Sandorn was alone, well almost alone. Grolo went on ahead of him, delirious as he always was to be given permission to explore the tunnels which he and his order had been sworn to protect.
Things had moved so fast the past weeks that Sandorn felt it was his first time being alone in forever, he savored the moment. He knew Fenadorn would not be happy, or Dranar too for that matter. Both had insisted on accompanying him through the tunnels and both he had refused. Not unlike Grolo he too took pleasure in the tunnels and their design. Besides he would meet Dranar and the others at the entrance, he could manage getting there just fine on his own. Fenadorn he’d ordered to stay at the palace, Averan remained too but Sandorn wasn’t sure just how focused his Brother was with Alisha around. The two had spent the last two days since they’d captured the palace getting to know one another in detail. Averan claimed they spoke on the workings of the New Order but Sandorn knew well enough what he talked about with her. He was not willing to disrupt his Brother’s budding relationship however, Averan was his own man, Sandorn might be King but his Brother would never need bow to him. Leaving things in Fenadorn’s capable hands was probably the better option in any case, Averan was always a better attacker than a defender.
Taking the long route to the entrance gave him time to think.
Sandorn had been up the last night reading. One of the most prized processions he had received from his Mother on her passing was the books detailing Aureate’s Family history, and what was Aureate’s history was also Gorias’. He found himself drawn to it lately more than ever.
The early Aureates had seemingly planned for everything and Sandorn felt as if he was walking in his ancestor’s footsteps down here. The paths had been built to save the family in a last desperate escape from whatever force was besieging the city. Knowing Gorias’ history that had probably been the Vampiri, or perhaps even the Dragonkin. They never would have expected they would have needed to use it against their own, Sandorn supposed. Though when the tunnels were built he suspected that the other Houses were still in the earliest days of their development. Probably still first and second cousins to the Royal House itself. Things had certainly changed, now all that seemed to unite the Forty was their powers and a long-forgotten historical family tree.
Sandorn hadn’t forgotten it however, he would remind and solidify the bonds between his House and the others, just as it had been in the beginning.
The first King, Anaval had also been the first Chimera. His beast so pure that he was said to have been three times as large as the normal Beasts of today. What powers the Chimereans now had paled in comparison to his reported powers, he was taller, stronger, faster and lived longer, dying only upon reaching the age of 150. Having lived such a life he left behind a legacy still seen in all of Gorias life today. 12 sons and 8 daughters, 25 grandsons and 23 grandaughters. By the time of his death there were already the beginnings of 10 other Royal Houses. That would multiply quickly until it settled on the Forty, but each one proudly traced themselves back to Anaval Aureate. No longer.
“SANDORN. SANDO-ahhhhh that is King SANDORN.”
Sandorn stopped in his tracks at the roars from Grolo.
“Yes Guardian? I am here, what is it?”
“I found another one.”
Sandorn smiled and hurried ahead. Grolo led him hurriedly down an offshoot of the main passage. At its end he found Grolo staring up in amazement at the foot of a statue.
Sandorn came up behind Grolo and patted him on the shoulder.
“How many is that now Grolo?”
“Six Sandorn, that’s six that we’ve f-”
Grolo slapped himself on the head, “King Sandorn, King Sandorn, King, King, King.”
Sandorn grabbed Grolo by the wrist to stop him hitting himself.
“Grolo, Guardian. What did I tell you. Alone you can call me Sandorn, or whatever else you want, I don’t mind. There are no formalities down here. None. Got it?”
Grolo nodded happily, “Yes. King.”
Sandorn shook his head but smiled as he bent down to examine the statue’s inscription. It was the same as it had been for the last six.
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Power through sacrifice,
What given is received.
All that we possess,
granted only by thee.
A verse, or prayer perhaps? Sandorn found himself just as confused as he had been with the last six. The statue depicted the same individual, or deity as Grolo claimed. He didn’t know why or from where he knew that it was an image of a God but he repeated his belief many times over.
