"She wanted you to know," Tin said quietly.
He had listened intently as Eni described every detail she could remember, desperately trying to maintain her grasp as the vision slipped away. It was as though it wasn't quite the right shape for her mind to hold onto, the vivid surety she had felt giving way to dreamlike vagueness. The only piece that felt as sharp as when she had seen it was how the hare's face had changed as she watched, bestial fear and pain giving way to genuine intelligence, and Eni nodded.
"This was left here for us," she said, gesturing weakly, "All of this."
Tin had propped her upright against a wall; her legs still felt too weak and rubbery to support her weight, and even her head felt too heavy. The awful staring eyes of the half-formed monsters were thankfully gone; while she had still been unconscious Tin had carried her deeper in the enclave. The room she had awoken to was a vast and ancient kitchen that would have been pleasant if only it showed any signs of life. Instead, all the stoves were cold and dark, and no mouth-watering scents filled the air. There was nothing but the faintest smell of decay coming from a pot that had tipped over ages ago, its contents long-since rotted away until all that was left was a faintly yellow stain. Other than that one suggestion of the mammals who had passed through the enclave, the kitchen was deathly still, the only sounds that met Eni's ears coming from her own heart and Tin's.
Zathos loomed motionlessly in a corner of the room, the monster's dark form wreathed in shadows, and it had listened to Eni's recitation with its awful eyes focused unblinkingly on her. "That is one possibility," the monster said, breaking its silence, "However, if you were to step on an ant, you would not bury its corpse."
Eni's skin crawled under her fur as she considered the creature's words, but she shook her head. "No," she said at last, "You're right that these mammals were… were nothing to her, but… You didn't see what I did."
Zathos cocked its head to the side, blinking slowly as it stared back at her. "I understand what the Archons want now," Eni continued, words tumbling from her mouth to fill the silence, "Ending the First Scourge would…"
Her voice wavered, the idea almost impossible to force out, but she forced herself on. "Would kill every thinking creature on Aerodan," she said in what was barely more than a whisper, "That's why they're willing to pay any price. I understand."
Tin's brow furrowed and his features darkened, and Eni squeezed his paw. "I don't agree," she said, "But I understand."
His face smoothed, his brilliantly blue eyes gazing into hers. "Doesn't change anything," he said simply, "Still have to stop her."
He spat the word like a curse, and Eni nodded. "We do," she said, and she let go of Tin's paw to press against the floor.
Her arms were as wobbly as her legs and she nearly pitched forward face-first before the wolf caught her, hooking his paws under her armpits and gently easing her upright. "Can you walk?" he asked as she leaned shakily against him, the ground seeming to roll under her feet.
"Just need a minute," Eni said from between gritted teeth, willing her equilibrium to return, and Tin waited patiently until at last the doorway off on the other end of the room didn't seem to be tilted at a nauseating angle.
"How long did you carry me?" she asked, leaning against Tin's shoulder as she took a hesitant step forward.
"Approximately three-quarters of an hour," Zathos answered for him, "We have descended through seven levels of this building since you touched the stele, making fourteen turns at intersections and passing twenty-one additional corpses."
Eni shuddered at Zathos's bland equanimity, catching Tin glaring at the monster before his eyes returned to her. "So many," she said softly, "Were they all…"
She trailed off, and Tin answered before Zathos could. "Mad," he finished, "Yes."
There was a wealth of meaning in those two simple words, and Eni decided she didn't need to hear any additional descriptions. She took another tentative step for the kitchen's exit and her knees didn't tremble whatsoever. Eni took a deep breath, gently untangling her arm from around Tin's shoulder, and strode forward. She had to use her trident as a walking stick at first, but by the time they had left the kitchen and passed into the corridor beyond it she felt almost normal.
