The Spirit of Revenge (29 page)

The Warriors stepped back as the doors split, at last coming to a stop with a groan of metal. They approached the gateway and crossed under the arch before entering the capital city of Morven.

A wide road of pearly brick stretched far before them and disappeared far into the distance. Tall buildings of white and gray stone lined the shoulders of the streets in orderly rows.

Thousands of people roamed the streets, filling the wide road from shoulder to shoulder. The crowds flowed unbridled in all directions like a churning sea. The city roared with the talk and shouts of its citizens, an overwhelming din that shook the Warriors where they stood.

The Warriors sighed at the challenge at hand and dove into the crowd, instantly swallowed in the masses.

The noise filled their ears, drowning out all else. A wave of various odors hit them as they entered the crowd, the reek of sewage, sweet aromas of perfumes and oils, strong spices and foods, the stench of animals and the thick stink of human sweat. Steam and smoke rose from the trade stalls that lined the buildings, water boiled, herbs burned, and foods roasted behind droves of eager buyers.

Horses burdened with rider and cargo rushed through the crowds, people scattering to the edges of the road to avoid the aggravated animals and even more irritable drivers.

Weapons, clothes, cookware, foods, spices, boots and sandals, bridles and tack, fishing gear, and virtually every item fashioned by the hand of man or earth filled the hundreds of market stalls.

Clothes hung out to dry were draped over wires above the street. Smoke rose from the stone chimneys of the surrounding homes, and children peered out of the windows down on the streets below, eyeing the Warriors with youthful curiosity.

“I hate markets,” Malecai muttered after violently shoving a man aside, forcing him to drop a basketful of fish to scatter in the crowds.

After several minutes, they came to a large stone courtyard that stretched off in all directions for hundreds of yards. They left the market behind and passed a tall five-tiered fountain in the middle of the court.

Water rolled down its stone basins before falling into a large bowl that housed its crystalline water.

A naked statue of a woman bowed over the fount, a jar cradled in her hands from which the water poured. White wings protruded from her back and curled over her breast.

Her beautiful figure however was battered and worn with age, perhaps even physical abuse. Large cracks wove across her ivory skin and one foot was entirely removed.

With a rock-sized hole in the side of her face, it was clear this statue had been through several attempts at removal or destruction. Now it stood abandoned and discarded by the hearts of the people, reduced to a sad state from its once former glory.

The Warriors looked curiously up at the statue as they crossed the court and came to the docks.

Ahead of them was an open area of stone brick and wood planking. Barrels of nets, fishing gear, bait, and assorted freshly caught fish were dotted across the area.

Men hustled across the planks with handfuls of equipment, swarming the docks like bees in frenzy.

The Alar stretched vast before them, wide enough to fit several ships in its girth, stern-to-stern, and long enough to fit endless more.

Massive ships floated languidly in its icy waters, their white sails flapping in the morning breeze. Gangplanks were dropped and men scurried on and off the ships, passing crates and barrels between themselves in an ostensibly erratic fashion.

The Warriors slowly approached the docks, their boots dully thudding on the wooden planks.

Tall machines of timber lined the river, lifting huge crates from the ships with their ox-powered arms.

They weaved through these machines and the endless piles of crates and barrels, dodging men as they crossed the docks. They eventually came to the edge of the riverbank and approached two mighty towers.

Malecai glanced up at the towers and flicked his hand towards the other riverbank. The soldiers atop the closest tower noticed him and nodded in reply.

They then grabbed the arms of a large gearwheel and sent the lever in a slow spin. The guards atop the other tower followed likewise, and as they did so, the wooden drawbridge between the towers began to fall from its chains. Its iron capped end at last reached the opposite riverbank and thudded loudly in the snow.

The Warriors passed under the towers and crossed the drawbridge. They stepped off the bridge, leaving half the city in their wake.