The statue was as beautiful as it was terrifying. Sandorn had almost tripped over himself when he had came across the first of the statues. He could have sworn that the figure was charging towards him and had hastily brought up his own sword in defence. It was with some relief then that he came to his senses and saw the unmoving statue for what it was. But the embarrassment had remained.
It was always the same figure, he now knew, but always in a different pose. Whoever or whatever it was it evidently held an important place in the hearts of the early Aureates. Some early God perhaps? A forgotten patron of the City? Sandorn never remembered reading anything or seeing anything about a figure such as this. Though the palace was as old as Gorias itself, some 800 years had passed since its construction. It may have been a God only worshipped by the Family. One kept secret from the rest of the city’s inhabitants. Still Sandorn wondered then why he had never heard of it, or why his Mother had never mentioned it to them.
The sculpture was immense in its detail, far beyond any of the more contemporary pieces Sandorn had seen. Every inch of the black stone artfully hewn into an ultra-realistic representation.
The God was covered in a long flowing cloak that covered most of his body. Only his face was always left revealed, though this particular piece, as with one more of the six Sandorn had seen, also displayed one of the figure’s feet.
On both of the statues where the foot was shown, it was clearly that of a hoofed creature, that in itself was strange, no Gods Sandorn had ever seen were ever depicted with such features. It was its face however where the most detail could be seen and appreciated.
Its eyes were what caught Sandorn’s attention first. One was huge, golden, and seemed to stare wide-eyed at him no matter where he looked upon it. The other was closed but both eyes had tears falling from them. Sandorn would have thought them plain tears but as he brought the torch closer he saw a red hue trailing the tear. The figure, for reason unknown, was bleeding blood.
The top half of the face seemed human, even with the strange eyes. Its lower half undoubtedly was not. The mouth appeared far too big for the face and was locked in an eternal smile. The smile was twisted, however, evoking a feeling of dread in Sandorn as he peered into it. Its teeth were long, sharp and each one was jagged and broken, like rocks at the bottom of a cliff. Whatever it represented Sandorn knew innately from its aura and the feeling it left in him that this was no God of morality. Whoever had worshipped it, if indeed that is what they did, had been worshipping a God of Darkness. Knowing that it was only his Family who knew of the tunnels, and their construction left him with an eerie sensation. His family had made these statues, six of them. Part of him wanted to know the truth, for what reason could they have revered such a being? But perhaps some things were better left in the past. If his Mother had not passed it onto him, then maybe it was not meant to be passed on. After all, the tunnels had never been used. What then did he fear? He didn’t know. But nor did he want to.
Tearing his eyes away from the statue he started back up the passage. He steadied his breath as he walked, steeling himself not to run, a sense of being watched followed him as he left. But he did not look back.
Grolo was waiting for him back on the main path, Grolo himself only gave a passing look to the statues as they came upon them, he too seemed to grow uneasy at the sight. Sandorn was glad to be back beside him again. The sixth statue had unnerved him even more than the others, he hoped they did not come across any more of them, though somehow he knew they wouldn’t. Six was the number they would find. Six statues, six depictions. Six places of worship.
Sandorn shook himself and breathed new life into his torch.
“Come Grolo, I imagine it is time we were meeting the others, Dranar already seems on edge having me roaming about on my own down here, it is best not to keep him waiting. Lead on Guardian, lead on.”
Sandorn felt a final chill washing over him as he moved away from the statue’s passage. Against his better judgment, he glanced down one final time as Grolo went ahead. It was just a glance, a split second. But Sandorn saw the eye, the single eye staring at him. It moved as he moved. Watching.
A warm trickle fell on Sandorn’s hand, looking down he saw blood seeping out of him, spilling down his hand. He had not realised it, his grip so tight as to draw blood.
He released it slightly and realised he had been holding his breath. Breathing in once more he sighed and laughed gently to himself. He had been too long underground, a day spent exploring and pondering on things better left unpondered. His mind was telling him to focus on the things that mattered. Moving statues, evil Gods, Sandorn shook his head once more.
That is not my story.
Sandorn focused only on Grolo and the torch, he needed his mind clear. He moved forward, only forward.