Her limbs were still heavy, her satchel on her back like a boulder she was trying to carry, but she was moving under her own strength and it got easier the further they traveled. The enclave was no more cheerful in its bowels than its upper levels had been, but at the very least it seemed more deserted as they descended ever lower. They passed storage rooms filled with wooden crates; one of them had cracked open to expose tarnished armor nestled among rotted straw.
"That came from the workshop of Forgemaster Kelian Landocrolus," she said in a hushed voice, her eyes widening with surprise as she pointed at the breastplate, "He died—"
"During the last Scourge," Tin finished grimly, "Saw it happen."
Eni tore her eyes away from the elegantly filigreed silver and stared at the wolf. "You did?" she asked, "Then… The stories are true?"
Tin shrugged, the powerful muscles of his bare shoulders moving smoothly under his fur. "Never heard the stories," he said, "Don't know."
They continued in silence, their footsteps not echoing in the cramped hallway. The ceiling was so low overhead that Zathos was forced to walk on all fours, the enormous monster scuttling like an insect. The walls were the same white marble as the chambers above, but completely devoid of ornamentation; they were smooth and unchanging, broken only by doorways on either side leading to yet more storerooms filled with their own moldering crates. Eni's lantern gave off a dim light, the illumination seeming to be swallowed by the walls, and her heart pounded in her chest.
Eni became gradually aware of a sound, something low and steady that was just barely at the edge of her hearing. It was like a distant breeze, soft and murmuring, but as they trudged onward she realized it was much too regular. She strained her ears, counting silently in her head as each pulse sent wind sighing through the corridor. It wasn't much; the fur atop her head barely moved, the unruly lock that dangled in front of one eye remaining resolutely in place. But it rustled ever so slightly at the mercy of whatever lay beyond, and with a horrible certainty Eni knew what it was.
Something was breathing.
Someone was waiting for them, and there was no doubt as to who it could be. There was the faintest hint of a heartbeat to accompany the breathing, slow and languid and yet full of an undeniable power. Eni's knees went weak, her feet slow and clumsy as she staggered forward. All the moisture had left her mouth, the bitterly metallic tang of fear on her tongue as she stared off into the distance where the corridor seemed to have no end.
The blackness stretched off before her, stubbornly refusing to be lit by her lantern, and dread crept slowly down her spine. How much stronger would the Visitor's presence get as they got closer? Would she even be able to stand? Her nose twitched, her lips utterly numb, and her trident felt like nothing more than a toy in her grasp.
"Tell me," Tin said suddenly, "The story of Landocrolus."
Eni swallowed, surprised to see that two of Zathos's eyes had flicked in her direction, and she thought for a moment. Her mind felt horribly blank, as though all the histories she had ever read had been burned away, and her mouth opened and closed wordlessly before Tin's gaze met her own. She cleared her throat, and when the words came they were steady and even, filled with the same lecturing tone she would take with a class full of students.
"Kelian Landocrolus was a forgemaster of Thebia," she began slowly, "As had been his father and his father before him, a proud lineage of jackals stretching back to the days of Wordermund. Or at least, so it was said."
Her head seemed to clear as the story filled her, the distant breathing louder but no longer dominating her thoughts, and Eni kept talking as the hallway began to slope downward. "Although he had known only peace for the first forty years of his life, turning out plows and hoes on his forge, he had not forgotten the lessons history had passed down to him, nor the ones he had already begun passing down to his daughter. When the Scourge started, he made swords the likes of which most mammals had never seen," Eni said, still reciting the words she could almost see floating on a page in her mind, and Tin nodded slowly.
"Better than most," he said, his voice distant and thoughtful.
"But Landocrolus wept, for even his finest blades were lacking," Eni continued, "He watched scores of warriors, each greater than the last, come to his shop to be armed with his weapons. Each fell in turn to the terrible monsters ravaging the land, and the jackal's tears were quenched on the fires of his forge. Each new sword was a masterpiece in its own right, better than each that had come before it, and yet Landocrolus fell into despair. 'How many more sons and daughters must we sacrifice before this plague is ended?' he would ask the Mother each night, his heart burning with guilt and shame at his own impudence, 'How many more will you gather to your bosom?'"
