the elongated chamber.

With Orchan’Da close behind, they had very little time for caution. Despite that, Falinor did not pick up his pace to an overly quick gait, one Harrkania surely thought was slow as they arrived at a juncture of corridors that split in two directions.

“Which way?” asked Orvin.

Falinor shook his head.

“Do we split up?”

“No,” said Falinor quickly. “No—we must stay together.”

“I agree,” said Harrkania as her eyes touched Falinor’s. She held her ore in her hands, ready to use it.

“Then we must simply choose,” said Orvin as he stalked forward.

As the man’s feet put new tracks into the sand over the old ones, Falinor realized that he was making new marks in the sand where there were previously none. A bad sign. In fact it was probably a trap!

“Orvin!”

He lunged forward.

As the small man turned, Falinor jumped, taking him in the waist. Orvin cried out and grunted as they sprawled into the sand and Harrkania shrieked as something cracked and whistled past them.

“Did you see that!” croaked Harrkania. She was pointing a finger in disbelieve. “Something just shot out of the wall!”

Glancing about dumbly, Orvin said, “A trap?”

Nodding , Falinor said, “Yes.”

Getting up, he stayed well clear of the fresh sand with no tracks. He helped Orvin to his feet with an offered hand. “Stay away from the undisturbed sand. Do you understand?”

Orvin nodded firmly.

Breathing heavily for a moment, they all glanced at one another. Then Harrkania said, “That bolt could have shot straight through you, Orvin.”

“Yes, I know. I will be more careful, Princess. I promise.”

She nodded, then glanced back to where they had come. Like Falinor, and surely Orvin, she was probably apprehensive about Orchan’Da’s arrival in the temple of Arrac Dur. What would she do once discovering the temple doors had been openened? Would she rush forward, or move in slowly, waiting to find them like rats caught in a diabolical trap?

It was best to err on the side of caution in this regard, which meant taking more risks moving forward. “We need to keep moving,” said Falinor. “Follow me.”

Leading the way, he took the left corridor, keeping to the tracks from previous visitors as they moved down the black-slate halls lit by hot torches that guttered with the sigh of every breeze moving through the temple.

The tracks were subtle, but still remained, despite the constant sigh of air.

In deep recesses of the walls, glowing orbs provided more light—but these were not of fire, but rather crystals that had not been visible until now. And as if Orvin had been reading his mind, he mused on this fact. “Perhaps these glowing crystals have taken on the light from the torches, and can now refract it.”

“Refraction is science, Master Orvin,” said Falinor in correction. “This place has little to do with the physical world.”

The other man said nothing.

As they navigated a series of corridors, they eventually made their way back up to their relative north where a large chamber opened up before them. There was a walkway with drop offs to the sides which formed a stone bridge of sorts.

The open space sighed quietly.

“Oh my gods!” exclaimed Harrkania, her voice echoing into the distance. “I expected to find certain things here, but I never imagined this.”

“Neither did I,” said Orvin.

“You would be surprised what cultists have been known to erect in favor of their dark gods—for the righteous also erect monuments of grandeur in supplication to the higher powers.”

“The cultists simply keep theirs hidden,” added Harrkania as she glanced up at the golden statues of naked women before the bridge. The metal gleamed in the light of the lamps and the torches.

Falinor nodded. “That is correct, Princess.”

“Perhaps we should have brought some wagons,” said Orvin. “Then we could take one of these golden statues and never have to work for coin again.”

He was being facetious—as the statues would have required five wagons and fifty horses to haul out of here in massive chunks. The swordsman doubted the statues were gold all the way though.

As they looked on from atop the stone steps, monoliths rose up on either sides of the bridge, bearing luminous crystals and glowing orbs, providing light to see by over the bridge, where statues of four-armed warriors loomed, their weapons held high as if they might break their silence and behead any intruders who ventured forth. Between them, arching over the bridge were more golden statues of naked women in dancing fashion, their arms forming arches over the bridge and the warrior statues.

Falinor almost shivered.

Almost.

He stepped down the stairs, careful not to slip upon the sand. “Be careful,” he said. “The sand may come out from under your feet.”

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“I would rather not fall to my death,” said Orvin. “Though… it might be better than getting eaten alive by those beasts.”

Harrkania moved forward, taking the steps three at a time. When she reached the bottom, she turned. “The sand. There is none on the bridge.”

“The breeze,” said Orvin in way of explanation. “It must push it away.”

The giantess glanced over the side of that bridge.

“What do you see?”

Falinor watched them, listened as they muttered quietly about what they could not see. He was distracted by the statues, by the lights and the breeze, like a great beast breathing. It was almost unnatural.

“We have no time for this,” he snapped.

They both looked at him.

“Forgive me,” he said, not meaning to be so. “Your cousin approaches.”

“How do you know?”

The swordsman did not know—he simply knew because that was why the sorceress was here. She came in pursuit of Falinor, surely. Why else would she come? He strode forward past Harrkania and Orvin.

They followed from behind as Falinor glanced at the warriors. Horrifying—large and giant-like in their own right. There were six of them, three on the left side of the bridge, and three on the right, their bearings and countenances looming, literally, as they stood atop tapering blocks as high as the swordsman’s chest, and above them, gleaming golden arms.

The faces of the female depictions were all aligned in the direction of the statue on the other side, a massive, looking statue Falinor could not make out as clearly as these in front of him.

Falinor picked up his pace and was now loping across the bridge.

“Falinor!” called Orvin. “Wait!”

He ran, made it across and stamped up the steps to another raised part of the chamber that expanded outward, the tiles upon the floor mostly uncovered with grains of sand coalescing in the corners.

