The Record of the Saints Caliber (17 page)

“Spare me your introductions.” said the man harshly. Here he turned and eyed the Saints, appraising them each in turn, but when his hard eyes fell on Nuriel she noticed they seemed to soften a bit. She saw something in those eyes of his change and they lingered on her. She bit her lip and looked down and sniffled. The man huffed, his breath smoking in the cold air. “And we’re given a sickly Saint.” he sneered.

Nuriel felt herself shrink into her cloak, a feeling of shame washing over her as she tried to quickly wipe her nose. Arric and Gamalael chuckled at her expense.

The man turned his evaluating stare to the others and scowled. “And four more too arrogant to know they could be walking upon their very tomb. Upon the Graystones, Saints bleed just as red as mortal men.” He turned and gestured with his head to his men. Immediately a number of them moved in and took up positions on the mountain path. He returned his discriminating eyes to Isley. “So, you are the leader of this rabble?”

Isley nodded softly.

The man grabbed Isley’s head and turned him aside, holding up the back of his silver hair as he examined the stellaglyph tattooed on his neck. Without a word he now turned to Umbrial and looked up at him. The man stroked the thin braids of his beard and nodded as if approving of the hulk. “You are the one called Umbrial?”

Umbrial nodded. “
Saint
Umbrial.”

The man stepped over to Tia and his eyes moved from her head down to her feet. He looked her in her snow-white eyes and smirked.

Tia scowled at him. “See anything you like?” she squawked.

He reached for her neck but she grabbed his hand. “We can compare battle scars on our second date.” she said.

The man looked at her and chuckled softly. “You’re Tia.” he said, nodding as if he approved of her attitude. “Celacia said you were fiery for a white-haired Saint.” He turned and walked over to Gamalael and Arric who eyed him with suspicion. “And you two must be Gamalael and Arric.”

They both nodded their heads and said their own names in turn.

Now the man turned to Nuriel and his eyes just lingered on her. It was not an appraising stare like he gave Isley, Gamalael or Arric. It wasn’t an approving gaze like he cast upon Umbrial. It was similar to the delight he saw in Tia, but something more. Somehow different, and more unsavory.

Nuriel shifted on her feet, her eyes flicking away from his. The man held her body in his gaze as he stepped toward her. Nuriel found herself cringing beneath her cloak and turning her head down and away from him.

He grabbed her chin in his cold, gauntleted hand, moving her face up to meet his own. Her eyes met his, and something about the way he was peering into her turned her stomach. With his other hand he wiped at her nose.

“It gets very cold here in the north, little one.” he said with a wanton smile. Nuriel tried to flinch away but he held her by her chin. “You Saints are pretty little things,” said the man, staring into her golden eyes. Nuriel felt her skin crawl. He grabbed a handful of her long, golden hair and let it fall in curtains between his fingers. “Your hair and eyes are so vibrant. Yours particularly are like rich honey. It’s no wonder the kings keep you around as pets.”

Nuriel tore away from him but he grabbed her neck and turned her head, holding up her hair as he examined her stellaglyph. The cold steel of his gauntlet stroked her skin and made it crawl. Nuriel turned and threw his hand off her, but he just stared at her and laughed. Nuriel heard Umbrial and the boys chuckle too. The soldiers around her all laughed. Nuriel bit her lip and tried to furtively bundle the cloak tighter around her body. She could feel the eyes of all the soldiers on her, looking her up and down.

“If you’re quite done with making your own introductions of ourselves, I believe we have business at the Stellarium,” said Isley in an uncharacteristicly harsh manner that caught everybody off guard. Nuriel looked at her mentor and his face was harder and more severe than she had ever seen it.

The man turned his cold, northman eyes to Isley and Nuriel could feel a swell of anger from him. He threw off his cloak and before it even hit the dirt, it and a number of rocks and stones lifted from the ground around his feet and began floating around his waist. He wore steel armor painted black like the rest of his soldiers, but his arms from his black gauntlets up to his elbows were painted with gray spirals. Nuriel could feel a change in the atmosphere. She felt somehow heavier. The man had a broadsword in his scabbard and Nuriel could see that upon the pommel was a smokey gray crystal etched with a strange runic symbol. Isley stood his ground, but Nuriel could see Umbrial and the others weren’t quite sure what to do.