She broke off from her retelling, glancing at Tin. She expected the wolf to look disgusted or bored, as he had while watching the play, but his attention was raptly focused on her as he motioned for her to continue. "The sun rose and fell many times, the moon waxing and waning, before his answer came one night," Eni went on, "As the words passed his lips, Landocrolus standing before the statue of the Mother in the Mourning Square, an unfamiliar voice came from behind him. 'Many,' said a mammal, the word sorrowfully solemn, 'Many more. But take heart, my friend. I will end this Scourge, and you will help me do so.' Landocrolus turned, hope and surprise warring in his chest, and—"
Eni coughed, shifting awkwardly as she looked at Tin. "Think I can guess who he saw," the wolf said gravely, but his face was almost arranged in a smile.
His muzzle hadn't turned up at the corners even slightly, but there was a certain warmth and gentleness to his features that made Eni unable to resist a smile of her own. "You'd be right," Eni said, "I'm sure you don't need to hear the description."
Tin made a noise that might almost have been a chuckle, and although the sound was as flat as everything else in the monotonous tunnel it still seemed to bring some lightness to Eni's heart. For the briefest of moments, it had been enough to blot out the oppressive presence that waited for them wherever the tunnel ended, and Eni tried to hold onto it. "I don't," Tin agreed, his voice enviously calm, "Still want to hear the rest of the story."
She took a moment to regather the thread of it, their footsteps not nearly loud enough to be the only sound she heard, and then hastily pressed on before terror could swallow her mind once more. "The Slayer did not want a sword, for he already had a blade beyond that of any mortal, a marvelous thing as light as a moonbeam and as sharp as a winter gale. All he asked of Landocrolus was a pair of bracers, and the forgemaster cursed his lying ears. 'Bracers?' he cried, 'Surely any smith could make you such simple armor,'" Eni said, "And the Slayer nodded, his expression serene. 'I have already passed through a dozen kingdoms,' he said, 'More than a score of smiths have made me bracers to the best of their ability. Fine steel or elegant silver, enameled iron or polished brass. But I stand before you for all have failed me; the bite of my whip is too much for any armor I have yet worn.'"
She had a sudden memory of watching Tin wrapping his weapon around one of his bracers, using his arm to make the blade's reach change suddenly and with deadly accuracy, and glanced at the pair he was wearing. They looked rather unremarkable; the metal was scuffed and dented, gleaming dully in the light of her lantern. "Landocrolus saw the wisdom of what the Slayer requested," Eni went on after Tin didn't interject, "And he labored upon his forge for five days and four nights, calling on all the knowledge of his ancestors and all the youthful ingenuity of his daughter. She stoked the fires while he worked, and at last Landocrolus presented the Slayer with a magnificent set of bracers a king would have proudly worn. The wolf thanked the jackals and took his leave, disappearing back into the wild reaches of Aerodan where monsters roamed. As the weeks passed and the Scourge raged, Landocrolus's certainty gave way to creeping doubt. Had the wolf been nothing more than a… a…"
Eni's throat felt suddenly thick as for the first time since she had woken up a body came into sight. It was the mummified remains of a deer who looked to have bashed her head against the wall, over and over, until her skull at last cracked apart. A gruesome stain marred the otherwise clean white marble, and the sad remains of the doe were so badly mangled that all that was left of her face was a terrible expression of hopelessness etched into her leathery flesh.