Before them was an empty expanse of dark gray stone that stretched off for half a mile in every direction. They grudgingly stepped forward and began the long walk deeper into the city’s abyss.

After a while, the faint outline of buildings rose afar, crawling ever closer with every step they took.

The travelers crossed the court and at last reached the buildings. They came to a single road of brick, entirely encompassed by a sea of bleak stone structures.

Men in polished steel sat outside the barracks, many deep in sleep or talking lightly amongst each other. Coins and cards were tossed between small groups, laughter breaking out occasionally. However, a tense silence seemed to fill the area, every man playing his routine with furtive unease.

The Warriors passed the soldiers, fighting the impulse to return their inquisitive stares.

A few of them muttered inaudibly to their friends, the recipients of the whispered message returning their attention to the passer-bys with newfound interest. Many of them saluted the Warriors, but no word need be said.

The Warriors continued down the road, passing thousands of soldiers in their walk. The barracks stretched on for over a mile, forming an endless sea of building and man that must have engulfed half the city in its girth.

The road climbed ahead at a gradual rate and the Warriors ascended the hill through eerie silence, inquisitive stares and fleeting whispers greeting them around every corner.

A mountain stood about a quarter mile ahead of them, towering far above the infinitesimal buildings that surrounded it.

From the streets below, the Warriors could vaguely make out the blurred outline of a road that wound its way around the edges of the cragged mountain, spiraling its way up to the peak adorned in cloud.

They came to the end of the road and the last of the barracks, immediately encompassed in the shadow of the mountain. They reached the foot of the mount and looked up its slope with widened-eyes.

A hood of clouds cast opaque over its peak, its girth cloaked in dismal mists. It seemed to extend beyond the very heavens, like a great hand clawing for unseen stars.

The road ahead sloped drastically up the mountain’s base, forcing its way up the rocky mountainside before disappearing around the opposing side.

The Warriors reluctantly stepped forward, their knees at an instant bend as they took those first steps. They followed the river of bricks up the mountain’s edge for several minutes before coming to a small building that sat on the side of the road, its back wall level with the edge of the cliff, the barracks a hundred feet below.

The building was made of solid gray stone, a single window and door facing the road.

A large tower stood on the building’s right side, attached to the wall and looming a few yards over the tiled roof.

They walked uneasily past the silent, vacant building, not a trace of life within its lackluster walls. In fact, they had seen no one at all on this side of the river other than soldiers.

The life of the city seemed to reside on the opposing side. It was as if the city was split in two extremes, one of life, the other embraced in silent death. The stillness and utter emptiness of the place hung like a weight of lead over their shoulders.

They continued up the steep road and left the empty watchtower. The road led them in a constant spiral around the mount, ascending ever higher.

They came across several more buildings, each identical in appearance. They peered curiously into the arrow-slit windows for signs of life, but every building was devoid of former inhabitants.

They continued slowly and painfully around the outer rim of the mountain, struggling to reach the distant peak.

The hours dragged slowly on. They left beneath them the earth forlorn and climbed into boundless clouds. A clinging haze embraced them, a bone-chilling cold gnawing at their skin.

They were now far above the city. The buildings below appeared now like the grains of sand on a vast gray shore, the streets like threads of a spider’s web.

They turned the curve of the road and came to a life-sized statue of a soldier, sword drawn, the blade’s tip stating the road’s end before them. They crossed under the statue and followed the path around yet another bend.

A staircase stood a few yards ahead of them, the final stretch of the road. With a thespian sigh, the Warriors began the long ascent.

They finally reached the top of the staircase as evening gave way to the early holds of night, falling over themselves as they reached the top of the stairway. They collapsed on the cold stone, breathing heavily as they felt every inch of their muscles pulse with exertion.

They stood up after several moments and regained their composure before observing their newest surroundings.

They stood now at the edge of the mountain’s peak, towering miles above the city and far above the mountain range from which the Alar poured. They were above most of the clouds, hundreds of the light gray masses sailing the lazed winds of dusk below.