Before him loomed the massive black marble statue of a figure with four arms, its visage pierced and snarling, its teeth like that of a beast’s and its eyes boring like augers, full of fierce and malignant malice. The figure was posed in a sitting position, its legs crossed. The statue leaned forward with four arms, two of them spread out and placed palms down upon the tiles, as if the being were leaning forward to speak or devour whoever stood before it. In its other two hands rested a weapon—a gleaming steel sword encrusted with gems, held high in a striking position, and finally in the last hand, curled and held close to the torso like a gem to be horded and jealously protected, a massive marble, swirling with inner magic the size of a giant’s skull.

Falinor sucked in a deep breath, his gaze captivated upon this massive figure looming down angrily and expectant.

The footsteps of Harrkania and Orvin made their way up the stairs and they both gasped as they took in the statue glowering upon them. Falinor turned and looked at them over his shoulder, his eyes flicking to the chamber entrance across the bridge to see if Orchan’Da had yet arrived—and she had not.

But they had little time.

“We have reached the inner sanctum,” said Falinor, his eyes scanning the edges of the chamber. There were two passages leading behind the giant, with two more arches on their left and on their right. He suspected even more tunnels leading to various places within that he could not see, waiting in the chamber beyond.

“Is this…?” Harrkania breathed. “Is this Xuadryn the Demon Messanger?” but neither the swordsman nor Orvin had any answers.

Falinor watched her as the giantess glanced about, her gaze moving to the alters filled to the brim with rich items. Orvin gasped and took two strides forward, lifted a golden trinket from the alter, of which there were piles jewels of gold and silver. There were also rubies and opals and pearls. There were gleaming mirrors and small golden statues. Coins of every metal had been stacked high, piled into strong boxes, littered about.

“The wealth here,” said Harrkania in a breathy voice.

“I almost wish we were here to steal it,” said Falinor, “but do not forget your sword.”

Harrkania seemed to shake herself from the reality of it all.

“How do we find it?” asked Orvin as he looked about the piles of treasure adorning the altars like shrines in supplication to a god.

Upon the floors were little orange and red lizards mosaicked into the stones, their eyes gleaming redly as the tiny rubies glinted in the lights. Those lizards swarmed about the floors and up and around the altars, no doubt a remnant of the lizard savages mentioned by Harrkania before.

“We have to search,” said Falinor.

They all glanced about nervously, knowing they were pursued. Orchan’Da might very well arrive within moments.

“Then we must move quickly!” said Orvin. He glanced about, picked up a silver trinket, then put it back down. He moved to another pile and began surveying the treasures.

“My gods,” Harrkania breathed, and she too began searching. “This might take days.”

The swordsman would have joined them, save for what caught his eyes in the moment. Another altar, farther ahead, nearer to the giant statue. Its elongated form sent a shiver down his back.

As he approached, he recognized the skulls ensconced within, at the concave design of the alter and he drain in the center. The brown stains were not the stains of rust or water—but of blood.

It was an altar of sacrifice.

He swallowed against the knot in his throat and glanced about amidst the mutterings and exclamations of the giantess and her teacher. They moved about hurriedly, clinking and thumping as they searched through the treasures.

Falinor’s grip upon his sword was knuckle white as he glanced down at his blade. This place… was a place where evil glutted itself among treasures offered to a god—or a demon. He looked into the visage of the statue and realized that sighing breeze was coming from no other place than the mouth and angry dragon-like nostrils of this statue.

A demon, surely.

He had never heard of four-armed beings or gods. None of the righteous gods so well admired across the world were ever described as such and none of the paintings showed anything of this nature.

This was a temple of demons and blood sacrifice—of evil.

“Falinor?” Harrkania asked as she glanced up. “Why are you not help—“

She seemed to notice the altar he stood beside as she stalked to him. They shared a heavy glance. “I am ashamed by people have fallen prey to such wickedness. Her eyes scanned the walls behind him and Falinor turned.

The life-sized statues ensconced within the walls depicting debaucheries and blood sacrifice abounded across the walls, a decorative element of this inner sanctum, clashing somewhat with the previous inhabitants, their lizard bodies and gleaming eyes and strange conjunction with the forms of giants.

He breathed out heavily. “The sword,” he said. “We must find—“

“Oh no,” Orvin breathed. He pointed a finger across the bridge. “Look!”

Turning, Falinor saw the flickering of lights in the corridors as figures clearly moved through them, their torches and that of the glowing orbs shadowed as they strode forward, making their way here.

To them.

His heart hammered within his chest. If they were captured…

“What do we do!”

“Stay calm,” said Falinor.

“There must be a way out!” Harrkania exclaimed, her sword seemingly forgotten.

“Keep searching for the sword!” he said.

“What?” Orvan howled. “They are upon us!”

“Silence, man!” he commanded. “Harrkania, search for your sword.” She looked at him, but before she could respond, Falinor turned to Orvin. “You—search for a way out of here.” He pointed toward the corridors. “Be careful of traps.”

The smaller man swallowed visibly, his eyes wide as if one of the statues upon the bridge had just come to life and was raising its sword to cut off his head.

“Go—now!” said Falinor.

“All right,” Orvin exclaimed with a nod and departed from them.

“What of you?” asked Harrkania. “Falinor—I’m not leaving you alone!”

“I will be fine,” he said. “I will hold them off here at the steps.”

“You will be killed.”

“I can handle myself, Princess.”

Of course—that was a lie.

She looked at him for a time more. He nodded. “Go.”

She closed her eyes, then turned, her movements slow and lacking vitality.

“Princess?”

She turned.

“I aim to stay alive—move quickly.”

That seemed to give her new hope, as she nodded and loped away from him. Falinor turned and peered across the bridge where he saw Orchan’Da at the head of her group, giants and humans alike fanning out on the other end of the chamber atop the steps that led down to the bridge.

The swordsman tightened his grip across his sword hilt and breathed in deeply.