She swallowed hard, taking a steadying breath as she looked away. "Had the wolf been nothing more than a mad mammal?" Eni said, and her lecturing tone quivered so slightly that even she could barely hear it, "Landocrolus still visited the statue of the Mother each night, a prayer for the strange wolf always on his tongue, and one evening as he begged a blessing for the warrior a response came from behind him once more. 'I have her blessing, friend,' a now familiar voice said, 'But I must ask for yours once more.' When the forgemaster turned, the Slayer stood before him, tall and proud, but on his wrists were not the bracers that Landocrolus had made. His wrists were bare, the black fur broken by cruel wounds, and in his paws he held what was left of the smith's masterwork. 'They lasted longer than most,' the Slayer said, returning the bracers to the forgemaster, who vowed to create an even greater set."
Eni's heart slowly steadied as she spoke, and as they continued down the endless corridor no other bodies came into sight. The pressure on her ears was building, as though she was diving deep underwater, and she squeezed her eyes half-closed as she focused on her story. "Landocrolus was as good as his word, surpassing his prior efforts by far, and yet the Slayer returned," she recited, "Again and again, no matter how the forgemaster exerted himself, he could not make armor that was the equal of the wolf who wore it. But as the jackal devoted himself to his work his reputation grew, for he did not act solely in service to the Slayer. His armor became renowned far and wide, capable of turning away a monster's tooth, and many brave warriors loudly proclaimed that they lived only due to Landocrolus's craft. The jackal remained ignorant of his fame, concerning himself only with his most important client, the one who he had come to know in his heart of hearts would indeed end the Scourge."
Eni paused for a breath and the flame in her lantern flickered, the fire dimming in the murmuring breeze that blew its way up the tunnel. It brought with it a scent unlike anything she had ever known, somehow familiar and yet utterly alien. The smell brought an awful warmth to her core, the feeling sickeningly wrong in a way she had no word for, and her head roared with the terrible breathing. Eni plunged on, each word like a brick in a wall that held back a crashing tide.
"And so it came to pass that another smith grew jealous, coveting the good name Landocrolus had made for himself. This smith, who I shall not honor with any appellation, concocted a wicked scheme. He made a crossbow of his own design, pouring every ounce of his malice into its construction, and set out for Thebia, where he waited for the Slayer to return to Landocrolus's shop. The jackal had long-since stopped waiting for the Slayer to return before laboring on the next set of bracers; although he would examine every inch of the ones that failed the hero, he knew only constant practice could elevate his craft," Eni said, and she felt a familiar ache growing in her chest.
She had wept the first time she had ever heard the story, when she couldn't have been more than ten or eleven, and although she had never cried at it again the familiar pain always came to her eyes like a phantom of the tears she had shed. The sorrow was somehow welcome, a respite from the fear Eni felt sure would overcome her if she stopped. "The wicked smith had secreted himself in the loft of Landocrolus's shop, glaring with a heart full of hate until his opportunity presented itself. While the jackal labored over his latest set, the Slayer regaling his daughter with tales of his adventures, the coward raised his crossbow and fired," Eni said, "His aim was as true as his soul was wicked, and the bolt pierced Landocrolus's heart. 'See, Sir Wolf?' the vile smith cried as he leaped from his hiding place, 'My weapon is more than a match for Landocrolus's finest armor. Let me equip you, and you shall never fall in battle.' But even as the creature glowed with his evil triumph, he saw something extraordinary. The bolt of his crossbow had gone all the way through the jackal's chest, and although he had every confidence in his skill he knew Landocrolus's armor was fine indeed. The jackal's daughter tore her father's heavy apron aside, and the wicked smith met the awful truth; his rival had worn no armor.
"'But why?' he cried, even as the Slayer knocked his weapon out of his paws with contemptuous ease, 'Why have you not armored yourself, Kelian?' With his dying breath, the forgemaster gave his answer. 'Because a warrior who fights monsters needs it more,' he said, and he reached up to brush the tears from his daughter's face. 'Carry on our work, dearest one,' Landocrolus continued, 'I wish I could see how you'll surpass me.' With that, he spoke no more. The Slayer, for all his power, could not restore life to the deceased, and the wicked smith was imprisoned for his terrible crime. And although he lived out the rest of his days in a cell ten feet on a side, he grasped the error of his ways, spending what was left of his life to do his duty to help fight the Scourge even as he knew he would never taste freedom again.