The sun now fell over the horizon and crawled behind the crests of Erias’s mountains, the last of daylight snuffed beneath darkling skies. A strong breeze blew across the peak, the frozen gale sweeping their breath away.

“No wonder no one’s on this damn mountain,” Joshua muttered to the group as he leaned on his knees, struggling for breath in the thin air. “It’s a bastard to climb.” The others laughed, at last breaking the hours of tense silence.

They then noticed several guards mere yards away, eyeing them conspicuously. The ten or so men wore black silk cloaks and bore heavy sets of silver armor that covered the white chain mail and silks beneath.

“The King has been expecting you, Warriors,” one of them informed the newcomers as they approached, “welcome to the heart of Morven.” The Citadel Guard gestured behind them towards the center of the courtyard that formed the flat peak of the mountain.

Across the silver court stood a large building fashioned of white, gray-flecked marble. The building stood four stories in height, its front supported by columns of ivory that gleamed like the light of Alon Heath.

They accepted the guard’s gesture and stepped forward, keen to leave the mountain path.

As they crossed the court, Joshua turned and noticed a man brushing a horse. The horse was fully bridled and tethered to a small wooden cart, surrounded by crates and barrels of food and ales.

He eyed the horse and cart with a raised brow, looking over his shoulder at Silas with a grin. His brother followed his gaze and smirked as he saw the cart. Together they glanced behind them towards the steep mountain road. They laughed lightly and followed after the others, not daring to take their eyes off the now swift-looking cart and its glistening brass wheels. The group soon came to the foot of the building.

Two statues stood on either side of the staircase that led to the front door.

The left statue stood over twenty feet in height and was made of solid marble. It was fashioned in the figure of a man donned in glorious armor, massive wings extending in both directions from its hunched back. In its hand was a spear, the point attached to the dais upon which it stood.

The statue on the right was the same size and structure as the other, its wings curving up gracefully from its back. In her right hand she bore a sword, and in her left, was an ivory rose which she held up to the heavens.

The statues were carved with almost inhuman skill, far beyond the artistry of common man. However, despite the beauty and power from their image alone, they were much like the other winged statue they had passed in the city below. They were broken, cracked, and beaten from more than just the destructive hands of time.

It was obvious they had endured attempts at damage and ruin and they bore proudly the scars of that struggle. Their faces were cracked beyond recognition, their wings broken in several places. Yet they stood defiant in the face of time, as if refusing the very iniquities of the world they stood guard over.

The Warriors eyed the statues inquisitively, more so than the palace before them.

Adriel held her hand out to the statue on the right as they passed, her thin fingers brushing against the cold stone of its wings. The Warriors crossed the statues and reluctantly turned their gaze before them.

The Citadel Guards stopped as they reached the tall, gold doors that served as the main entrance to the palace. Two of the men grabbed the bullion handles and pulled the doors. A wave of warm air issued from the open archway.

The guards gestured inside and the Warriors stepped forward and entered the palace. One of the guards followed after them and the others shut the doors with an echo that reverberated loudly in the entrance room.

They stood now in a circular room, walls of white marble surrounding them from all sides. Torches lined the walls every few feet, their small ruddy lights flickering against the marble backdrop.

The guard led them across the tiled floor towards an archway that stood opposite the entrance. They crossed under it and came out into a long hallway.

The hall was made entirely of pure, shimmering marble. Forty columns lined the hallway, supporting the flawless glass ceiling above. Strange, ornate beasts were attached to every other column, vapors of sweet frankincense rising from their maws.

The Warriors stepped out from the archway and were immediately engulfed in a shadow, and glancing up, they saw a large statue that spanned from the crest of the archway to the ceiling above.

It was carved intricately in the form of a valiant man, adorned in granite armor. Below the statue was carved into the wall, “Ivandar, King of the Advent.”