The man approached Isley directly, his eyes narrow and blazing. “The Stellarium is the resting place of many of your compatriots.” said the man coldly. “Are you so inclined to get there quickly, Saint?”

Isley looked the man square in the eyes. “Please,” he said softly, but his face was so stone hard that it actually gave Nuriel a chill. “Address us by name and with respect.”

The man’s face twisted in anger. “I am one of the Knights of the Dark Star, the defenders of Duroton,” said the man coldly. “I address Saints however I see fitting.”

“Perhaps mutual respect is in order, Lord Tarquin.” came a voice from up the trail that immediately grabbed everybody’s attention.

Down the narrow mountain pass came another figure shrouded in black. Immediately the soldiers turned to face him and stood to attention, their armor clanking in unison. The man with the gray spirals painted on his arms who had previously been so brazen, scowled. The floating stones around his waist fell to the ground with a thud and he too stood at attention. “Lord Egret,” he said bowing his head.

“At ease,” said the man as he came down the trail. The soldiers parted on the path for him. He stopped and took down his hood and Nuriel caught a glimpse of his arms as he did so. Like the other man, he wore steel armor painted black. Upon his arms, from his gauntlets to his elbows, were painted yellow lightning bolts. His hair was long and as yellow as autumn straw. His eyes icy and blue; his face more youthful and less weather-worn than the other man’s. He bowed his head slightly.

“I am Egret, Commander of the Durotonian Guard,” he said. He turned to the other man. “This is Lord Tarquin, my lieutenant and Captain of the Stellarium Guard. We are both Knights of the Dark Stars. I apologize if introductions were less than cordial.”

Tarquin scowled. “My apologies, Commander.” He held out his hand and his shroud that lay a few feet from him was instantly drawn to his palm. He quickly slipped it back over his head.

Isley bowed his head, his face back to the soft sincerity that Nuriel knew him by. “My apologies as well, Commander.” he said. “I am Saint Isley.” he gestured to Nuriel. “This is Saint Nuriel, my apprentice. And here are Saints Umbrial, Gamalael, Arric and Tia. On behalf of Celacia, we all look forward to making accords with your King and Country.”

Egret nodded his head. “King Garidrir Thorodin looks forward to a new age. Please, come with me to the Stellarium. There are many there who look forward to introductions.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Lord Egret and Lord Tarquin led the party up a narrow and winding path that ascended ever higher into the heavens. As they went, the trees became sparser until they were nonexistent. The snow now covered everything and came down in a constant sprinkle. Here the very wind was like ice and the air thin and hard to breathe. Nuriel found she was not the only Saint shining her Caliber for warmth against the biting wind, but it did not escape her attention that the cold and lack of oxygen did not seem to affect any of the northmen at all.

Eventually the steep path came to a plateau, but still they had not reached the mountain top. Instead they had come upon a great chasm that cut the very mountain in half. Spanning the massive gap was an arched bridge made of enormous bricks hewn from the very mountain. It was no more than ten-feet wide and had no rails. It was simply an arch of brick, painted with patches of snow and hanging with icicles. Nuriel didn’t feel the least bit comfortable having to cross it.

On the other side of it, some two-hundred feet away, the fortress of the Stellarium could be seen, cleverly built into the side of the mountain. Its spires were the very peaks of the snow-covered rocks, its windows the very fissures in the cliffs. From the south nobody looking upon the mountaintops would ever suspect a mighty fortress looked out upon them.

Lord Egret and Tarquin stepped first upon the bridge. Egret turned and looked at the Saints. “Place your footing well,” he said. “Many men over the years have fallen to their doom here. It is the only way across.”

“After the Great Falling, when Duroton took the Stellarium, Sanctuary sent many Saints to reclaim it.” said Tarquin, looking at them with those scowling eyes of his. “The men of Duroton felled the bridge with a dozen Saints upon it. This is the fourth bridge we of Duroton have rebuilt over the centuries.”