"For her part, Landocrolus's daughter took over his forge, never forgetting her father's bitter parting. She finished his final piece, and if you are ever so lucky as to chance upon the Slayer, know that he wears the bracers of Kelian and Restina Landocrolus upon his arms."
The story was over, but Eni couldn't bear the ensuing silence; it wasn't silent at all, not with the whispering breath roiling through the corridor. "I'm sure it didn't really happen like that," Eni said, babbling apologetically when the wolf offered no comment, "It's just a fable."
"Didn't happen like that," Tin agreed, unbuckling one of his bracers as Eni watched, "Doesn't mean it wasn't true."
He held the armor aloft for her inspection, showing her the inside of the curved metal. There were two elegant symbols etched into it, and Eni found them perfectly familiar. Restina's mark was not quite an echo of her father's; it was similar and yet undeniably its own, independent and not merely a copy. A slow wonder filled her heart, and she brushed her fingers against the sigil.
It was warm to the touch, heated by Tin's body to the same temperature as his skin, but it was only an old piece of armor. There was no magic to it; Eni's fingers didn't tingle and no visions filled her head. All she felt was the certainty that she had grasped a true piece of history, and for an instant Tin was all she could see and hear. His eyes were kind and his heart was slow and steady, and she smiled. "Thank you," she said, "For letting me tell a story."
"Told it well," Tin replied, carefully buckling his bracer back into place, "How about another?"
He spoke as though there was no wind rushing through the tunnel, as though they were simply walking along the highway with the sky overhead instead of hundreds of feet of solid stone, and Eni desperately wished she had his calm. "Not about me," he added, "You."
"Me?" Eni said, almost knocking herself in the head with her trident as she gestured at herself.
"You," Tin repeated, "How about that?"
He pointed at her weapon with his tail. "Why a trident?" he asked, his head cocked to the side, and Eni laughed incredulously.
The sound was tight and squeaky, nearly at the edge of hysteria, and the walls swallowed it entirely. She looked at Tin, the wolf gazing back at her encouragingly as they kept walking, and opened her mouth to speak. "I—"
Her lantern died.
The flame wasn't blown out by the wind, which was still coming with its horrible regularity. It hadn't run out of fuel; from its weight Eni knew it was at least half-full. The gentle glow simply winked out entirely, the wick as cold and dark as though it had been out for hours. Horror seized Eni as she dropped her weapon with a clatter, frantically searching her pocket for matches, sure that something would arrive before her light came back.
Over the fitful breeze Eni could hear the click of Tin trying to ignite his whip-sword, but the blades wouldn't catch, sparks streaking through the air as flint struck steel with awful futility. Her heart pounded so fast that she could barely distinguish the beats, her fingers clumsy as she finally managed to extract a match, but even as she dragged it along one of her belt buckles she knew it would fail.
It sputtered and died, and Eni glanced ahead frantically, terrified of what might be waiting but unwilling to allow it to catch her by surprise. She strained her hearing, listening as hard as she could for the approach of footsteps, but all she heard was the steady breathing of her nemesis and a slow pulse until something new came to her. Laughter, rich and contemptuous, came to her ears, and the sound was perfectly familiar.
It was her own voice.
The laughter faded almost as quickly as it had come, and the instant it was gone Tin's whip-sword burst suddenly into flames and her lantern reignited. Her paws trembled as she bent down to scoop up her trident, her entire body shaking as though with intense cold. "We are close," Zathos said, its voice hatefully unperturbed, "There is light ahead. It is currently quite faint, but entirely visible when there is no other illumination present."
The monster blinked slowly, glancing from Eni to Tin. "Perhaps another message," Zathos suggested, and Eni didn't have to ask what it meant.
They hurried on in silence; Eni felt no desire to tell another story, not when their foe had made it so obvious that she was waiting; listening. Her breath grew louder but her heart was steady, and Eni pushed herself to run, desperate to be out of the awful corridor.
At long last she could see the light Zathos had, dim and golden-red, and it felt like looking up from the bottom of a mineshaft. Whatever lay beyond was as impossibly distant as a star overhead, even seeming to twinkle like one, but as they got closer Eni saw that there was a familiar quality to it.
She knew what was waiting for them even before they at last burst out of the corridor's end; it was another chamber with a pool of molten rock far below. It was small, but only compared to the others; two cathedrals stacked atop each other wouldn't quite have filled the space. The walls were rough stone and the heat was incredible, the churning liquid rock burning in brilliant shades. A long bridge crossed the chasm, formed entirely of one enormous piece of faceted diamond. It threw off rainbows of colors that brought no cheer to the space, because what waited on the other side was the most ominous passage Eni had ever seen.
The doorway on the opposite end was at least eight stories tall and three wide, curving gracefully and with perfect symmetry as it cut a path ever deeper into the mountain. The glow of the room didn't penetrate the passage by as much as an inch; Eni had never seen anything as resolutely black as the void that yawned before them. Tin's face was grim as he stared into the darkness, and Eni tightened her grip on her trident.
She should have been terrified but her fear had left her; all she had was the stubborn determination to see everything through to the bitter end. Zathos stepped forward, its eyes roving the chamber, and then the monster spread its wings, stretching to its full height. It stood still for a moment, the vast membranes that stretched between its limbs and its body rippling slightly, and then it spoke.
"The wind is faultlessly unidirectional," Zathos said, "The thermal column from the magma ends abruptly at the level of the bridge."
The creature flapped, forcing itself into the air, and called down after a few powerful beats had brought it up at least fifty feet. "The same is true in reverse," it said with its usual eerie calm, "There—"
Zathos was suddenly alive with light, much too brilliant to look at. Eni cried out as she covered her eyes, her ears filled with a thunderous roar, and she blinked away spots as she tried to see where the monster had been. Its body was tumbling through the air, as rigid as a statue and wreathed in flames, and Tin was already standing at the nearest rail of the bridge, lashing out with his whip-sword.
The wolf's aim was perfect, but the monster was just out of reach. The metal chevrons stretched out for Zathos as it plummeted past but came a foot short, and even as Tin reeled in his weapon to try again Eni knew it was pointless. "Zathos!" she cried, running to Tin's side, and stared down at the magma below.
She caught a glimpse of the monster's face, its eyes dark and dull, before the fire covering its body exploded in intensity. Hungry flames licked at the cable-like flesh, and by the time Zathos hit the liquid rock there was almost nothing left. Dark flesh sizzled and burned away, leaving the air reeking with a sulfurous smell, and then the monster was gone.
Eni slumped against the glittering railing, her tears evaporating before they could roll off her cheeks. "She didn't want it here," Tin said heavily, and a terrible rage took her.
She could feel her fury radiate from her, burning as hot as the blazing stone far below. The bridge trembled with it, resonating with a pure and clear note that blotted out everything else.
"Enough!" Eni cried, "We're here, you coward!"
She wanted to say more but her throat had become too thick, her voice spent in what she realized would be her very last moment of defiance. The bridge quivered under her feet, pulsing with her anger, and then all at once it ceased.
Tin's arm went around her shoulder, squeezing gently as he pulled himself close. The breathing stopped, as though pausing to speak, and the molten rock far below them solidified in an instant. The burning hues vanished at once, the chamber plunging into total darkness that seemed to stretch out from the gateway ahead.
Absolute blackness filled Eni's vision, the world still and quiet around her, but its perfection gave way to something terrible. Ahead flared two brilliant spots of color, as intense as the sun, and there was no question what they were.
The eyes of Nergorath were upon them.
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