Egret led them over the bridge. Isley followed behind Tarquin, and Nuriel behind him with the others in tow, all in single file. Bringing up the rear came the soldiers, none of which seemed any more at ease on the bridge than Nuriel felt. Beneath her star-metal boots the stone felt slippery, covered by a thin sheet of ice. Her arms kept wanting to reach out for a handrail, but there were none to be found. Saints could take a lot of damage, but falling thousands of feet was more than even the most powerful could handle. Nuriel bit her lip and looked down, chancing a glance over the edge. There was the sea, its dark, frigid waters churning upon the sides of the mountain thousands of feet below.

Nuriel took a deep breath and moved forward, but felt a sudden pressure on her shoulder, pushing her off the side. She gasped and turned around.

“Careful,” said Arric with a laugh. Gamalael chuckled too.

Nuriel rolled her eyes and sniffled. She went slowly, her eyes glued to the bridge as she consciously placed each step. Occasionally she chanced a glance forward to see how far ahead Isley and their escorts were, and each time she was relieved that they all seemed to be going as slowly as she. It was on one such glance upward that Nuriel’s eyes happened to stray to the south and she stopped dead in her tracks, her hand going to her mouth and a small gasp escaping her lips. Across the churning ocean, past the vast stretches of forest, she could see Sanctuary. It was far and distant—just a speck upon the gray horizon—but nonetheless Mount Empyrean was unmistakable.

Nuriel stopped on the bridge, unable to take her eyes off the sight. Isley placed an arm around her shoulders. “A past life, Nuriel.” he said softly into her ear.

Somehow his words were not comforting and Nuriel found herself wondering if she would ever again set foot in Sanctuary or look upon Holy Father Admael. Would this speck upon the horizon forevermore be her last memory of the place she had called home for the last twenty-one years?

“Ever have we kept watch of your comings and goings,” said Lord Tarquin quite bluntly. “What you see from this perch is but a brief sampling of what our eyes see.”

“Indeed,” said Egret. “The Stellarium crowns this mountain. The highest peak in all the world, save for Mount Empyrean.” He craned his neck up and pointed to the gray clouds that loomed thick like a churning ocean overhead. Nuriel and the other Saints all looked up as well. The black shadow of the mountain loomed high above, disappearing like a titanic beast into the gray clouds. “The Stellarium was once belonged to Sanctuary. It is said that Aeoria herself once walked these very halls.”

Here Egret pointed across the bridge. “And the only way into the Stellarium is through those doors.”

Across the bridge there was a massive set of iron doors set flush into the very stone of the mountain. They were red with rust and toward the top orange stains dripped. A pair of heavily armored guards in lacquered black armor and flowing red capes stood sentry to either side, dwarfed by the enormity of the doors.

Egret led them across the rest of the bridge where a worn path led to the iron doors. As they approached, the doors began to slide open, surprisingly quiet but for a few occasional squeaks and groans, to reveal the halls of the fortress beyond. Egret walked right through, but Lord Tarquin stopped at the foot of the entrance and made a show of wiping his boots on the stone.

Nuriel looked down and raised a hand to her mouth. Set into the very pathway, as if a foot mat for the entrance, was a suit of Star-Armor. The helmet, the breastplate, the arms and legs; the entire suit was sprawled there like a fallen body and set flush into the rocky floor. She couldn’t recognize whose it might have been, but guessed that it had lain there for half a millennia or more. All she knew is that it most certainly was a male’s suit, and probably one of Aeoria’s Guard.

Tarquin looked at them with a sneer and Nuriel could hear his soldiers all laughing cruelly from behind her. “You will be the first living Saints to ever see beyond the doors of the Stellarium.” he said. “Let us hope you are also the first Saints to ever leave it alive.” He turned, his shroud fluttering in the cold winds, and strode into the dark halls beyond.

Now Nuriel could sense a reluctance—an aversion even—within her mentor and watched as Isley hesitantly stepped over the armor. Nuriel herself waited, finding it hard to move forward, and let the others pass her. Umbrial, Tia, Gamalael and Arric didn’t have nearly as much reservation, and Tia and Gamalael even deliberately stepped upon the breastplate, their own star-metal boots clanking loudly upon it. Nuriel walked around the thing and tried to pay the laughing and whispering guards behind her no mind. As she passed it she could see words written in the stone above the armor. She scanned the engraved letters with her eyes, but had no idea what it said.